Chapter 4 Stevie
four
Stevie
A Few Months Later
Liam paces. Again.
Bare feet on the scuffed dorm floor. Arms crossed. Fists flexing like there’s a ticking clock he can’t tune out.
I’m sitting cross-legged on Padraig’s unmade bed, trying to finish my anthropology reading. Padraig is sprawled sideways in his desk chair, one socked foot braced against the bedframe. He’s watching his brother with affection and amusement.
This scene has played out a million times since we started college.
Every day is about the same. Padraig and I wake up and fuck.
Get ready and go to class. Meet up with Liam for lunch then head back here to study or blow off studying.
Liam’s usually prowling for a hookup by the time Padraig and I go to bed. Either way, we fuck until we pass out.
Repeat.
An idyllic freshman year, I won’t lie.
It’s exactly like it’s always been with the three of us—only better. We’re free. No parents. No rules. I’ve essentially moved into the boys’ dorm room here in Rogers Hall. Padraig even cleared out his dresser and closet for my clothes.
My actual roommate, Bailey, seems grateful to have our room to herself. She’s cool. Sharp and focused on her studies. Every so often she hangs out with the three of us and, fortunately, seems to be immune to Liam’s devastating charm.
She’s in the minority.
Halfway through our freshman year and Liam’s already achieving legendary fuck-boy status on campus. He oozes sexuality and has zero shame. He doesn’t hide the way he looks at anyone. Guys. Girls. Any combination thereof. It’s all on the table now.
College cracked something open in him and, for once, he’s not pretending. Not running. Not afraid of who he is.
It’s kind of beautiful, actually.
Suffice it to say, nothing happened on the music front last semester unless you count two half-assed jam sessions. It’s all gonna change though. Connor’s parting words when we drove off were prolific.
“Make it count.”
I don’t think Connor meant it as pressure but, on the other hand, he’s the one paying for all of this. Tuition. Food. Housing. Gas. Not to mention the brand new instruments the twins received as graduation presents.
His parting words kickstarted something. Suddenly, both of them are committed. Last year’s procrastination has been left behind in Seattle.
I’ll never say this out loud, but I can’t help but wonder whether it’s their dream. Or, at least, Padraig’s dream.
Or, if it’s a debt.
Padraig loves his brothers so much I worry about him going with the flow. From how much he’s been loving his art classes, I’m pretty sure his passion lies elsewhere, but he can make his own decisions. I’m sure he’ll work it out in his own time.
“What’s the plan, Stevie?” Liam snaps, turning toward me. “You said this gig has a real setup. Mics? Amps? Or is it some guy with a set of bongos and a dream?”
Padraig shoots him a look. “Dar, fuckin’ chill for five seconds. She hasn’t had a chance to give us the details.”
“Meh. I’m used to his snarky ass.” I lift a shoulder. “To answer your question, it’s a real party house with decent bands. If you guys want to get into the mix, we need to start showing up. Meet people. Mingle. Find a singer.”
“I’m out all the fucking time. I already know what’s out there.” Liam massages his temple. “Shite.”
“You’re exhausting.” I drag a highlighter through a passage in my textbook. “You’re gonna scare off every singer before you even hear them.”
Liam flops onto his back dramatically. “We wouldn’t have to find one if someone joined us.”
He doesn’t look at me, but the jab lands right between my ribs.
“Liam, for the last fucking time, I’m not front-woman material.” I bite my pen. “You need someone with way more ego. Someone who wants to live on the road. I don’t want that life.”
Padraig tosses a drumstick at Liam’s shin. “Stevie’s helping us get our shit together. We have to do our part.”
“Yeah, right.” Liam snorts. “Says the guy who’d rather spend all his free time fucking her instead of practicing.”
I raise a brow. “Disrespectful. I’m right here.”
“You want to talk disrespectful? I’m in the next fucking bed.” Liam lewdly cants his hips. “Oh, oh, oh, yes. Right there.”
“So wear headphones. Or, fuck one of your fan-club members.” I stick my tongue out at him.
“Where do you think I am every night?” Liam grumbles.
Padraig’s mouth twitches like he wants to smirk but doesn’t quite get there. It’s one of the many things I love about him. He lets me fight my own battles. Even with his twin.
“Maybe you should choose more wisely.” Padraig palms my thigh.
“Oh, I’m picky.” Liam stands in front of the mirror, fussing with his hair.
“Yeah, right. For someone so picky, is there anyone you haven’t fucked on campus?” I roll my eyes.
He throws a sock at me. “You wound me, Hayes.”
“You’ll live.” I pull on one of Padraig’s sweatshirts and hop off the bed. “I’m only pointing out your reputation’s practically mythic at this point.”
Liam shrugs into a denim jacket. “It’s college. I’m exploring. Maybe the two of you should try it sometime.”
“Don’t be an ass.” Padraig laces up his boots. “Let’s go. You might actually enjoy yourself.”
“Doubt it,” Liam drones, sliding on a black beanie.
I take point, leading them down the narrow stairwell of the dorm. The party’s ten blocks off-campus, in a rickety rental. It probably used to be a frat house before it got excommunicated.
Padraig grips my hand as we approach the house. “Thanks for arranging this.”
“No worries. Rumor has it, the lead guitarist once opened for Modest Mouse,” I offer helpfully.
It’s enough to get Liam’s interest, even if he pretends otherwise, as evidenced by how quickly he bounds up the steps to the front door.
The porch sags under the weight of us. Inside it’s like a dive bar.
Sticky floors. Thrift-store couches shoved against the walls.
Strands of dying Christmas lights cast everything in a weirdly colorful haze.
Someone set up the amps in the corner and cables snake along the ground through half-crushed beer cans and a piles of discarded pizza boxes.
Bass pulses through the floorboards like a second heartbeat. Bodies cram into every corner. Dudes wearing thrifted leather and scuffed boots. Women in low-cut tops and glitter eyeshadow. It smells horrible. Like weed mixed with sour beer and body odor.
A beach ball bounces off Liam’s shoulder. He doesn’t flinch.
Padraig grins and slings his arm casually around my back. His fingers brush my waist. “You sure this isn’t a rave?”
“Wrong kind of bassline.” I lean up for a kiss.
He cups my face and plants one on me in the middle of a room full of strangers. I melt against his chest, content and happy.
It’s funny. Even in a new environment, I’m always comfortable when I’m with the two people I’m closest to in the world.
Bailey once asked me how I ever chose Padraig over Liam.
Which is funny to me. Obviously, I love them both deeply.
Liam burns hot and fast. Even as a kid, he was sharp edges and swagger. Dangerous. Unpredictable.
Padraig, on the other hand, has always been mine, Quieter. Steadier. Persistent. Safe. Our friendship morphed slowly from childhood playmates to best friends.
“For someone who didn’t want to come, he’s diving right in.” Padraig gestures to Liam, who’s in front of the makeshift stage where a girl with ink-black hair is yowling into a mic.
Her voice is scratchy in a way people mistake for edgy. It works, though. The guitarist’s decent. Drummer’s loud and showy, all biceps. Padraig and I hover at the edge of the room. He analyzes the band with the same hyper-focused intensity he uses to ace his exams. Or, figure out song structures.
“They’re decent.” Padraig rubs his chin.
I nod. “They’ve got a look.”
“A lot of style over substance.” He scrunches up his nose. “I’m not a fan of the arrogance.”
“They’re tight. And confident enough to fill a room like this,” I counter.
“Okay, fair.” Padraig nods, soaking it in.
Liam looks like he wants to be on stage more than he wants to breathe. He takes it all in, scanning the room like it’s a battlefield. Sizing up the soundboard. Calculating what he’d do different.
He wants this. To have his own moment.
Padraig leans down, his breath warm against my ear. “I love to see him inspired. It makes me happy.”
He’d never say it, but I feel it. Something’s cracked open in him too. Pure enthusiasm. Radiating off him like static. He’s not watching, he’s wanting.
Maybe I was wrong earlier. This could be his calling.
God, I’m glad I dragged them here. This party surely isn’t about impressing anyone. It’s about giving them a kick in the arse to show up. Get seen. They’re two guys with real talent who were dealt a shitty card, but have a wonderful big brother who’s given them a second chance.
The least they can do is try to build something.
I have no problem helping them out for now. At least until they get their shit together. Or, until it stops making sense.
“Maybe I’ll talk to their merch girl.” I spot a makeshift table with a couple of t-shirts hanging from nails in the wall. “Figure out who booked this gig.”
Padraig glances at me. His mouth doesn’t move, but his eyes say it all. This is what he looks like when he’s grateful
Go for it.
I’m about to make a move when Padraig’s hand slides over mine. I look back at him. “Glad we came?”
He nods. “Yeah. Feels like the start.”
He’s right.
It is.
This is the beginning of everything.