Page 261 of Silver Sweet

“Tom and Phoenix had to have security just to get in here without being fondled.” Birdie motions a finger at us. “They’re like really big C-list celebrities now.” He grins into a sip of soda. Tom looks like he wants to smack it out of my brother’s hand.

“A-list,” Tom corrects. “We’re a big deal.”

I can’t even refute Tom. We wereswarmedoutside the Rockefeller Plaza for our late-night segment. We had six security guards on us, and I still had to pry hands off Tom.

I’ve seen the level of fame that follows his parents, and we’re still not near it. Which is insanity to me. This is more than I would’ve ever comprehended from the start.

“You never said anything about that,” Mom frowns at me.

“Nothing bad happened. We’re fine,” I assure her.

“Tom, will you drive him to the hospital?” she asks.

Surprise hits me and Birdie.

“I will, yeah,” Tom nods.

“Do you know how to drive a car?” I ask seriously, staring at his lips for a second.

“Yeah.” He nods, glancing down at my lips too, then up at my eyes. He smiles. I’ve only ever seen him ride his motorcycle. And that was one time. I’vecovetedhis Yamaha, to the point where he gave me the keys. He said it’s been collecting dust in his parking garage.

“Or maybe…a cab?” my mom is asking my dad.

“I’ll have my bodyguard drive,” Tom assures them. “But I’ll go with Phoenix.” He places his hand on my thigh, and I’m about to shove him off—but it hurts eventhinkingit.

So I don’t.

My chest is tight, and I prepare to tell my parents the truth. When I twist back to them, my mom is smiling. My dad even has a soft one.

Before I ask anything, my mom says, “The Carraways, the show—it was absolutely dynamic. The music…” Her eyes well with pride in ways I’ve never seen before. “I can see why you have so many loving fans.”

My dad bobs his head in agreement. “The scream-singing I could do without.”

Tom laughs, which makes me laugh into a smile too.

“But besides that,” my dad says, “it was wonderful. Really, Phoenix. It’s really nice seeing you in your element.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say quietly.

Tom pushes up to a stance. “I’m going to find my parents. Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. St. Pierre.”

“Likewise,” my parents say together, Mom with a big, big smile. Birdie cringes at it.

Tom points at me. “I’ll be back to collect you.”

“Great,” I say dryly. “You want to put an AirTag on me too?”

“No need. I am a homing pigeon, Phoenix.”

Is he calling me his home? I look him up and down. “I thought you were a fucking lion?”

He flips me off behind my parents’ backs.

I laugh and turn back to my mom’s smile, which hasn’t dimmed. Then she’s telling me, “I haven’t seen you this happy in so long.”

I don’t think I have been.“I feel like I’m finally moving past the Chase stuff. This album I wrote with Tom has helped. Performing it every night.”

My dad nods with a crinkled expression, like he’s trying—really trying—to comprehend how angsty, raging music can heal and not hurt.