Chapter 15
fifteen
Linus
Five Days Later
I’m buzzing from the sheer joy of it all.
Fireball’s final show of the West Coast run.
Seattle didn’t just show up, they roared. I felt every beat of it. From the crowd and stage and everywhere in between.
I’m good at my job. Coordinating all the details.
Load-in at noon, backline tuned and techs briefed by four, security swept by six.
I scheduled the interviews, wrangled Felicity a makeup artist when she threw a fit.
Chased down Liam’s replacement guitar strings when his high E snapped in soundcheck.
I even stopped a drunk house tech from knocking over Padraig’s kick pedal mid-set.
Every fire handled, every cue hit. They don’t see it, not really. If I’m doing my job correctly, they won’t need to.
God, I feel it.
Something bigger. The prospect of this band becoming a movement.
Fireball’s not perfect. They’re messy, chaotic, too scattered at times. But they’ve got it. The “thing.”
Liam. Jesus. Watching him play tonight, something inside me cracked open.
His fingers blurred across the fretboard, curls plastered to his forehead, black shirt clinging to his spine. He tipped his chin up during the final chorus of Tír na nóg, sweat gleaming under the lights, and for a second, he wasn’t playing, he was flying.
I swear he levitated during the bridge, caught in the gravity of the crowd.
No one could look away.
Including me.
I linger near the stage door long enough to make sure the house staff’s wrapping up the VIPs, then duck backstage and head for the green room. I’m exhausted. Elated. Wired.
When I push the door open, the McGloughlin twins are already inside. Drenched in sweat, adrenaline still leaking from their pores. Their older brother Connor’s there too, slouched into the busted loveseat with a root beer, looking like he’s right where he belongs.
I clock him instantly. Same brown eyes as Liam. Bigger. Taller. A few more lines in his brow. He’s young, yeah, but there’s weight behind his gaze. A weariness.
I stiffen slightly, caught off-guard. Liam never said his brother would be here. Or maybe he did and I missed it in the rush.
“Linus, there you are.” Liam nods at me from where he’s pacing. “Connor, this is our manager.”
Manager.
Not boyfriend. Not partner.
Not the man Liam kissed three hours ago behind the amps, gripping the back of my neck like he couldn’t get close enough.
Not the man he bent over right in this fucking dressing room after sound check.
Just…manager.
The word cracks something in me, even though I knew it was coming.
We agreed to keep it quiet in our families. Until we figure out how to make it work without blowing up the band. So, I get it. I do.
Hearing me reduced to a title burns. The distance in his voice, like none of us ever happened. Like I’m here to carry gear and cut checks.
I stay quiet. Swallow it. The truth is, I’d do anything for him. For all of them. Even if it means pretending I’m not the one who gets to see the real Liam when the lights go down.
Connor stands, offers his hand. “Heard good things. Cheers.”
I take it. “Pleasure. Congrats on joining the encore.”
Connor shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s pride in his posture. He looks from me to Liam and back again, eyes narrowing like he’s connecting dots I’m not sure he wants laid bare.
Before I can say more, the door swings open again and Felicity breezes in, all eyes and attitude.
Her dress clings in ways beyond comprehension. Navy satin draped low on her back, lips painted the color of bruises. She heads straight for the mirror and blots her lipstick with practiced disdain.
“C’mon,” she coos. “Can’t we splurge on champagne for the last night of tour?”
She’s not talking to me. She never talks to me when there’s someone more important in the room.
Padraig doesn’t flinch. “Felicity. If you want to get fucked up, we have the next few weeks off. Do it on your own time.”
“For Christ’s sake,” she scoffs. “For a bunch of Irish guys, you’re no fun. Too fucking wholesome.”
Connor raises his eyebrows. Liam’s silent.
I sense it before it hits. The shift in energy.
Connor gives her a polite nod. “Hey, love, mind giving us a minute, yeah? Family stuff.”
“Me?” She blinks at him in mock confusion. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I belong here. Go about your business.”
Her eyes flick over me, lingering a fraction too long.
Liam growls, “Jesus Christ. Take a fuckin’ hint.”
His words give her the opening she’s been waiting for.
She straightens intentionally, every motion rehearsed. “For the record. This is my band too. I’ve been part of every show. Every mile on the road. Every song. I’m sick of being treated like an outsider.”
I see it then. The crack in her mask. Not hurt—calculation.
Padraig tries to soften it. “Felicity, c’mon. We haven’t seen our brother in over a year. This isn’t band shit, its family, okay?”
She scoffs. Grabs her bag. Flips her hair.
Exits, stage left.
The door clicks shut. Silence falls.
Liam collapses into the chair across from Connor. Padraig rubs his temples. Connor leans in, ready to talk shop.
I retreat, giving them space. My job’s done in here. I most certainly am not family.
Outside the dressing room, I lean against the wall, head tipped back, trying to quell my thoughts. The inevitable fallout with Felicity. Me leaving eventually.
“Manager, huh?” I whisper to no one.
I’m not naive. Unless something changes, we have an end date. One I try not to think about. I know I’m not merely their manager. I’m the man he wakes up beside every morning. I know how he likes his coffee and how his breath stutters before he comes.
Still. The scene in the dressing room twists something deep in my gut. What if I’m not with them one day?
I don’t get long to dwell. Felicity storms over, heels clacking like gunfire. I instinctively step back, but she sees me.
Of course she does.
“Oh.” Her voice is syrupy with venom. “The shadow emerges.”
I don’t rise to it. “Rough night?”
“Don’t start with me.” She stalks past, then doubles back. “Actually, no. Let’s do this.”
I blink. “Do what, exactly?”
“This.” She throws her arms wide. “This little silent war everyone’s pretending isn’t happening. You think you’re so fucking clever, managing the band, playing nice with the twins. I see through you. You’re not special.”
I meet her gaze. “I’m here to keep the band on track. Nothing more.”
She laughs, bitter and broken. “Oh please. You’re in love with Liam. You don’t think I hear you guys fucking every goddamn night?”
I stay silent.
Her voice drops. “You don’t even realize you’re another notch on his belt.”
My spine straightens. I’m aware of Liam’s fuck-boy past, but hearing it from her point of view is raw. Real.
“How many times do you think he fucked me? Twice? Three times?” She leans in, breath hot. “Try nine.”
My stomach turns.
“Every time he was bored. Or lonely. Or drunk on the high of the crowd.” She smirks. “You think you’re different? Nah. You’re the clean-up crew. A fuck-buddy until he decides to move on again.”
I exhale in defeat. “You’re angry. I get it. Whatever’s happenin’ between Liam and me isn’t your business.”
“Oh, it is,” she snaps. “I’ve been pushed aside. Replaced.”
“You’re not being replaced. You’re choosing not to be part of the team.” My tone is intentionally callous. “You’re talented, Felicity. But you treat everyone like they’re beneath you.”
For a split second, I see something underneath the bravado. Pain.
Then she shoves it down.
“You’ll see,” she says softly. “He doesn’t stay. He never stays.”
She walks away.
Back in the dressing room, the energy’s calmer. Liam’s laughing at something Padraig says, head tipped back, eyes crinkled with joy. He looks younger when he’s happy. Lighter.
He sees me and waves me in, eyes sparkling.
“Everything sorted?” he asks.
I nod. “Venue’s happy. Merch sold out. Tour’s a wrap.”
He gives me a quick grin, all teeth.
Later, when I fall asleep next to him, he pulls me closer than usual. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
We still have months before we have to cross that bridge.
For now, I’ll take whatever he has to give.