Chapter 39 Padraig
thirty-nine
Padraig
Six Months Later
Life has a funny way of kicking you in the ass.
I burst through the door of Cactus in Madison Park, late.
The restaurant’s busy. Luckily no one’s paying attention so I’m able to slide into the booth beside Stevie and kiss her without worrying about phones capturing our every move.
“You order?” I ask, glancing at the untouched basket of tortilla chips.
She smirks. “Nah, I was waiting for the rockstar.”
“Jesus Christ.” I groan. “Don’t start.”
“What? It’s not every day my boyfriend gets four Grammy nominations.” She bumps her shoulder into mine, eyes glittering. “I’ve heard of the Rock category, but the other three are pretty obscure. Is Linus losing it over your tour schedule?”
“Understatement.” I shake my head. “He’s got the next year mapped out in his usual color-coded hell. I went in fully ready to talk to everyone about taking a step back today, but…”
She raises an eyebrow. “But you didn’t.”
“But I didn’t,” I admit. “It’s hard to tell them I’m done when the offers keep getting bigger. We’ve never had these kinds of opportunities before. I’m getting a taste of what it’s been like for Connor.”
“I bet.” Her hand finds mine under the table.
We don’t have to talk about the big-picture plan. The one where I hang up the sticks after this cycle and spend more time painting than sleeping in buses. The problem is this cycle doesn’t seem to end.
“Mara texted me today.” She dunks a chip in the salsa with her free hand. “A darling picture of Raff with Tanner at the park.”
I suck my lips over my teeth at the mention of Mara’s boyfriend. “Yeah. He’s good with him. Still weird, though.”
“You’ve been a good sport about it.” She squeezes my fingers.
“Trying.” I drag a finger over her knuckles. “I’m salty there are weeks Tanner sees him more than I do. I’m missing a lot. It makes me want this stuff with the band to end, but I’m also trying to enjoy the success. It’s a mind fuck.”
“You’re a public commodity now.” I swear I catch the shadow there. The truth beneath the tease.
I shake my head. “I’m not a commodity. I’m yours. I’d rather be here hanging at the climbing wall with the kids, or supporting Cillian when he gets out of rehab for fuck’s sake.”
“Climbing wall, huh?” She toys with the rim of her glass. “Is this a hint for our weekend outing?”
“Yeah. I think the rec center’s perfect. Indoor. Big enough for them to run wild, no weather excuses. Isla can try the ropes course, Lila will love the crafts corner, and Jude—”
“—will follow Rafferty around until he begs for mercy.” Her laugh is soft, a memory already forming in her eyes. “He really does take his older-kid status seriously.”
“He’s good with Raff,” I say with pride, but also ache. “Wish they saw each other more.”
“We have dinner Sunday.”
“Not enough.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it, grounding myself in the touch. “It’s never enough.”
Movement and chatter ripple throughout the room, but it all fades when our eyes meet.
“I know we said we’d wait until things settled to tell the kids,” she says eventually, “but it’s been two and a half years since Cooper passed. They’ve healed in ways I didn’t think possible. I think they’re ready.”
“Are you?” I lean in and give her a peck.
“Yes. I’m ready for us to be in the same house.” She kisses me back. “Only if you are too.”
My gut squeezes. “I’m sure about you. About our kids. Always. The rest…” I blow out a breath. “It feels messy.”
“Because of Cillian?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “But he’s in rehab now. It’s more about Linus stacking the calendar. Another tour. More press. And this Grammy thing’s lit a fire under everyone’s arse. If I walk away now, I’m not only disappointing Liam. I’m turning down stupid money to keep us set for years.”
Her smile tilts, equal parts love and frustration. “Then tell me your plan.”
“We’ve got to be in the home stretch.” I glance at the table, then back at her. “The cycle should be finished by the end of next year. I think I should bank what I can. Tell Liam I’m not going to be on the next album at some point so we can start looking for a drummer for when I’m done.”
She doesn’t blink. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. More sure than I’ve been about anything except us,” I assure her. “Fireball’s survived four different singers, it’ll survive losing a drummer.”
The server appears with our plates, breaking the thread of the moment. We eat, talking about Isla’s science project, Jude’s latest Lego fortress, Lila’s ballet recital. The ordinary things I miss when I’m gone too long.
“You’re selling yourself short, you know. Fireball’s always been about the twins more than anything.” Stevie surprises me by bringing the band back up.
I lean back, brow lifting. “Here I thought people came for Avonna’s voice.”
“You’re stupid.” Stevie swats me. “No, seriously. Your music, your bond. It’s what people gravitate to when they hear you. Without you, it’s not the same.”
“So what do I do?” I sigh heavily.
She fixes her gaze on me. “Despite everything, stop pretending you owe the whole world more than you owe yourself.”
“I’ve got Grammy nominations, a sold-out tour and half the industry demanding we go back into the studio.”
She leans in. “They’re not the ones who have to live your life. You are. If you stay out there when your heart’s in Seattle, you’ll start resenting it and them. You already are and it’s been this way every single cycle. When does it end?”
I drag a hand through my hair, the weight of it all pressing in. “I wish it were simple.”
“Padraig. It can be.” She strokes my cheek. “If you make it. Speak up.”
I sit back, her words reverberate in my mind. Cycle after cycle.
She’s right—I keep letting it happen. Every time an album wraps, I swear I’ll slow down, and then the machine starts up again. I never hit the brakes, even when I could.
Connor didn’t let LTZ burn him out. He pulled them back, made the shows rarer, more wanted. They didn’t vanish, they became something you waited for. Maybe it’s the answer.
“If we stopped chasing and played fewer shows, we could work around me.” The words rush out as fast as I can think them. “Make it an event instead of a habit. Still write, release music, but on our terms.”
Stevie’s smile starts small, then warms all the way through. “You wouldn’t have to walk away entirely.”
“I wouldn’t have to choose,” I echo. “Could be here for the kids, for you, and keep the music alive.”
“Don’t forget you’ll have time for your art. Sounds an awful lot like a win to me.” She keeps her eyes steady on mine.
I grip her face between my palms and plant one on her for the books.
“You know what? I think we need to take our own advice for our family too. It’s time to claim our own joy.” Her eyes flash. “Let’s do it now. I’ll grab my kids from my mom’s, you swing by Mara’s for Rafferty.”
I slide out of the booth excitedly. “I’ll call Mara on the way, make sure he’s ready.”
We settle the bill and head for our respective cars, moving with urgency.
It feels like the first time in years I’m walking toward a real future.
Isla’s on the bench in the kitchen when Rafferty and I get to Stevie’s, legs folded under her, earbuds in, thumbs flying over her phone screen.
Nearly thirteen and carrying herself like she’s already seventeen.
Her hair’s darker now, waves pulled into a messy half knot, and she only looks up long enough to clock me before going back to whatever’s on TikTok.
Lila’s perched at the island, bare feet swinging against the stool. Nine, freckles scattered over her nose, flipping through one of Stevie’s cookbooks like she’s got something to prove.
Jude comes skidding in from the backyard, hair sticking up, cheeks flushed, always a ball of restless energy and big grins. Six years old and moving through life at full tilt.
Rafferty’s warm and solid in my arms, no sign of those first months when I stressed about every sneeze and cough. He’s a chunk in the best way, head against my shoulder, brown eyes scanning the room like he’s sizing everyone up.
“Hey, Padraig.” Jude’s already trying to peek around me. “What’s in the bag?”
“Fixings for ice cream sundaes.” I set Raff next to Isla, who promptly snuggles him to her. “Figured we’d make them together.”
Sweet treats get her attention. She takes one earbud out, slow like she’s not sure she wants to commit. “What kind?”
“I brought a selection.” I take the containers out of the bag while Lila digs for bowls. “Where’s your mom?”
“Here, I heard there’s ice cream.” Stevie glides in, changed into her favorite athleisurewear.
We line up at the island, the kids crowding in, elbows bumping while I assemble the sundaes, squeezing chocolate sauce, whipped cream, sprinkles, cherries.
Jude dumps half a bottle of rainbow sprinkles over his before I can stop him.
Raff bangs his spoon on the tray, grinning like he knows he’s in on something.
Once we’re all at the table, Stevie gives me the look. It’s time.
She sets her spoon down and puts on her mom voice. “So…we wanted to talk to you all about something important.”
Four sets of eyes. Isla’s guarded, Lila’s curious, Jude’s mouth already full. Rafferty points at me.
“I’m not sure if this is a surprise, but Padraig and I are more than friends.
” She glances at me. “We’re actually boyfriend and girlfriend.
I want to hear how you feel about it. Because it’s important you know, he’s not here to take your dad’s place.
No one could. This is about adding someone we care about to our family, not replacing anyone. ”
The words hang for a beat, and I watch their faces. Rafferty is too little to understand, so I focus on the other three. Lila tilts her head, bored. Jude licks ice cream off his spoon.
Isla taps her nail against the table like she’s working through it. “We know.”
Lila nods. “Yeah. You think we’re babies?”
Jude grins. “Duh.”
Stevie and I glance at each other and can’t help but smile. Two years of taking it slow, letting them see me in small ways, and here they are. Unfazed, even a little smug about it.
“So,” Stevie takes it a step further, “how would you feel if Padraig and Rafferty stayed over sometimes? Maybe, someday we’ll all live together?”
Lila shrugs. “Fine with me.”
“If you live here, can we have ice cream for breakfast?” Jude perks up.
“No,” Stevie laughs.
Isla’s quiet for a second, then sighs dramatically. “As long as you don’t move my stuff.” Which, from her, is basically a blessing.
“Sounds like we’ve got ourselves an agreement,” I say.
Jude’s eyes light up. “Tonight we should have a slumber party to celebrate. All of us. Even Raff.”
Lila’s already nodding.
Isla groans. “Seriously?”
“Great idea.” Stevie stands and starts collecting bowls. “We’ll pile on the comfy couch in the living room, jammies, a pile of blankets and YouTube DJ until we can’t keep our eyes open.”
An hour later, with Raff sacked out against my side, me, Stevie, Jude, and Isla pass popcorn and the remote. We take turns picking videos, the room lit only by the TV.
When it’s Stevie’s turn, she gives me a sly look. Suddenly, the screen’s filled with grainy footage from a dingy college stage. Me, Liam, and Felicity in one of our first shows.
“Wait.” Lila sits bolt upright. “That’s you. And Liam. Who is the girl, it doesn’t look like Avonna.”
“She was Fireball’s first singer, Felicity.” I shake my head, remembering the drama she dragged along everywhere she went.
Jude practically climbs over my legs to get closer to the screen. “Wait, you were in a band then too?”
“Same band.” I rub the back of my neck. “Fireball at the beginning.”
Stevie appears off to the side, barely in the frame, but I remember the night like it was yesterday. She’s nineteen or twenty, her hair long and loose, wearing jeans and a white tee. Watching me like there’s no one else in the room.
Isla leans forward, eyes narrowed at the image. She doesn’t say a word, but I catch the flicker of recognition like she knows exactly what the look means.
From his spot on the blanket, Rafferty stirs at the commotion, blinking awake. He squints at the TV, then points with one tiny finger. “Da-da.”
“Wow. You really have been friends a long time,” Lila squeals.
I glance at Stevie snuggled into my other side, she smiles up at me. “We have.”
The kids start talking over each other. Lila firing questions, Jude wanting to see more videos, Isla leaning back like she’s pretending not to care. Rafferty’s conked out again.
Looking at Stevie, I realize her eyes are lit the same way they were in the old clip. Without thinking, I lean in and kiss her.
The kids shriek and throw popcorn.
I can’t stop smiling as I kiss their mother.
Because if there was ever a sign we’re going to be fine—it’s this.