Chapter 34 Liam
thirty-four
Liam
One Month Later
Life’s pretty fuckin’ great on the other side.
This is the first tour we’ve ever had with a full crew and a bus driver.
It’s fucking luxury and I don’t ever want to go back to slummin’ it.
The sun’s still high when we leave the backstage tent. Hot, heavy air clings to my skin, and my ears are already ringing from the last set we caught.
Germany throws a proper festival. Six stages. Smoke cannons, drone cams, girls in mesh bodysuits and guys covered in glitter and leather. Every ten feet someone hands us a drink or a flyer or a branded condom.
Me and Padraig keep our heads low under baseball hats. No one bothers us. Not yet.
We’ve played a few of these now, opening for LTZ across Europe, but this one feels bigger. Louder. A little more chaotic.
The best part about it is the downtime. There’s no frenzy to pack up, drive to the next town and do it all again.
We’re able to check out other music, which is how we’re spending the next few hours.
As we navigate through the crowd, two girls with airbrush tattoos are dancing barefoot next to a line of food trucks.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” My stomach growls at the smell of fried onions and garlic. “Still ridin’ LTZ’s coattails. Openin’ for them. Watchin’ Connor become a god.”
Padraig smiles faintly. “Not weird. Well-deserved.”
“Yeah, but still. It’s a trip. Feels like yesterday he was hauling drywall to pay our tuition. Now he’s datin’ fuckin’ America’s sweetheart.” I’m not envious, exactly.
Padraig nods but seems a million miles away. “Ronni’s cool.”
I glance over at him, walking beside me like he has since we were in diapers. Same gait, same rhythm. Quieter now. Sadder. The lines around his mouth are deeper.
So many years have passed and he’s still not over Stevie. When he’s in a mood like this, it’s best not to push. To be fair, he doesn’t push me either.
I’m not over Linus either. I have so many regrets at how I handled things and now it’s too late. I’m pretty good at hiding it, though. There’s a long trail of people I’ve hooked up with and discarded. Meaningless fucks leaving me more and more empty with each passing day.
“He’s not changed, has he?”
Padraig kicks a pebble. “Not where it counts.”
“You heard anything else from Koko?”
My brother frowns. “No, but we both know this is her last run. When we’re done with the tour, she’ll leave.”
God, it pisses me off. We’re having the biggest swing of momentum in our career and we’ll likely be back to square one.
“New album. Bigger crowds. More money and better tours,” I grouse. “She picks now to ditch us? What are we gonna do with no fucking singer?”
“Dar, stop.” Padraig chuffs out a snort. “She was never stayin’. We both knew it and we’ve buried our heads in the sand.”
He’s right, and while part of me is relieved, the other part is exhausted. It seems like we can never catch a goddamn break.
The music from the nearby stage shifts. Something acoustic, but not soft. Deep. It’s a woman’s voice. Low, smooth, aching.
Every single one of my hairs stand on end. I turn toward the sound. So does Padraig.
Hers is not the kind of voice you forget. Dusty velvet. Pain polished into pearl. She’s not trying to impress anyone, it’s more like she’s cut herself open to let people see inside.
Without speaking, we change course.
As we approach the stage, she’s lit by amber stage lights, barefoot on a patterned rug. Wavy blondish hair, loose around her shoulders. Her fingers wrap the neck of her guitar like she’s conjuring the chords rather than playing them.
Her dress clings to her hips, loose and easy, but there’s a kind of fire in the way she plays. Controlled. Smoldering. I’ve never seen anything so innocent and yet dirty at the same time.
“Fuck,” Padraig whispers.
I can’t speak. Or take my eyes off her. She performs like she’s lived in hell and made it a home. No frills. No dancers. The crowd is fully locked in.
The sign on the banner behind her reads: Avonna.
I repeat it in my head. Avonna.
Padraig and I stand mesmerized throughout the entire set. Every single one of her lyrics cuts through me. Her songs couldn’t possibly be about me. Or, me and Linus.
But they could be.
I stand with my fists stuffed in my hoodie pockets, trying not to shout my approval. Her voice wraps around me like a prayer and I’m gutted when she lets us know it’s her last song. I barely breathe until the final note drops.
When it ends, no one claps at first. Then the entire crowd erupts.
Padraig turns to me, eyes wide. “Who the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know.”
But we need to.
The two of us meander like common fans toward her merch booth. It’s legit. She clearly has a team behind her. Vinyl, shirts, leather-bound lyric books. A video loop plays footage from her earlier sets. Magazine covers. Interviews.
She’s not up-and-coming. She’s arrived. I’m the one late to this party.
Our artist passes get us behind the barrier to the backstage area without any hassle. There she is, two feet away, smiling politely at VIP festival-goers and a few industry types.
Refreshingly, she hangs back a bit. Unassuming though it’s impossible not to see her. Rosy cheeks. Sweat-damp curls. Her wide eyes narrow slightly when they land on me. A flicker of recognition sparks but she’s already on to the next.
I’m used to it. Famous without being well-known. In all likelihood she knows Fireball and can’t quite place why I look familiar.
Then her eyes flick back to mine, and something goes electric in my chest.
“I feel like I know you,” I say before I can stop myself.
She tilts her head, smile widening, but not mockingly. “Do you?”
“Yeah. Sorry. That was—creepy.” I glance at Padraig, who probably thinks I’m hitting on her.
“Only a little.” She laughs softly, and I’m fucking gone.
Padraig jumps in, always the smoother one. “Your set was incredible. Neither of us are familiar with your work and now you have two more enthusiastic fans.”
“Thanks.” She extends her hand. “Avonna.”
Padraig takes it first, introduces us both. “I’m Padraig. This is Liam. Yeah, we’re twins. We play in a band called Fireball.”
Avonna’s hand fits mine perfectly. Her skin’s warm. When she looks at me again, there’s something in her gaze. Now I’m certain it’s recognition. Also, curiosity?
Heat?
“Liam.” Her voice curves around my name like she’s tasting it.
I don’t let go right away. Neither does she.
“So, twins from Fireball.” She finally lets go and mops her brow with a towel. “I saw you in Belfast a few weeks ago. I live in Dublin.”
“An American in Dublin.” I shoot her my most devastating grin.
She steps closer. Not shy. Not full of herself either.
Grounded. Composed.
“You’re better live than in videos.” She winks.
“Same to you.”
This senselessness makes Avonna laugh. Her energy crackles. She’s the kind of woman who draws people in whether they want it or not. There’s something behind her eyes too. History. Weight.
“You sticking around for our set?” I ask like a schoolboy.
She quirks a brow. “Wasn’t planning on it. You inviting me?”
“Aye.” I lean in slightly. “Wouldn’t be polite not to.”
Her gaze doesn’t drop. “Then I accept.”
We’re flirting. I know it. She knows it. I like the way it feels. Easy. Unrushed.
“Your voice…” I start, but the words falter. She waits. I try again. “It knocked me flat. Like you’ve bled through every lyric.”
“Well, sometimes I have.”
“You’re incredible.” I mean it. “The raw stuff’s what lasts. Polish washes off.”
Her lips part, and I think she’s about to say something else. Keep the conversation going. I want her to.
Then I feel it. The back of my neck goes rigid.
Awareness.
A ripple in the air you only get when someone from your past steps into your present.
Linus.
He walks up from behind us and stands next to her.
He hasn’t changed. Not really. Obviously, a little older.
Full beard. His eyes are the same. So is the way he stands.
The tilt of his head, like he’s been watching me for years.
Same unreadable gaze. His body is leaner now, more refined.
Sun-kissed skin under a black shirt fitted like it was tailored to his bones. He looks sharp. Calm.
“Liam.” His voice cuts like a memory.
My mouth goes dry. Padraig immediately takes a half step back, giving me space. His eyes flick between us like he knows how monumental this moment is.
I can’t speak.
Linus doesn’t either. Not right away.
Avonna’s gaze bounces between us.
“Linus.” She touches his arm.
Neither of us moves.
Padraig speaks before I can. “He used to manage our band.”
Linus holds my gaze. “Among other things.”
I can’t pinpoint how I feel. I sure don’t know what I expected if I ever saw him again. Rage? Tears? Something explosive.
Instead, everything stills.
He places his hand on Avonna’s shoulder. “I manage Avonna now.”
I blink. What?
It makes no sense and perfect sense at once.
I look at her. “Really? Linus O’Donnell is your manager?”
“Yeah. He’s the best.” She tilts her head up at him.
“Ah, well, you always had good taste.” I direct this to him, trying to play it cool.
Linus’s lip twitches. “So does she.”
Wait, what?
I can’t tell if he means her music or something else.
Before I can figure it out, Padraig tugs on my elbow, likely saving me from myself. “Dar, it’s getting late. We should check our stage setup.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Padraig. Liam.” As I take a step back, Avonna touches my forearm. “Thank you both for your kind words. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
I flick my gaze to Linus before I meet her eyes and hold. “Count on it.”
When we walk away, I feel Linus’s gaze on my back like heat from a blazing sun.
Shit.
My past has finally caught up with me.
I have no idea what it wants.