Chapter 31
thirty-one
Padraig
A Few Months Later
The low hum of the monitors gives me a headache.
Maybe it’s the smell of burnt coffee. Or the sharp clack of Liam’s boots against the hardwood floor as he paces behind the mic.
In any case, everything’s beginning to grind on me.
My brother is way, way off today. Has been all week.
For the past hour, Tyson Rainier, the lead singer of Connor’s band who’s making a name for himself as a Grammy-winning producer, has been trying to coax something real out of him. God bless the man’s patience, but the rawness Liam usually pours into his vocals is missing. Flat. Disaffected.
He’s holding back.
I’m sick of pretending I don’t know why.
Ty waves a hand from the console. “Let’s run it one more time, Liam. Drag the last line, yeah? Let it breathe.”
Liam doesn’t answer. He adjusts his headphones and closes his eyes. His jaw’s clenched. Sweat clings to the collar of his tee. He looks like a coiled spring about to snap.
I slump farther into the studio couch, arms crossed. Why the fuck am I even here today?
Because it’s what I do. Clock the hours. Play the part. Tell myself it’s me holding together the band I’ve bled for. We’ve found success now, so they say.
Truthfully, I’m not needed anymore and my resentment’s at an all-time high. I’m fucking sick of bending so Liam can keep doing whatever the fuck he wants while I’m filled with regret about most of my life choices.
I’m a single father. Living with the woman who trapped me. Pretending the silence between us isn’t a vise around my throat. Years ago, I gave up on the one person who made me feel like I was worth anything. Leaving me here in a constant state of regret.
The thing is, I don’t blame Stevie. I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t fight for us. Or find my own way outside of this band. I could’ve begged her to stay when she left for a life with Cooper, but I let her go and create a family without me. Now he’s dead and I haven’t even sent her a sympathy card.
Stevie is and will always be a ghost I carry through every hour of the day.
My one bright light is Rafferty. I swear I’m giving him everything I have. I’ve never gone all-in at this level before. Not with Stevie. Definitely not with Mara. Not the band. Maybe not even with Liam.
But, Rafferty? I’ll never walk away. Never let him wonder if he’s my first priority.
So I’m here. Fulfilling a commitment. Playing along for this album cycle.
I’m gonna show up, smile for the press photos and nod along in the studio.
When the royalties roll in, he and I will be set.
Maybe not as financially secure as Connor, but I’ll definitely be able to provide him with a comfortable life and my presence on a day-to-day basis.
Until then, if I stop moving, I’ll fall apart.
Connor, misunderstanding my crabby mood, catches my eye from the opposite chair. “He’ll get there.”
I nod once. Then glance at the clock.
Two hours and I can get back to Rafferty.
Liam’s voice crackles through the booth speakers. The chorus crashes in, but the edge is missing. Again.
Ty scrubs his hands down his face. “Break,” he says into the mic. “Five minutes.”
Liam doesn’t argue. He sets the headphones down like they might shatter and steps out of the booth. Doesn’t look at me as he passes.
Connor stands and watches him go, then gestures to me. “Let’s take a walk.”
Dutifully, I follow him out of the studio and up the narrow stairs into Ty’s house. Everything smells like a fine hotel. His wife Zoey’s yoga music pulses from a room down the hall. Somewhere in the backyard, someone’s grilling. Likely their private chef.
Connor opens the fridge, grabs two bottles of Topo Chico, and hands me one. “Talk to me.”
I unscrew the cap. Swig. “Not much to say.”
“You sure?”
My hands curl around the bottle. I stare at the label like it might answer for me.
Connor leans against the counter. His tone stays neutral. “Liam’s been off for days. You’ve barely said a word. Avonna keeps disappearing. Linus won’t make eye contact. I’m not stupid. What the feck is happening? We can’t waste Ty’s time.”
“I’m not wasting anyone’s time. Sounds like you should be giving this little lecture to Liam.” I cross my arms and stand my ground.
“Aye. Fair enough.” He nods. “You and Liam always find a way. You’ve been through worse.”
I meet his eyes. And in the moment, I nearly unload the storm I’ve swallowed since the day Liam decided rules didn’t apply to him anymore. Since I found out about the situation he’s kept hidden and I realized my brother is building on his own terms and I have no one.
For what? A bit of fame?
Instead, I say, “Well, this time it’s more complicated.”
Connor doesn’t push.
I glance out the window toward the sun-drenched patio. “How’s Ronni and the twins?”
“Great. You know how it is with newborns.” He smiles softly at the thought of his own babies, Torin and Tristan, who are a couple months older than Rafferty.
I envy him more than I can admit. He has a partner to go through this parental journey with. The love of his life.
Mara and I are barely surviving. She’s hurting. Hopeful in quiet ways that make me feel guilty, but not enough to give her faith in a future. She’s through the worst of the depression. Her mother’s gone home and we’ve figured out a rhythm, more or less.
But, I see it in her eyes. She wants more than I can give. Love. More kids. White picket fence. Blah. Blah. Blah.
It’s never going to happen because every time I hold my son—my perfect, fragile boy who’s clawed his way into this world and stayed—I experience it all over again.
Boiling anger.
Not at him. Never him.
At her. For her lie and the way she forced my hand. I’m trying to forgive her. Trying to move forward.
However, the truth festers.
I won’t let it touch him, though. He’ll never feel like a mistake. Never question if he’s enough.
I’ll make sure of it.
Which means I need to be more than a man who lives in regret and bitterness. It’s up to me to be someone he can be proud of. I’ve finally stopped drifting and I’m looking toward a new chapter where I will stand all the way up and live to my full potential.
I drop my bottle in the recycling. “I’ll go back down, I’ve gotta head out soon so if I can lay down some tracks or move this along in some way, I might as well make myself useful.”
Connor watches me go, but he doesn’t follow.
When I return to the studio, Liam and Ty are already reworking the bridge. Avonna’s finally shown up, perched on the stool next to Liam. Linus is back too. Engrossed in his iPad, avoiding any eye contact with me.
I take my seat in the corner. Say nothing. Watch the three of them orbit each other like moons around a hidden sun.
I’m not part of their solar system.
I don’t belong here.
Nah, I’m not gonna let myself spiral. Instead, I open the sketchbook I’ve been carrying since Rafferty was born.
Flip to a half-finished idea for a collage I started last night.
Scraps of lyrics, jagged brushstrokes, a torn picture of a fire escape.
I’ve been expressing myself through art again and it’s keeping me sane.
Soon, I’m immersed in my own inner world.
My pencil moves without direction, finding its way through memory.
A curve mirroring the bend of her neck when she used to lean over her homework, ponytail loose.
An outline of Capitol Hill rooftops, or maybe it’s hope in the shape of home.
I layer in textured slashes of crimson and bone-white. Sharp and fluid.
A burst of golden acrylic where our kids might play together in a backyard I’ve never seen. I picture Jude tracing dinosaurs in the dirt. Lila turning cartwheels. Isla teaching Rafferty to read.
I scrape back some color with the edge of a guitar pick and trace in more lyrics. Ones I haven’t shared with anyone.
In this world, she never walked away. We never broke. The kids are ours and we are happy.
I’m not the outsider.
I’m enough even when it’s messy and raw and impossible.
I press harder.
Let it bleed.
“Jesus, Padraig.”
I jolt upright, graphite smearing the edge of my hand. Ty’s standing behind me, eyes locked on my drawing like he’s seen a ghost. Connor’s next to him, holding a half-eaten protein bar, mouth slack.
The room’s quiet. No more vocals bleed from the monitor. Everyone’s focus is on my sketchbook laid open on the console, raw and exposed.
“Did you make this?” Ty crouches down, studying my drawing like it’s sacred.
I flip the page halfway closed on instinct. “It’s nothing. A sketch.”
Connor grabs my wrist to stop me and steps closer. “This isn’t nothing, Padraig. It’s fucking——”
He doesn’t finish. Stares.
Liam walks in from the vocal booth, towel around his neck. “What’s going on?”
“Did you know about this?” Ty turns the sketch toward him. “Your twin’s been holding out.”
Liam comes over, and squints. “You back at it with the art?”
“Aye. To pass the time.” I shrug, confused. “Started again to pass the time when Rafferty sleeps. I’ve been playing around on canvas, too. Mixed media. It keeps my head clear.”
“You’ve been doing this for how long?” Ty asks. “Seriously?”
“Well, all through school. College. Gave it up until now.” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t sleep much when I’m home. Once Mara and the baby are out, I let it out.”
“Art therapy.” Ty glances off into the distance. I know he’s a man who struggles with many demons from his past.
Connor grins. “Christ, you’ve got talent, brother.”
Liam doesn’t speak. Instead, he sinks into the chair opposite me, staring at the notebook like I’ve been keeping a secret from him.
Which, I suppose I have, though not quite as big as the one he thinks he’s been keeping from me.
We lock eyes.
It’s all there.
The weight. The ache. The knowing.
We’ve spent our whole lives locked in orbit. Two halves of something fierce and fractured. Tonight, there’s recognition.
Whatever’s next, it won’t be what came before.
We both feel it.
Our lives are about to change.