Chapter 41 Padraig
forty-one
Padraig
Six Months Later
The table’s been cleared, but the chaos clings.
An empty trifle bowl streaked with berry and cream and a constellation of sticky handprints no one’s owning up to.
Across the room, Stevie’s corralled the girls helping with cleanup.
Isla clears plates to load into the dishwasher with theatrical sighs while Lila sings into the silverware.
From the kitchen, I see glimpses of Ronni and Stevie wrapping up leftovers, laughing about something I can’t hear.
Seamus’s girlfriend hands plates to Ma like she’s done it a hundred times.
The rest of the us are sprawled out in the living room with full bellies and unfinished stories. The whole house glows.
Rafferty’s knocked out against my chest, limbs slack, cheek smushed to my collarbone. I shift him higher, as I brace myself on the arm of Da’s chair.
Ma’s pulled it off again. Over twenty-one people are stuffed to the brim, and I doubt she broke a sweat.
Connor’s on the floor with the twins, baby Teagan in the crook of his arm, trying to keep them from launching half-eaten mince pies into the fire.
Seamus leans back against the sofa next to Liam and Cillian, who looks lighter.
Clear eyed. His laughter doesn’t sound forced.
In fact, his dry wit has kept Liam quiet for a full ten minutes.
Then he flicks his glance toward me.
Stevie and the girls emerge from the kitchen and plop down cross-legged in front of the hearth. Lila tucks into her side and Isla sits quiet beside her. Jude spins in a slow circle, making spaceship noises, oblivious to the tension climbing in my shoulders.
I already know what’s coming.
Liam stands and crosses over toward me. Stands in my space, arms folded like he’s holding himself together with nothing but spite and soda water.
I hand Raff to Stevie, kissing his hair before I turn. “You’ve been staring a hole in my head for the last hour.”
My comment breaks the tension wide open.
Liam straightens. “We finally get SNL.”
Here we go.
He says it like it’s sacrilege. Like I’ve pissed on a cathedral.
“We’ve been clawing for this for going on two decades,” he goes on. “We’re coming off the best two years of our entire career. All the tours, all the bullshit, everything we gave up. You took half the year off. We waited around for you. And now you want to breathe?”
I cross the room slow, holding his gaze. “Yeah. I do.”
A beat of silence.
I pour a splash of apple juice into one of the kids’ glasses and take a sip.
“We’ve been pushing for years,” I repeat for the umpteenth time, hoping he’ll fucking hear me in front of our entire family. “Maybe now’s the time to slow down before we burn out. Or our private lives get us dragged through the mud.”
His eyes flash.
Seamus clocks it from the corner, but says nothing. He’s learned.
We all have.
Connor leans forward, arms crossed, calm as you please in his attempt to settle us down like we’re his wee brothers and not nearly forty-year-old men. “It’s not about now, lads. LTZ hit our peak and we ran ourselves into the ground chasing every next big thing. You remember how it ended for us.”
The whole room grinds to a halt. Even the fire.
Ronni’s hand rests over his bicep. “He’s not wrong.”
“Some things are bigger than the next big gig.” I nod to Ronni.
Liam doesn’t move right away. He stares over the rim of his soda, the fire catching the edge of the glass, then says what he knows I’m thinking out loud. “You want out.”
He turns partway toward the room. Not all the way. Enough to glance around without settling on anything. His gaze skips over Ronni with the baby, over the girls whispering on the rug. Over Stevie. Over Rafferty, curled asleep in the corner like he doesn’t exist.
“You’re chasing a dream, Dar. The whole family thing. The quiet life. Pretending it’s enough.” His voice stays rough. Tight across the vowels. “It isn’t real.”
The world slows to a stop as I stare at him, slack-jawed.
He doesn’t say Stevie’s name.
Doesn’t look at her. Not directly.
Hasn’t since we walked in.
He hasn’t asked about the kids. Never even mentioned Rafferty’s birthday he missed four months ago.
He stands here, shaking his head at me, pretending he knows what’s real.
I’m watching him unravel and try to take me down with him.
This isn’t about the band.
It’s about me.
It’s about the life I built while I was away from him. A truly fulfilling life.
Because all of our children—hers and mine—belong to me now. I’m part of their every morning, every scraped knee, every bedtime story whispered in the dark.
He doesn’t have any comprehension of what it means. Doesn’t know where he fits into my new life.
When, for years, there was no line between us.
I gave him everything. From the beginning. Every win, every failure, every damn chord, every fucking hour I didn’t spend with her when she decided to pursue her own dreams. Every night I stayed on the road when I wanted to be with her. Every moment I told myself Fireball was my only future.
When it wasn’t. Not necessarily.
I wouldn’t trade the time my brother and I had together for the music, for the bond we’ve both bled for.
Now, my life’s pulling me in a different direction and he doesn’t want to let me go.
Last time it cost me the only person who ever made the rest of it mean something. I let it happen. I thought if I held it together—no—if I held him together, it would all be okay.
I’m not doing it anymore.
For the first time in my adult life, I’m where I belong. Over the past couple years with Stevie, we’ve slowly built our foundation back piece by piece. We’ve had the hard conversations. I’ve earned every bruise trying to be the kind of man who’s worthy of this family.
Nothing can break us apart this time. We’re solid now. Real.
I’m choosing what makes me happy.
What grounds me are the people who depend on me. They aren’t asking me to be someone I’m not.
Possibly, it’s what bugs Liam the most.
My brother can’t face what he’s avoiding. Doesn’t understand the reason he runs. So he’s turning it on me. Pointing the finger. Calling my life a fantasy.
As if loving someone fully is na?ve.
And choosing to stay means I’m weak.
It makes me sad. All I see is fear, buried under everything he’s trying not to say.
Without me by his side, he’s gonna have to face what’s been chasing him.
I wonder if he can.
My attention is pulled back into focus to the kids when I see how his words have affected them.
Isla shifts on the rug. Lila frowns. Jude stops spinning.
“Hey.” My voice cuts across the room, sharper than I intend.
He lifts his chin, daring me.
“You don’t get to talk about my life like it’s a fucking prop.” I square up to him.
Connor clears his throat. “Lads…”
I breathe once, hard. Then again. “I love the band. Always will. But I’m not measuring success by late-night shows and backstage passes anymore. I’ve got a family. I’ve got four kids who know when I’m gone too long.”
Liam gestures to them. “They’ll survive.”
Stevie rises slowly and stands by my side. She doesn’t interrupt. She doesn’t have to.
The weight of her presence says everything.
I feel Isla looking at me. Her gaze burns more than Liam’s.
“I’m not chasing the same things you are anymore.” I jab my finger in his direction. “I know it’s hard for you to understand.”
Liam’s jaw flexes. “You think I don’t have a life?”
I don’t answer.
Because it’s not about what he has or doesn’t have now. He’s afraid his version of love won’t ever lead here. To this.
He blinks once, then turns toward the door. “You’re a fucking pussy.”
It’s cruel. Meant to cut.
“Better than hollow,” I murmur.
He stops walking. Doesn’t turn.
Then keeps going. The front door doesn’t slam, but the silence it leaves behind does.
Stevie encircles my wrist, and leans her head on my shoulder.
“I didn’t mean for the confrontation to happen in front of them,” I say under my breath.
“I know.” Her voice is soft. “But, he did.”
The room feels warped, stretched too thin. No one moves. The fire crackles, almost too loud.
Ma puts away a serving bowl with more force than needed. Cillian stands by the biscuit tin, unmoving. Seamus’s girlfriend clasps his hand. Connor exhales slowly, looking toward the front door Liam disappeared through.
I lean down and kiss Stevie’s hair. “Let’s get them.”
She nods.
We don’t make a show of it. No apology. No excuse. I reach for Jude first, and he wraps his arms around my neck. Lila looks up, worried, already reading the air. Isla won’t meet my eyes, which makes my heart hurt more than anything Liam said.
Rafferty’s asleep in the corner, mouth open, one sock missing. I scoop him up in my other arm. Stevie gestures to the girls, guiding them gently toward the hall.
Ronni gives my arm a quiet squeeze as I pass. Ma says nothing, but her chin dips, barely. Connor watches me go like he wants to step in and fix it, but knows he can’t.
We slip down the hallway toward the small guest room behind the stairs. Used to be Da’s recovery room, years ago, before he got sober. It’s remodeled now, clean, dimly lit, a folded quilt at the foot of the twin bed.
I set Rafferty down and let him keep sleeping. Jude stays in my lap. Lila climbs up beside Stevie without hesitation. Isla hovers by the wall.
“Sit, sweetheart,” Stevie says gently.
Isla slides down slow. Knees pulled to her chest.
I glance toward Stevie, and she nods.
“Listen,” I start. “What happened out there wasn’t okay. Not in front of you.”
“Was Uncle Liam mad?” Jude gazes up at me.
“He’s upset, yeah.” I run a hand through his curls. “But not at you. Never at you.”
Lila frowns. “At us?”
“No, love,” Stevie says quickly. “None of this is about you. It’s about grown-up stuff. Band stuff.”
“You’re not going back on tour?” Isla says flatly.
“I used to think being in a band was the most important thing in my life.” I lean toward her. “For a long time, it was. I gave everything to it. To Uncle Liam.”
Stevie’s hand finds mine, grounding me.
“Over the past couple of years of getting to know all of you, I realized the most important thing in my life was already here.” I kiss Stevie’s temple. “With your mom. Rafferty. All of you.”
Jude leans his forehead against mine.
Lila sniffles. “Is he gonna stay mad at you?”
“Probably for a little while.” I shrug. “He always comes back. We’re twins.”
Isla picks at her nail. “He really doesn’t like us.”
My breath catches.
Stevie takes over. “Isla, he doesn’t know you. Not really. He’s figuring out what it means to have a family.”
Isla doesn’t reply. She gets up and gives me a huge hug.
I pull her into my side, arms wide enough to gather her and Jude and Lila at once.
Stevie leans into the tangle of limbs, her hand pressed against Raff’s back, the whole bed full of kids and tired hearts and everything I never thought I’d get to have.
I don’t know what Liam’s future holds.
Mine is in this room.