Chapter 15 Padraig
fifteen
Padraig
Six months Later
I know the rhythm of this block now.
The clang of delivery trucks, the morning rush of kids dragging backpacks too big for their shoulders.
It’s mid-December in New York and the wind cuts sharp down these avenues, rattling scaffolding and carrying the burnt-nut smell from the food cart on the corner.
Stevie’s ancient building’s walk-up is always too warm. I’ve learned which stair creaks and how her lock needs a jiggle. Most nights, I get in before her.
She’s working incredibly long days. Full of tours and walk-throughs and staying late for events nobody else wants to manage.
As a junior event planner, she’s understandably eager and determined to prove herself.
Wears her blazer like armor. Swaps her sneakers for pointed flats like a true New Yorker.
When she’s home, Stevie talks about floral arrangements and catering minimums like they’re war stories. I listen, nod, try to follow. She rattles off the details like she’s surprised she gets to be part of it. I love seeing her so excited about her career.
I’m proud. And gutted. At the same time.
She fits here.
Meanwhile, I’ve spent three straight days feeling like a loser, eating dollar pizza and scribbling unfinished lyrics on coffee shop napkins trying to get ready for the studio.
Liam and Felicity are at each other’s throats.
Linus is trying to figure out how to stay in the country if we tour next summer.
A big fucking “if.”
Don’t get me started on Felicity’s obsession with me. Fuck. I can’t bear to even think about it.
Trudging up to Stevie’s apartment, I hope none of her roommates are there. I could use some time to veg out until she gets home. I open the door. No such luck.
Rina, the nurse, is nowhere to be seen. Probably working the night shift at Mount Sinai. Mel, who does something with investments on Wall Street, is in the kitchen. Liv is filming herself doing an aggressive YouTube workout. Frankie’s out on the fire escape smoking.
No one says hi. They don’t exactly make me feel unwelcome. It’s more like they don’t clock me at all.
My phone buzzes:
Stevie: Wanna meet me in midtown? Drinks w/ work friends. No pressure.
I read it twice before answering.
Of course I want to go. I came here after Thanksgiving to be with her for a month, not to sit on her lumpy futon eating bodega sandwiches and counting fire escape pigeons.
We’ve barely had a full night alone. Stevie’s roommates are always buzzing through, the walls are paper-thin. She’s either heading to work or dragging herself home from it, too tired to finish a sentence.
I don’t blame her. Not really.
She’s killing it.
My girl’s amazing. But…I came here hoping for more.
Reconnecting. Talking. Spending time together.
Fucking.
I tap out a reply.
Me: Yeah. Tell me where. I’ll come find you.
Three dots flicker, disappear. Then:
Stevie: You sure? It’s just boring work people.
I stare at the screen for a beat before sending back:
Me: I want to see you. Boring people and all.
I pull on my jacket and grab my subway pass. Even if I’m the outsider now. The tagalong, long-distance boyfriend plopped into a world I don’t understand—I want to be where she is.
For as long as she’ll let me.
The bar has a kind of curated elegance you don’t see on the West Coast. It smells like citrus peel, money, and whatever cologne the waiters are all wearing. Velvet bar stools. Gilt-edged menus. Voices kept to a murmur under the thump of slow jazz oozing from hidden speakers.
As usual, I’m out of place in my torn Levi’s and beat-up leather jacket.
I catch sight of her near the back, tucked into a crescent-shaped booth with three others, framed by flickering candlelight and the blue glint of glass behind the bar.
Stevie doesn’t look bored. Her head’s thrown back in laughter, manicured hand resting flat on the table like she’s trying to steady herself. She looks lit from inside. Confident. Polished. Entirely at home.
When she sees me, her smile blooms instantly, the one that’s only mine. She waves me over and shifts sideways on the tufted velvet to make room. Her hand slides to my arm when I reach her, a quick squeeze on my jacket sleeve before her lips brush my cheek.
“You made it.” She beams happily. Her hand stays on my thigh as I scoot into the booth beside her. “Everyone. This is my boyfriend, Padraig. Padraig, meet Rhea, Anthony, and Cooper.”
Rhea’s angular and sophisticated in a pressed navy pantsuit and sleek bob. “Ah, the famous drummer boyfriend.”
Anthony’s in sales. You can tell before he opens his mouth. Pink shirt, open collar, charm dialed up enough to make you wonder if he’s ever actually off the clock. He gives me an easy grin and raises his glass.
Cooper’s the last to look up. He’s a normal dude in a white button-down, sleeves rolled halfway. Sharp jaw with dark curls smoothed back. Steel-blue eyes. Something unreadable sits behind them. He lifts his glass in a slow half toast but doesn’t say anything.
His fingers tap the base of the glass once. Then again.
His elbow’s hooked along the back of the booth, behind Stevie and I’m not proud of how fast I clock the distance. He’s not touching her so it’s not inappropriate. Too comfortable, though.
“Good to meet you all.” I nod politely.
Stevie’s hand shifts beneath the table. Finds mine. She laces our fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She leans in, her shoulder against mine, warm and solid.
“Sorry we started without you,” she whispers close to my ear.
“I don’t mind.”
She squeezes my hand again, and turns back toward the group, launching into some story about a vendor double-booking a ballroom. They laugh. I listen. Mostly to her voice. The way she’s mastered the rhythm of this new world. She’s light, witty and self-deprecating and sounds like she was born here.
I keep my eye on Cooper, though. He’s not watching her constantly. That’d be obvious. He’s aware of everything she does. He laughs when she laughs. His gaze drifts when she speaks. Every time she shifts, his posture adjusts by degrees. Always a few beats behind. Always tuned in.
It’s not possessive. Not even flirtatious. It’s worse.
It’s familiar.
He looks at her how I look at her.
She turns to me when the server stops by. “You want a drink?”
“Sure.”
“What do you feel like?”
“Root beer, if they’ve got it.”
My order gets Cooper’s approval, though I don’t need it. “Good for you. Stevie said you never drink alcohol. I admire a musician with discipline.”
I’m taken aback a bit. Has Stevie told him about my family? “Uh, thanks.”
The drinks arrive and Stevie settles into my side. Her knee touches mine. She’s warm. Engaged. Not hiding our relationship, in fact she gushes about how long we’ve been together. Part of me is surprised her coworkers know how important I am to her. The other part is proud.
We hold hands under the table and, once again, I realize I’ve never seen her this alive talking about anything that didn’t involve both of us.
It makes me feel small, in a way. Which sucks and isn’t fair. I haven’t made any progress since she left. I’m living in Pullman. Fireball’s on the brink of imploding due to tension with Felicity. Everything’s up in the air because Linus confirmed he’d have to leave next year.
What the fuck am I doing?
I glance down at our joined hands. Then at Cooper. He’s fully engaged in a discussion about some valet scandal with the others. He may look at her adoringly, but Stevie isn’t interested. He also doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d step in where he doesn’t belong.
In an instant, I realize, he’s not the threat.
As I predicted when she moved here, the distance between us is.
Stevie and her friends have everything in common, laughing at inside jokes I don’t understand. They all know exactly which wine to order and what elevator is out of service and where to find the best five-dollar pizza in the city.
I don’t fit here.
A couple hours later, we step out into the sharp chill of a December Manhattan night, the wind catches her blond waves as she listens intently at something Rhea says and pulls her coat tighter.
Cooper says something low in her ear, harmless, probably, but her giggle stretches a little longer than I expect.
When she turns back to me, I tug her in close, and press a kiss to her lips in full view of the her friends. Not hard. Not claiming.
Well…maybe a little bit. “Let’s get a hotel.”
“Now?” She blinks, her breath frosting between us.
“Yeah. I want you. Alone. Without worrying about roommates hearing us.” I don’t lower my voice…much. “You’ve got tomorrow off, don’t you?”
Her expression shifts as the others shuffle away and she turns her full attention on me.
Not hesitation, curiosity. Mischief. Then she pulls out her phone, opens her company’s hotel app with a few swipes of her thumb.
“There’s a suite open at the Astor. It’s only a couple blocks from here. I’ve got an employee discount.”
“Let’s go.”
We’re checked in half hour later.
The room smells expensive. Fresh linens. Eucalyptus soap. A king-sized bed with million-count sheets and blackout curtains Stevie doesn’t bother closing.
She tosses her coat on a chair and kicks off her boots. I press in from behind, palms sliding over her hips, lips tracing her neck. She leans back into me with the quiet whimper she always makes when it’s me and her and nothing else.
Watching in the floor-to-ceiling window, I slip my hands beneath her blouse and drag it up over her head. Her bra goes next, dropped onto the plush carpet. Her nipples pucker.
I gently turn her and lean down. I cup her tits in my hands and lave every inch of them with my tongue. Her fingers thread through my hair like she’ll never let go.
We scramble toward the bed, peeling off our remaining clothes, her hands shake with how fast she’s trying to get me naked. She pushes me onto the mattress, climbs on and impales herself on my cock. She grinds down once, slow and teasing.
Then again. And again.
“Missed being able to do this,” she says breathily. “Trying to stay quiet with all my roommates is such a buzzkill.”
“Agreed, it’s time for me to make you come so hard you scream.” I flip her easily and pull out, kissing down her stomach.
Her thighs fall open. “Don’t tease.”
I don’t.
I settle between her legs. Drag my tongue through her slowly. She gasps and bites her fist. Her back lifts off the bed when I fasten my lips around her clit and suck, rough and rhythmic, then dip my tongue lower and fuck her with it until she’s squirming, her words wrecked and garbled.
“Oh God, don’t stop—don’t—”
I double down.
Stevie comes hard, hands fisting the sheets.
I kneel between her legs and hook her thighs over my arms and press them back so there’s no space left between us.
Sink in slow and deep. Her head drops back with a broken noise that shreds something inside me.
I move in long strokes, grinding every time I bottom out.
Watch my cock pump into her soaking pussy until the room’s heavy with our sweat and skin and need.
Pulling her up into my lap, we fuck like we’re chasing time. Like we may not know what comes next but our bodies fit together like a puzzle. She rides me, hair wild, hands on my shoulders, undulating in slow circles until she grimaces from coming so much.
When it’s my turn, I flip her over so she’s face down with her hips in my hands and her breath fogs the polished headboard. I rut into her and pull out, spraying her entire back with my come.
After we clean up in the shower, we collapse in the fine hotel sheets, laughing, wrecked and breathless.
She rolls over and grins up at me, wet hair plastered to her neck. “I think we broke the bed.”
“Let’s get some sleep and break it some more.” I tug her to me.
Stevie drifts off curled into my side, one leg over mine, her body warm and damp against my chest. For a few minutes, it’s quiet. Us. Like always.
And yet, she feels a world away.
In the week I’ve been here, it’s obvious, She’s thriving.
Happy. Living her best life. Meanwhile, I’m scribbling lyrics in the margins of old notebooks, staring at empty canvasses, not any further ahead than when I started college.
I thought we’d be able to talk more and I could share what’s been going on with me.
Why bother, though. I’m chasing a dream I’m not sure I want.
I’m not even close to being on the same wavelength as Stevie. Maybe I never will be again.
I can’t pretend I won’t lose her anymore.
When I might’ve already.