Pax lay on his waterbed, the neck of the cashmere sweater pulled over his nose. Oh God, Cliff’s smell was driving Pax crazy.

He groaned, rolled onto his stomach, and pulled his notepad and Luca’s pencil from the nightstand. He’d focus on the songs he’d promised to have drafted before Untamed.

The hours dragged. Pax spent far too much time watching Cliff read in the study.

Luca’s faraway laughter steered Pax away from the window. He propped himself in Luca’s doorway. Luca was leaning back in his desk chair, holding the walkie-talkie. He acknowledged Pax with a nod of his chin.

Bianca’s voice sailed down the line. “Will they let me in?”

Luca looked at Pax. “Bianca will get in tomorrow, right?”

“Picking up her ID this afternoon,” Pax said. Restlessness urged him over to Luca. “Can I have Bianca a second?”

Luca tossed the walkie-talkie to him. Pax caught it. Bianca sounded amused at the change. “What do you want to know about my brother now?”

“Why do you assume this is about Cliff?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. Turns out I have a problem.”

Luca’s cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Pax scowled at him and took the walkie-talkie to his bedroom. “Would you answer a few more questions for me?”

“Hit me.”

“Can you tell me what things are on Cliff’s to-do list in his bedroom?”

Pax wanted to weasel himself into said plans.

“You want me to sneak into his room?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certifiable?”

Yes, yes he was. Lock him up before he did something stupid. More stupid.

“Haven’t you already got your fill of his room?” Bianca asked.

Pax sighed. This whole new Cliff twist was not one he particularly liked. “Not nearly. Unfortunately.”

“If Cliff catches me in there . . . I’m not sure of my chances.”

A fair point.

Pax leaned against the window frame. Cliff remained a statue, sloped over papers and books. Although both their windows were shut, Pax kept his voice low. “I’ve got my eye on your brother. I’ll tell you if he ever looks up from his books.”

Thirty seconds later, Bianca’s voice vibrated through the walkie-talkie. “I’m in. Blech. Boys’ rooms smell funky. Okay, opening balcony door for fresh air. Now . . . huh. His to-do list has a cue card that says finish thesis, and a picture of you.”

“Is it covered in holes?”

“Holes?”

“Never mind. Rifle through his music. What is he listening to?”

A laugh curled down the line. “Are you thinking of making my brother a mixed tape?”

He shook off the horrifyingly cheesy thought and the belly swoop that came with it. “Is it all classical? Or are there any surprises in there?”

The line grew quiet, and Pax tapped out beats on the wall as he watched Cliff and waited.

Finally came the buzz of static and then Bianca.

“Yeah, there are surprises,” she said softly.

Pax hesitated. “Are you okay?”

A crackle. “Yep, yeah. Yes. I . . . I didn’t know he listened to these.”

“Listened to what?”

Tapes their dad had made? Something they knew growing up?

“There are so many,” she said breathlessly.

Pax stared across at Cliff moving pen swiftly across paper. He was left-handed. How had he never noticed?

Despite Cliff sitting six yards away and across two panes of glass, Pax felt the weight of him. Like Cliff’s presence changed the space around him. Made it thick and heavy, like Pax would have to whisper his name to steal his attention.

What did he listen to that would make Bianca choke up? “Do you need Luca and me to come over and distract you?”

She laughed. “No, I . . . gah.”

“Alternatively, I could distract your brother and you and Luca can have a moment.”

“You don’t need an excuse to see Cliff, you know. You can just do it because you want to.”

Pax gathered himself to argue, and then smacked his lips together. “What CDs were they?”

Bianca sighed. “Parenting CDs. Hundreds of hours on how to raise a teenager.”

A lump built in Pax’s throat. It was too much looking at Cliff and imagining him on his Discman listening to self-help guides on how to be a good role-model.

He pressed his forehead against the wall. What was Cliff doing to Pax’s carefree world?

Cliff suddenly raised his head, plunging his gaze into him as if to answer: Giving it a dollop of much needed depth.

Cliff’s eyes narrowed to the walkie-talkie Pax held.

Cliff lurched off his chair and spun for the door.

“Bianca, get out of Cliff’s room or I’m gonna be in trouble.”

Except, there was no “or” about it.

When it came to Cliff, Pax had been in trouble from the first time they met.

Pax behaved himself the rest of the day: he stole Luca’s car, picked up a fake ID for Bianca, and feigned some grins while dropping off his guitar and amps with the band for the show later.

Then he busied himself in baking muffins and said no more than a single curse as he dropped them off at the church.

Curious about the play, he scored himself a seat in the audience and watched Bianca rehearse. She had an enthralling flair on stage. The play was good. But . . .

“If music be the food of love, play on,” he quoted to himself.

The play ended, and Bianca was stripping out of her costume in the back room. He folded his arms and braced a foot against the wall where he and Cliff had stood earlier.

Bianca glanced at him. “The opening line of the play. Glad you were listening.”

“Yes, yes I was, and do you know what I heard? Or better, what I did not hear?”

“The food of love?”

“Where was the music?”

She sighed. “The guy that plays the piano got salmonella. As did the guy playing the guitar. And the guy playing the harmonica.”

“The whole band?”

“I’m making it sound worse than it is. It’s a one-man band.”

Pax tossed Bianca her windbreaker. “Other than that snag, you were amazing.”

She held open the door for him, and he waltzed through. “I’m glad you got to see it.”

“Me too.”

“Sorry I won’t be there for your Christmas Eve thingy.”

“Thingy? That thingy will be the performance of my dreams.”

“Hey, if it is any good, maybe my friends will put your poster on their walls.”

They kicked home together.

Luca and Henry were outside snacking at the mailbox. As one did.

“How was it?” Luca asked, balancing his plate of spaghetti atop a fence picket. Henry stuffed his plate inside the mailbox and draped himself over it. Not casual or suave at all. His voice hit a new level of swagger.

Christ. Fools in love.

Pax turned a beseeching gaze on Bianca. “If I start—if I ever sound like that. Shoot me.”