Chapter 33
thirty-three
Padraig
A Few Days Later, Present Day
I never thought these pieces would see the light of day.
No one’s ever known much about my art except Stevie. Well, and Liam.
Stevie used to love sitting cross-legged on the floor of my room while I worked, watching shapes and colors take form. She’d tell me I had something rare. Gushed about how I saw the world different from anyone else. I’d laugh it off, convinced the band was my real shot.
She’d shake her head, kiss me, and say I didn’t have to choose. Back then, I believed I did.
During Rafferty’s first fragile months and the hours spent holding him in the half-light, listening to his breath fight its way in and out, my hands itched for brushes, for paper, for color. Art didn’t merely fill the silence, it kept me from falling into it.
Piece by piece, stroke by stroke, I immersed myself into something that made me feel more like myself than I ever had.
By the time we moved back to Seattle, I’d amassed quite the portfolio.
On a whim, I brought a few pieces into Molly Moon’s, hanging them under a pseudonym—P. O’Malley, Ma’s maiden name. Outside of my school exhibits, it’s the only time I’ve ever put my work on a wall for strangers to see, and I didn’t want the McGloughlin name anywhere near it.
A couple weeks later, Caden Price, owner of Ash & Iron Gallery, called me in.
The second I stepped through his door, he pegged me from Fireball.
I nearly bolted. He wouldn’t let me. Said my work hit him harder than anything he’d seen in years.
Practically begged me to join his inaugural “Masked” series, to highlight new artists.
No bios, no names, only art.
It was the perfect opportunity.
So here I am. My first real gallery show. Every mixed media piece I’ve made over the past year, plus a few collages from high school and some oversized acrylics I painted in college—all for sale.
I’d stored the older pieces in the old band rehearsal room at my parents’ house. Sifted through the canvases leaning against the basement wall, edges wrapped in yellowed newsprint. Layers of dust dimming the colors. I peeled the paper away. Curated my favorites.
Now everything hangs under track lighting on whitewashed brick.
I move from piece to piece, half-listening to strangers’ quiet reactions. People mill about and stop in front of each one, lean close, step back. They don’t see me. Just the work. Exactly how Caden wanted it. An honest read.
I’ve kept this exhibit close to the chest. A quiet event no one can pick apart or twist into something else. Aside from Caden, Mara’s the only person who knows about this event and only because I needed her to stay with our son tonight.
Being here’s almost enough to drown out a memory looping since the day at the ice cream shop.
Stevie, her kids flanking her like they’ve learned to move as one. Isla’s eyes locked in haunted stillness. Grief etched deep, years before her time. Seeing them hit me harder than anything in a long while. Split me open and left me raw.
Witnessing Stevie’s strength and quiet resilience stirred something inside me. Fuck. I’ve been trying to figure out my future since the album wrapped. Liam’s priorities pulling one way. My son’s needs pulling another.
Things with Mara have been complicated. She’s made no secret about her intention for the three of us to be a family, which we are and will be forever. I’m not getting back together with her, though, and it creates tension we both try to stuff down for the good of our son.
The day at the ice cream shop gave Mara and me a reason to finally strip every layer back and hopefully move forward on more stable ground. When we got home, she asked about Stevie and I told her everything I’ve been carrying for years.
How Stevie and I grew up side by side from the time we were seven.
Lost our virginity on her living room couch and promised each other forever.
How we lived every waking moment of high school and college inside each other’s orbit, sure we were soulmates.
How her leaving shattered me in ways I’ll never recover from.
I also confessed the truth I’ve never spoken aloud. Music was Liam and Connor’s dream, not mine. I followed them out of loyalty and family trauma.
In doing so, I lost the only woman I’ve ever loved.
Mara and I cried together. She finally understood why I couldn’t give her more. Stevie’s shadow has always been between us.
Then she asked me a question I’ve never allowed myself to consider:
What would I do if I got another chance?
I didn’t have an answer. Still don’t.
What I do know is I won’t go back to being a man who puts himself last until there’s nothing left. Rafferty deserves for me to be so much more.
I’m studying one of my newer pieces, a sharp-edged collage with colors so layered they look alive, when it happens.
A shift in the atmosphere.
I don’t need to turn around to know.
She’s here.
I pivot slowly, scanning the space until I find her near the entrance.
Stevie.
A black dress skims her curves, golden hair spilling over her shoulders. Her steady, unblinking gaze pins me in place.
She crosses the floor like she’s walked into this gallery for me and no one else. Her faint scent of vanilla threads through the sharper scent of paint and varnish.
Stevie’s eyes roam the walls before landing on me again, sharper now, alive with recognition.
She’s close enough I can see her pupils flare and feel the heat roll off her.
Every nerve in my body wants to close the gap, but I hold before I take a tentative step toward her.
She moves toward me too without looking away.
The crowd fades to nothing. Awareness turns into a throb low in my gut, matching the pulse at the base of my spine.
We stop with inches between us, her breath mingling with mine. She tilts her head, not backing down, as if daring me to remember every kiss, every gasp, every way we’ve come undone together. My fingers twitch, aching to touch her, to prove she’s real.
“You did these?” Surprise, edged with a challenge. “They’re…breathtaking.” Her mouth curves into a smile. “So much for anonymity.”
“Aye.” I lean in, my voice low enough for her alone to hear. “Some things can’t stay hidden.”
Before she can answer, a hand claps my shoulder.
“Padraig, there you are.” Caden steps between us, oblivious to the crackling current he’s severed. “I want you to meet a few collectors. Looks like we’re on track to sell out.”
I force myself to step back and breathe. Stevie shifts, her attention sliding toward Caden. I catch the spark of recognition in his eyes as he greets her warmly, like they’ve spoken before.
Hmmm.
The next hour is a blur of introductions and champagne flutes, polite laughter and feigned interest in people who want to talk about technique.
Throughout, I know where she is at every moment. By the far wall studying my largest canvas, from our sophomore year in college. Lingering near the bar. Pausing in front of a piece I painted the week Rafferty came home from the hospital.
She’s a magnet, pulling my eyes without effort.
As the crowd thins, she slips to my side again, empty glass dangling from her fingers. “Well…”
I tilt my head toward the door before she can say goodbye. “Want to grab a coffee?”
“Lead the way.” A flicker of something unreadable sparks in her expression.
We find a quiet cafe shop a block from the gallery and take a booth in the corner, steam curling from our mugs. The shop’s nearly empty with only the sound of the espresso machine filling the space between us.
She curls into her seat across from me and takes a sip of her hot chocolate.
“When I saw you at Molly Moon’s,” she glances up at me through her lashes, “I noticed the paintings on the wall with the placard—‘P. O’Malley.’” Her lips curve. “I knew it was you. Using your ma’s maiden name.”
I can’t help but let a small laugh slip out. “Guess I underestimated how easy it’d be for you to connect the dots.”
“You forget how well I know you.” Her tone isn’t teasing. It’s warm, threaded with something softer. “Once I realized it was you, I thought…wow. This is Padraig. Every brushstroke, every shadow.”
I rest my forearms on the table. “God, it took everything I had to bring them in.”
“Is that how tonight happened?” Stevie leans forward.
I take a bite of chocolate chip cookie. “Pretty much. Caden recognized me but wanted me in the show. Couldn’t say no.”
“How’s Liam?” She takes another sip, eyes on me. “How’s the band?”
I let out a slow breath. “We finished recording with Connor and Tyson Rainier of LTZ. The album’s being mastered now. Liam’s good. Linus is back managing us. He’s got his head deep in planning what’s next. We’ll see where it goes.”
Her expression shutters a bit. Understanding, but also inquisitive. “And you? Are you touring most of the time?”
“Jeez.” I sigh. “It’s complicated. You were right, you know.
Music was always Liam’s dream more than mine.
I’ve stayed for him. But with Rafferty and this—” I motion toward nothing in particular, meaning the show, the paintings, all of it.
“This feels like me in a way music never did. Sometimes I wish…”
I decide not to say it. Probably not appropriate. Or wanted.
She sets her mug down, tracing the rim with her finger. “You always had both in you. I told you over and over, recall?”
“Yeah,” I acknowledge, thinking about how I was remembering her support when the doors opened tonight. Wondering if tonight is some sort of sign. “I didn’t believe in myself. Thought the band was the only way forward.”
Stevie reaches over and grips my wrist briefly. “I’m glad you figured it out.”
“It was Rafferty.” I glance at where she made contact. “He had a rough start. Mara wasn’t well. He was so small and helpless. I started painting again to keep from unraveling. It anchored me.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “How is he?”
“Strong. Determined. Loves music already, God help us.” A smile tugs at my mouth. “Mara’s with him tonight. She’s the reason I can even be here.”
Her gaze softens. “Are things good with her?”
There’s no edge to the question. No fishing. It seems like curiosity, which would naturally come from knowing my life is tied to someone else’s.
“We’re okay,” I say carefully, because I’m not ready to talk about how my son came into this world with her yet. “Not together. Coparenting. She’s staying at Liam’s until we can find a permanent solution.”
“Sounds like you’re doing okay.” She leans back, studying me. “You look lighter.”
“Feels like it.” I meet her eyes. “So, what about you? I’m sorry I didn’t reach out when Cooper—I didn’t think…”
I let the words trail away. Ma told me not to call, but I should have. Given her my support.
“It doesn’t matter.” Her smile turns wistful. “Honestly, with my injuries and the kids, it’s all a blur.”
“I followed what I could,” I admit. “Didn’t want to intrude. You lost the love of your life. The father of your kids.”
Her gaze flickers up, something warm slipping past her guard. “I loved Cooper and I’ll always be grateful for the life we built. He was a good man. An excellent father.” She pauses, meeting my eyes. “You know as well as I do, love can look different, and some loves never really go away.”
We both go quiet.
“How did you know to come tonight?” I decide to move away from a topic neither of us might be ready for.
“Well, it’s a roundabout story. I stopped working after Jude was born and we moved to Seattle.
” Her fingers curl around her mug. “I wanted to be with the kids full-time while they were little. Then after Cooper…uh, I needed some time to figure it all out. I’ve decided to ease back in to event planning.
I’ve started my own thing so I can work around their lives instead of the other way around.
” She makes a rolling motion with her hand.
“Fast forward to yesterday, and I happened to meet with Caden when they were installing your exhibit. When I saw your work, I couldn’t not come.
The kids are having a sleepover at Mom’s tonight. ”
“Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it.
She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. Looks back at me. “Call it fate. Or maybe a sign. Something deep inside told me the gallery was where I was supposed to be.”
Her words sit and I feel it too. We’ve both lived through hell and somehow ended up sitting here, ready to hear the other out. Looking at her, the years and the lives we lived without each other don’t feel like they’re in the way.
This thing between us is so familiar my chest aches.
“I’m glad you’re doing something you love again.” I can’t bear to misread the situation so I try to navigate to safer topics. “You found your passion when you discovered event planning. You always could see every moving piece before anyone else did.”
Her mouth curves. “I missed it. If I’m honest, I need to create stability for the kids. They need to see I’m steady and hard-working, even when I feel like an imposter.”
“You’ve always been steady, Stevie.” I swallow hard.
Her gaze drops to her hands. “Maybe. But sometimes…steady gets lonely.”
The words sink deep. I’m not imagining what’s happening here.
God, I want to tell her she doesn’t have to be lonely. I’ve been waiting for her since the moment she left.
Instead, I watch her lift her mug, eyes flicking to mine over the rim.
Everything we were, everything we lost is all laid bare.
“You’ve got the kids covered tonight?” I finally ask.
A slow nod. “Like I said. They’re with my mom. Overnight.”
“Rafferty’s at Mara’s.” My voice is rougher than I intend. “So… yeah.”
Her lips part slightly, and the look in her eyes pulls the air from the room. “This is complicated.”
“Fuck.” I bury my face in my hands. “Is it wrong to want you so badly?”
For a moment, we breathe the same charged air.
Then she leans forward, elbows on the table, closing the space between us inch by inch. “No. It’s the most natural thing in the world.” There’s a tremor in her voice, but her eyes are sure. “I want you to come over.”
Hearing the words from her mouth hits like the lyrics of a song I’ve been waiting years to write.
I’m not going to second-guess.
This might be my only shot.
“Lead the way.”