Chapter 27
twenty-seven
Padraig
A Few Days Later
The glass walls of Isis Management gleam in the late-afternoon light.
Sun streaks across the polished floor like it’s performing for us.
Liam lounges on the leather couch, boots kicked up, his usual restlessness surprisingly absent. Across from him, Linus paces in the steady, surgical way he does when he’s building toward something. Even in a room full of noise, Linus commands it without ever raising his voice.
Even more so now than back when we were in college.
Our singer, Avonna Parilla, balances on the edge of the credenza with easy grace, until you remember she’s the reason crowds go feral.
Sandy-brown waves tumble past her shoulders, eyes sharp as knives even in her quiet observation.
She looks deceptively sweet, but she’s got a scorching internal fire.
Onstage, she’s fucking immortal.
As for me, I’m going through a bit of a personal turmoil, so I stand near the window, arms folded, watching the skyline shift with the haze. Pretend I’m calm, when really I’m in a grown-up pickle.
Linus stops pacing. Smiles the way he does when he’s won.
“Well?” Liam leans forward. “Why the fuck are you so smug?”
Linus doesn’t drag it out. “Netflix. Ten-episode drama. Big budget. Think Virgin River meets Derry Girls. It’s a remake of The Kerry Line, only this version’s set in Appalachia.”
“Jesus.” Liam blinks. “They’re using our track?”
Linus nods once. “They want From the Ashes as the official theme song.”
A beat of silence, then—
“Fuck. Yeah.” Liam jumps up and slaps Linus’s shoulder, spinning toward Avonna. “We did it.”
Avonna doesn’t move, but her smile spreads slow and wide. “Of course we did.”
I lean back into the glass and let the words settle.
Three years ago, we were a band people respected. Now, we’re a band people know.
Linus opens his iPad. “They want press. A stripped acoustic performance. Ideally video. We’re talking exposure in the millions, boys. This puts Fireball in living rooms across America.”
“Fuck me.” Liam whistles. “You know how long I’ve waited for something like this?”
“You earned it.” I meet his gaze. “Every night on stage for nearly fifteen years.”
He doesn’t blink. “So did you.”
Avonna’s already halfway to the mini-fridge. “This calls for sparkling cider.”
Linus cuts her a look. “We can celebrate, but you’re on vocal rest after rehearsals. We can’t cancel Saturday’s show.”
“You’re the worst kind of manager.” Liam flips him off with dramatic flair.
“Effective,” Linus replies, not looking up from his notes.
It’s easy between them. It has been ever since Linus came back. It sucked when he left the band and broke Liam’s heart, even if it wasn’t his fault. He’s come back different. Calmer. Sharper. Not merely managing us, building something with us and the artist management company he founded.
And maybe with Liam again, but my brother’s been tight-lipped, even if his actions give him away.
I glance over. Liam watches Linus now. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth twitches at the corners. Watching them is like watching a flame in the dark. Bright, volatile.
“Well, how about we celebrate a different way.” Avonna hops off the cabinet and claps her hands once. “I want sushi and one of those gold-leaf dessert things costing more than a mortgage payment.”
“Done.” Liam grins. “Linus is buying.”
“Aye, of course I am.” Linus is already buried in his phone. “Let’s be clear, I negotiated this deal. I get to expense the fish to the band account.”
I hang back as they all gather their stuff. This is the dream, isn’t it? Fame. Recognition. Hit songs synced to prestige shows. Fancy corporate dinners.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I don’t have to look to know who it is.
Mara.
Her voice glides through the late-afternoon haze when I step out to take her call from the hallway.
“Hey…are you actually coming home at a reasonable hour today?”
I lean against the back of the door and press the phone to my ear. “I know I said I would, but we got some great news—”
“Padraig.” She blows out a frustrated breath. Her tone isn’t angry, exactly. More, weary. “You’ve been gone two nights in a row.”
I turn my head to glance through the glass into the conference room where my band is planning which restaurant to dine at. The sleek lines and polished concrete of this office do nothing to soften the edge of a conversation like this.
“I know. But we found out our song’s gonna be—” I decide not to finish. The band’s success isn’t an excuse to avoid being with my pregnant girlfriend. “Never mind. I’m sorry there’s so much going on.”
She exhales into the phone. “No, I’m sorry, babe. I know you have work to do. I’m not mad.”
Silence.
“I um… I could use you here, Pads.”
My spine prickles at the nickname she loves to call me but makes me cringe.
I shift away from the door and walk toward the side window overlooking Sunset. Her voice sounds soft now. Young.
I think of the way she looked when we first met on the rooftop bar on our first date in West Hollywood. Her hair in curls, heels kicked off, holding court in a silver cocktail dress and telling me she’d give anything to live a life with meaning. Not headlines. Not glamour. Meaning.
“You’re nearly six months pregnant, you shouldn’t be alone right now,” I murmur. “I’ll say my goodbyes. I know I’m fucking this up, it’s taking a little getting used to but I’ve got you.”
“Pads, really. Don’t feel bad.” Her voice cracks a bit. “I’m hormonal which makes me sad and scared. He’s kicking like crazy. It makes all of this so real so I’m spiraling a bit on my own.”
“I know, lovey.” My soothing words are low, automatic. “I haven’t been home much to take care of you.”
Mara left the network eight months after we started dating, a decision she called “liberating” at the time. Said she wanted to travel with me and see the world. Told me the newsroom felt shallow. Convinced herself—and me—hanging out on the road would be interesting and fun.
I didn’t ask her to quit.
I didn’t stop her either.
Quite the opposite. Hell, I ate up her devoted attention and insatiable sex drive like a feast.
Of course, she didn’t realize the grind of touring isn’t the same as traveling on vacation.
Long hours on buses. Band meetings. Rehearsing.
Songwriting. Set lists. Technical problems. No privacy.
Very little time to do touristy things. On days off, I’m so exhausted I have to catch up on sleep.
There’s not much downtime and very little time to spend together other than stealing back to the bus to fuck while the band and crew are eating.
So, we fought. A lot. Our dynamic disrupted the rhythm of the road to the point where Liam was barely speaking to me.
Somewhere in Europe, I realized I loved Mara but wasn’t in love with her. I planned on breaking things off when our tour was over. Then she missed her period even though she had an IUD.
A dozen pregnancy tests later, here we are.
For some reason, Mara’s insistent on going back out with us next month even though she’ll be in her third trimester. I don’t want her to go so every time she asks about the schedule, I deflect. Say we’ll talk about it later.
What I’m really thinking is: no fucking way. I can’t deal with her need for constant attention pressing into the one space where I feel somewhat like me.
“I’ll be home in an hour,” I promise. “We’ll eat. Talk. Watch something dumb.”
Her smile is audible through the line. “You mean it?”
I hesitate, because I really want to celebrate with my band. Responsibility wins over. “Yeah. I mean it.”
Shit. I don’t belong in a relationship with her or anyone else.
It’s not Mara’s fault she isn’t Stevie. She’s a good person who deserves to enjoy her first pregnancy. I truly care about her, I’m not an asshole. We’re gonna be tied together forever and, despite my trepidation, I’m excited to be a father.
I won’t abandon the mother of my son.
Why then, when I hang up and tuck my phone into my pocket, do I stay exactly where I am, forehead resting against the cool glass, eyes tracking the sprawl of LA as dusk creeps in.
The woman gave up everything for me. Exactly what I not-so-secretly hoped Stevie would do so many years ago. Now, I have exactly what I always thought I wanted and somehow feel more alone than I did before we met.
Goddammit.
Behind me, the office door opens. Liam’s voice cuts through, low and amused, “So. Are you telling Mara she’s not coming on tour, or you planning to ghost your convo till after the baby’s born?”
I keep my mouth shut. Slipping back into my old habit of avoidance in this case is the easiest, least confrontational thing.
Liam doesn’t wait for a response. “Ah, hell.”
“What?”
“Spit it out.” His ankle bounces as he scrolls through something on his phone, but his attention keeps drifting back to me. He waits.
“I haven’t told her she’s not coming,” I admit eventually.
He raises a brow. “No shit.”
“She’s pregnant, Liam.”
“She’s not fragile glass. We leave soon. You know how I feel about it.”
“Well, we’re on the same page. Last tour was rough and this time it’s not a healthy environment for her or the baby.
” I suck in a breath. “My challenge is, things between us are…strange. I don’t want to be the bad guy.
The way I figure it, Mara’s doctor will never allow her to come.
There’s no reason to create tension between us when someone else will handle it.
Alternatively, we can postpone some of the dates since we’re already gonna have to reschedule the last part of the tour once he’s born. ”
Liam whistles under his breath. “Well, shit. I’m not sure we can at this late date.”
He doesn’t say what he’s really thinking. Fireball’s on the edge of something huge. Our songs are finally charting, we’re supposed to play to sold-out venues across Europe for six weeks. Now, with the Netflix deal, the last thing we need is for Mara to go into labor when we’re onstage in Paris.
I rub the inside of my wrist. “Her latest idea is to bring along her doctor. He’s gonna say no, so give it a few days and it should work out.”
Liam doesn’t look at me, but his expression says it all. It’s a stupid, expensive, indulgent idea and I should handle my personal shit.
My phone rings again. Fuck. It’s Ma. This is the third time she’s called tonight.
I debate whether to answer it, but decide it’ll be a distraction from the uncomfortable conversation with my brother.
“Hey, Ma,” I answer.
Her voice is thin, like she’s been crying. “Oh, God. Padraig.”
I freeze.
“What’s wrong?”
She exhales too fast. “Love. It’s—Stevie. There’s been an accident.”
Everything inside me goes rigid. My body forgets how to move.
Liam, who must have overheard, takes the phone from me and puts it on speaker. “What kind of accident?”
“Her husband was driving them home from dinner. A drunk driver crossed the center line.” Her voice cracks on the word drunk. “Cooper didn’t make it.”
I can’t breathe. The world tilts sideways.
“What about Stevie? The kids?” Liam prompts.
“She’s in surgery,” Ma chokes out. “It’s serious, love. Very serious. The wee ones are pretty banged up. Lucinda and Hank are with them at Swedish.”
I’m already reaching for my keys. “I’ll catch the next flight.”
“Padraig—no.”
“Ma. It’s Stevie. I have to—”
“You can’t.” Her voice sharpens. “Listen to me. You showing up now, after all this time, when her husband’s barely cold and she’s in a hospital bed?” She pauses. “You don’t get to make this about you.”
I drop my keys on the table, heart thundering in my ears. This isn’t about me, Stevie needs me. “I’m not—”
“You are. I know your heart’s in the right place and you want to be there for her.” Her voice wavers. “But our girl has a shattered family and her children to hold together. Don’t make it harder by confusing things.”
I don’t answer. I’m too stunned.
Ma softens. “I called with the news because I thought you should hear it from me and not someone else. I’ll be helping Lucinda, so if and when it seems okay, I’ll let you know if it’s appropriate to get in touch.
Besides, you have other responsibilities now.
Your focus must be on Mara. Your own family. ”
She hangs up. I nod into the silence, because she’s right, obviously.
Liam watches me. “I get it. It’s Stevie.”
“Shit.” I nod once. Sit down hard. “She’s a widow.”
Liam blinks. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
The moment expands. Delicate. Raw.
I think of Mara laughing in the kitchen this morning, her hands curved around the slope of her belly like it was the most natural thing in the world. She and my son are supposed to be my future.
And yet, Stevie will always be the one I can’t stop loving, No one, including Mara, will ever compare.
Is it fair to stay in a relationship when I feel pulled toward the woman who’ll always have my whole heart? The one who lives inside the quiet parts of me? Is it right for me to string Mara along when I’ll never be able to give her close to the version Stevie had?
Liam speaks first. “You gonna tell her?”
“No. Not tonight.”
I push back from the table and walk back to the window.
Conflicted.
Resolved.
Knowing I’m the biggest piece of shit on the planet.