Chapter 3 Padraig
three
Padraig
Graduation Day
Liam’s already in the passenger seat of the truck when I climb in.
His hair’s wet from the shower, an ever-present pout decorates his face. My twin doesn’t give a shit about graduation. Case in point: his gown’s balled up in the back seat like he ironed it with a punch.
He’s doing this for me. And Stevie. Well, and for our mother, who didn’t get to see her oldest son graduate last year because of the accident.
When I get settled, he lifts his chin in my direction and cranks down the window, letting the morning air cut through the truck’s familiar smell—gas, rust, and old fast food.
I start the engine. The truck gives its usual shudder like it might die today, or maybe tomorrow, or maybe never. Our house behind us is motionless. So is Stevie’s, she left with her parents over an hour ago to have breakfast with extended family prior to the ceremony.
Ma’s wearing a blue wrap dress she saves for weddings and fancy dinners. She’ll follow us with the wee lads later. When I left, she was pinning Seamus’s tie and refereeing some argument between Cillian and Brennan. Waiting on Connor who had to swing by a job site before the ceremony.
No one mentioned Da. Or if he’s coming.
Spoiler: he won’t.
Fifteen minutes later, I park in the student lot and we head for the gym.
“Still time to make a run for it,” Liam grouses as we pass through the double doors.
I elbow him in the ribs. “Shut up.”
“Could be halfway to Portland by now.” He shoves me in the other direction.
I throw my arm around his shoulder. “We did it. Ma is so proud of us.”
He shrugs. Smiles for real for half a second. Then it’s gone. Replaced by the ever-present glower.
Our classmates mill around the gymnasium entrance. When we check in, the freshman volunteer barely glances at us. “McGloughlin, Lime and McGloughlin, Pad-rag? You’re in Row M, left side, second group to be called.”
Rolling our eyes at the blatant mispronunciations, we follow the crowd into the gym to take our places. Three hundred seniors fidget with caps and cords, hug each other too tight and pretend this doesn’t all feel fake.
My attention, of course, is elsewhere. I spot her instantly.
Stevie’s across the aisle in the “H” rows, chewing gum and chattering to everyone around her. She has such a quiet confidence. One of the many things I love about her is, unlike me, she knows exactly who she is and makes no apologies.
Like a moth drawn to a flame, she catches me staring and grins. She mouths, “I love you” and blows me a kiss.
My whole body responds. Like it always does.
Stevie may be a wildfire in spirit and harbor a lot of ambition. Underneath it, she’s all heart and home. Her dream is to have a noisy kitchen and ten kids underfoot. A big, loud, messy family. Full of love.
It used to be my dream too, to have the kind of life we used to have in my family. Before the accident, our house felt whole. Sunday dinners. Music from every room. Ma humming while she cooked. Da teaching us boys how to wrestle.
The McGloughlin’s were unbreakable.
A year and a half ago, it all went to shit when Da got in a terrible car accident. It shattered our foundation and it’s hard not to be bitter.
I guess my glasses aren’t as rose-colored as Stevie’s are.
Though, being in her presence gives me hope I can get back what I’ve lost. With her. With us.
Eventually…
The ceremony starts, snapping me out of my thoughts. Our principal says something about grit. The valedictorian quotes Rumi. The mic cuts out three times and nobody fixes it. By the time they start calling our names, Liam’s dozing and I’m halfway there myself. Until…
“Stevie Hayes.”
Her name rings out and my eyes fly open. I sit up taller without meaning to as I watch Stevie stand and throw both arms in the air. She struts toward the stage like it’s a runway. The whole gym claps louder, probably because everyone loves her.
Me, most of all.
When she takes her diploma, she turns to wink at me before she disappears behind the curtain. My heart’s thudding and I’m grinning like a goddamn love-sick fool.
Liam elbows me and rolls his eyes. “Jesus. Do you ever stop eye-fucking her?”
I ignore him and resume my nap. After a million years, we finally hear, “Liam McGloughlin.”
My brother stands slowly. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave. Walks to the stage to a chorus of whoops from the bleachers and winces, as though today is a punishment and not a cause for celebration. He takes the diploma, nods at the principal, then disappears behind the stage curtain.
I turn to see where my family ended up in the stands. Connor’s at the edge of the row, in his work clothes. Seamus is practically bouncing in his seat, whispering something to Cillian who looks like he’s about to slug him. Brennan is focused on his phone. There’s an empty seat beside Ma.
“Padraig McGloughlin.”
Stevie’s voice cuts through the gym again. “WOOOOOOOO PADRAIG!”
I swear I see the principal flinch. Managing to keep steady, I cross the stage.
Shake his hand. Take the diploma. Smile for the camera.
When I turn, I see Ma with her hands over her mouth, in tears.
Seamus and Brennan wave like I won a Grammy.
Cillian pretends not to care. Connor nods once, tightly.
No Da. What a fuckin’ prick.
Afterward, the entire graduating class explodes onto the football field.
Photos. Shouts. Throwing caps. Horns honking. Parents crying.
Stevie sprints through the chaos, tassel flying behind her like a ribbon. She jumps straight into my arms.
“We’re officially done!” She kisses me once, twice. Her mouth’s warm and sweet. My heaven.
I don’t know how I got this lucky.
Lucinda, Stevie’s mom, materializes in full modern-hippie glory. She wears a long, silk caftan in swirls of coral and green, huge sunglasses that probably cost more than my drum kit, and exudes a warm, grounding energy.
“My boys,” she coos, hugging both Liam and me at once like we belong to her too. “We’re so proud.”
Liam shifts under her arms but doesn’t pull away.
Stevie’s psychologist dad, Hank walks up in shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and Birkenstocks over ankle socks. “Tacos are going to be epic. Cakes are in the fridge. We’ve got both chocolate and lemon, because someone,” he nods at Stevie, “threw a fit about it.”
“It was not a fit. I was communicating a respectful request.” She smiles at her dad affectionately.
“Is the whole clan coming?” Hank asks. “Liam you’ll be there, right?”
My twin doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow.
Hank nods and looks away. He knows all about my da. They used to be best friends, and now…
Liam turns and walks away. Heads to the truck.
“I’ll make sure he shows up,” I assure Stevie’s dad.
She squeezes my hand. “Don’t sweat it. He’ll come if he wants to.”
The second I open the door to the Hayes’ house, I’m hit with an overwhelming feeling of comfort.
Warmth. Color. Music that’s somehow both too loud and exactly right.
The Hayes’ house has the same bones as ours—massive wood beams, built-in cabinets, stained-glass transoms. The similarities end there.
Our homes feel like different planets. Unlike the gloom hovering over our place, over here it’s as if someone left the doors unlocked and the sun moved in.
Stevie swirls through the open-plan living room with a champagne flute in one hand and a basket of rolled-up horoscopes in the other. A giant cut-glass bowl of limeade sits on the entry table, flanked by plates of edible flower cookies, like it’s a damn fairy tale picnic.
Her little sister, Joni, is crouched on the arm of the couch, braiding neon thread into someone’s hair. Their younger brother Ziggy streaks through the hallway in a Bowie tee and no shoes, holding a glitter wand and yelling something about stardusting the graduates for good luck.
I blink. Take it all in.
In the dining room, Ma and Lucinda arrange platters of food.
They move like the old friends they are, lining up Hank’s slow-roasted pork tacos in neat rows.
Liam’s crouched near the windowsill with our wee brothers and a plate full of food.
All of them heads down, chewing like they haven’t eaten in days.
I load up my own plate and barely breathe between bites.
Stevie materializes beside me and nods toward Liam who’s helping Cillian with his taco. “See? He can’t stay away. I’m glad.”
“Yeah, me too.” I pop the last bite into my mouth.
For the next half hour, we move through the party side by side, fielding congratulations and hugs from her extended family and a bunch of neighborhood friends.
Connor shows up after sunset, showered and clean-shaven with his shirt actually tucked in. He hands me a box, already wrapped, no explanation. Inside are studio sticks. Weighted. Perfectly balanced. The kind pros use.
“This is part of it.” He claps my shoulder. “Your new kit’s already set up in the practice room. I got Liam the Strat he’s been coveting.”
My throat locks. As thoughtful as his gift is, it feels like a concession. He’s throwing in the towel on his musical dream when I thought he’d play with us always. It was supposed to be the three of us and now he’s giving up.
I pull him into a fast, quiet hug and feel the weight of his expectation. Support. Of being believed in. Stevie slips her arm around my waist and leans her head against my shoulder. Looks up at me and gives me the eyebrow waggle.
Fuck yeah. We need to disappear for a while and have our own private celebration.
Stealthily, we slip out the back door toward the thick ivy hedge dividing our property. A shortcut between our houses we’ve used a million times. Never for this purpose, though, come to think of it.
Once through, we’re behind our garden shed. Stevie’s already lifting her dress.
“Oh shit—” I groan.
She’s completely bare.
Winking, she grabs my shirt and yanks me toward her, mouth crashing against mine. No pretense.
“You trying to kill me?” I gasp when she unzips my slacks.
Her fingers wrap around my cock. “No, stupid. Obviously, I’m trying to fuck you.”
I hiss through my teeth, bracing one hand on the fence as she strokes me and drags my crown against her slit. She’s soaked. Warm. Ready. I grip her hips and lift her, line myself up and push inside in one slow, deep thrust.
Stevie arches back, hands clinging to my shoulders. She moans low in her throat, tipping her head up to the sky. “God, Padraig. I can feel every inch of you.”
I start to move. Sharp, rhythmic, urgent. Her dress is bunched around her waist and she grinds against me, matching every thrust, every ragged breath.
“You’re mine,” she pants.
“Aye.” My voice catches. “Since the second I met you.”
Her hips jolt when I reach between us to rub her clit and her thighs tense around my waist. Within seconds her whole body pulls tight, pulsing around me as she comes hard, mouth open in a silent cry.
I thrust deep, heat rushing through me as I spill inside her.
Our chests are heaving with exertion, so I lean her back against the shed, my hands gripping her ass. Eventually I lower her down. She’s gorgeous. Lips plump from our kisses. Sex hair. Eyes bright with mischief and love.
“Padraig, I know things are rough at home.” Stevie caresses my cheeks between her soft palms. “I hope you remember the love we have is special. It never flickers or fades. It’ll always burn steady, even when everything else goes dark.
You’re my forever flame.” She kisses my cheek.
“I’m heading back over. Follow me in a couple minutes. ”
Touched, I fight back tears as she ducks back through the hedge. A few minutes later, after I’m tucked and zipped, I follow. Join her at the drinks table like nothing happened and pour myself a limeade. Take a long sip.
Stevie snuggles up against me and lowers her voice. “My favorite memory of tonight will be right now. Standing here in the middle of our friends and family with your come running down my thigh.”
“Jesus.” I shove my hands in my pockets to hide the renewed bulge in my slacks. “You gave me another woody.”
She bites her straw. “Don’t tempt me to blow you in front of our friends and family.”
I lean in and drop my voice to match hers. “If you’re gonna say sexy-ass shit don’t be surprised if I take you for round two in the garage. Bend you over the truck and christen your ass.”
“Promise?” She licks her lips.
I kiss her temple. “You’re killin’ me.”
We manage to blend back into the party. As far as I know, nobody missed us.
Until I notice—too late—the truck’s not out front.
Liam’s gone.
“Are you worried?” Stevie threads her fingers through mine.
I pull her into my side. “About Liam?”
“Well…yeah. But also, college. Leaving. Growing up.”
I glance at her. “I’m scared of all of it,” I admit. “Except one thing.”
She lifts her brow.
“You.”
She leans up and kisses me. Slow, aching and gentle as the moonlight. Then pulls back, searching my face. “Say it again,”
“You,” I repeat. “You’re the one thing I’m never scared of.”
She melts against me. Nods. “Same. So, he left?”
“Didn’t say a word.”
She frowns. “He okay?”
“No.” I pause. “Maybe.”
Stevie leans her head on my shoulder. “He’ll come around.”
I want to believe her.
He’s always searching, like there’s a part of him missing.
All I can hope is for him to have what we have now.
If he’ll let himself.