Chapter 22
twenty-two
Liam
Two Years Later
Mitch’s playlist hums through half-blown speakers, some lo-fi mix he swears keeps him awake.
The rest of us are ghosts in motion.
It’s been two long years of the same. Long drives, shitty motels, clubs paying in envelopes of damp cash and “great exposure.” Hundreds of shows, and my body feels carved out by every one of them.
The mini-bus smells like sweat, old fries, wet leather. The scent of living on the road.
Padraig’s asleep beside me, chin to his chest, hair falling forward. It’s long now, past his collarbone, dark waves hiding his face. His hoodie’s faded and his jeans are torn in the knees. There’s a grease stain on his thigh from some van repair he helped Mitch with three days ago.
He hasn’t changed his clothes since. Neither have I.
We’ve been living like animals. Unshaven, unwashed. Chasing something elusive.
Arleigh’s got her headphones on, mouthing lyrics to whatever she’s listening to. Her voice is the only thing keeping Fireball afloat at this point, and she’s at the end of her rope. Mitch keeps one hand on the wheel, the other cradles his third gas-station coffee.
The whirr of the tires fills the silence.
My head leans against the window. The glass vibrates against my skull.
Outside, the horizon blurs gray-blue, endless.
We’re two days out from Seattle. We’re not headlining our next show, instead we’re opening for my brother Connor’s band, Less Than Zero at the legendary club The Mission.
The thought of home twists something inside me. We haven’t been back since the Felicity debacle.
Padraig stirs beside me. “We still in Ohio?”
“Indiana now, I think.”
He rubs a hand over his face, yawning. “Same shit either way. What are you up to?”
“Thinkin’.” I shrug.
“Dangerous.”
I huff out a laugh. “You’d know.”
He stretches his legs. “Cillian texted last night. Says Da’s better. Workin’ part-time again, even helps Connor on job sites some days. Apparently, he’s not like before.”
“Connor said the same.”
“Yeah.” He pauses. “I think he’s tryin,’ Liam.”
I stare out the window. “Tryin’ doesn’t erase what he did.”
Padraig doesn’t argue. He never does. Miles of silence spool between us.
I shift in my seat, the memory crawling up before I can stop it. It’s always there. The sound of his voice, the look in his eyes, the smell of whiskey and sweat.
“You know what I remember most?” I murmur quietly.
Padraig looks over, wary.
“The sound.” My voice barely carries. “The sound my head made when it hit the stairs.”
He goes still. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.
“I don’t remember the pain,” I go on. “Not really. I remember the noise. Like a watermelon splittin’ open.”
He swallows. “Liam—”
“I also remember your face,” I cut in. “You were covered in my blood, and you still tried to make him stop. You shouldn’t have had to.”
His throat works. “I’d do it again.”
“I know.”
Silence permeates the van.
Oblivious, Arleigh shifts in the back, lost in her music. Mitch clears his throat and turns the volume up a notch, maybe sensing he shouldn’t be privy to this conversation.
Padraig stares at his hands now. “I think about it, too. The sound of you hittin’ the floor. The way Seamus cried. How Da walked away without looking back.”
My stomach flips.
He keeps going, voice shaking but steady. “He looked right through you. Through both of us. Like we weren’t his sons anymore. I swear, Liam, something in me broke. I’ll never forgive him for it.”
“Aye.”
Padraig turns toward me, eyes bright with tears he’ll never let fall. “You nearly died. And we never talk about it. We packed up, went to college, focused on the band, and pretended it didn’t happen.”
“What else were we supposed to do?” My tone’s too sharp. I soften it. “Connor did the best he could. We couldn’t stay. Da hated me.”
“He hated himself.”
I scoff. “Generous.”
“He did. Still does, probably.”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t make it easier to see him.”
He leans back, watching me. “Are you scared?”
“Of him?”
“Of going home.”
I take a long breath. “Yeah.”
“Me too,” he admits. “But not for the same reason.”
I tilt my head.
He hesitates. “You’re my brother. I feel like I’ve spent half my life tryin’ to keep you alive. The other half tryin’ to convince myself you don’t need me to.”
My chest squeezes. “Dar—”
“No, let me say it.” He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Every time I look at you, I remember thinkin’ you might never open your eyes again. Now, every time you shut down or pull away, it feels like you’re still halfway down those stairs.”
I look at him. Really look. The dark crescents under his eyes. The weight he’s lost. How his hands tremble slightly when he talks.
He’s right. I’ve been slipping for years. Ever since Linus left.
“Sometimes I still hear him,” I whisper. “In my head. Callin’ me a disgrace. A shame.”
Padraig’s voice breaks. “You’re not.”
“Most days I know. But it’s in there now permanently, yeah? Part of me will always wonder if loving men and women means I’m broken. Does wantin’ too much make me unworthy?”
“You’re not.” He’s adamant
I smile, small and tired. “You’re biased.”
“Not enough.”
For a while, the only sound is the road. A faint snore from Arleigh. Mitch humming under his breath.
Padraig clears his throat. “You think you’ll ever tell them the whole truth? About Linus.”
“Maybe.”
“When?”
“When it doesn’t feel like a confession.”
He nods understandingly. “He loved you.”
“I know.”
“You loved him.”
“I still do.”
Padraig looks out the window. “Then why’d you let him go?”
“I couldn’t give him what he deserved. Not out here. Not while I’m still tryin’ to prove I deserve to exist.”
His brow furrows. “You do exist. You’ve done more livin’ in twenty-five years than most men do in sixty.”
I snort. “Yeah, and look where it got me. Broke. Exhausted. Fucked up.”
What I don’t say is I’m sick of taking scraps of what I want. I keep falling into a trap of fucking whoever’s available when I’m horny. The release carries me for a few days until I do it all over again.
It’s not enough. Not after what I had with Linus and now Linus is gone. I selfishly ghosted him to save myself from falling apart. I don’t deserve him. Probably never did.
Padraig, unaware of this particular inner torment, chuckles. “You’re brilliant. And loyal. And the best guitar player I’ve ever seen.”
“Now you’re lyin.’”
“Nah.” He smiles. “I wouldn’t bullshit youse.”
We sit in fragile peace for a while.
The van rattles as Mitch swerves around a pothole. Arleigh grumbles, and slumps down on the seat.
I glance at Padraig again. “You think we can do this? Keep going?”
“We don’t have a choice. We’ve given up too much to quit.”
“You still miss her?”
He looks away. “Every second.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She made her choice.” He shakes his head. “I made mine. I wouldn’t trade it if it means bein’ with you on stage every night.”
His words hit something deep. “You mean it?”
“Always.”
I squeeze my eyes shut to stave off tears. “Love you, Dar.”
“Love you, Dar.”
Outside, the sky lightens. The first gray hints of morning edge along the horizon. I watch the blur of highway signs. “You think the wee ones will be different?”
“Of course. Cillian’s twenty now, a proper uni student. Brennan’s inventin’ some software shit. Seamus still talks about medicine like he’s already a doctor.”
“Our brothers grew up without us.”
Padraig sighs. “We’ll make it up to them.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We fall into silence again.
The air in the van feels thicker. Warmed by sunlight bleeding through dirty windows. I close my eyes and let the vibration of the road hum against my spine.
When I speak again, I’m hesitant. “You think Da even remembers what happened?”
“Dunno.” He’s tentative too. “Hopefully, he remembers enough to hate himself for it.”
“Good.”
He looks at me. “Would it help if he said sorry?”
“No. It wouldn’t change what he did to me. I don’t want his apology. I want peace.”
“Maybe that’s what this trip is for.”
“Peace?”
He nods. “Aye. Or something close.”
I stare out the window again. For the first time in a long while, I think of home without anger. Mostly, it’s a dull ache.
“Please don’t tell the others,” I ask.
“About what?”
“About this. About how bad it still is. The nightmares. The flashbacks.”
He nods. “I know.”
“They deserve a good night. A dinner without drama.” I fold my arms across my body.
“We’ll keep the peace.”
I let out a long breath. “One night.”
“One night,” he echoes.
The van bumps over a crack in the road. The years between us, the scars, the silence. All of it falls away.
We’re not rock stars or broken sons or men still learning how to love.
We’re two kids again, hoping for the best.