Chapter 53
fifty-three
Avonna
One Year Later
The morning is pure chaos.
Quinn barrels across the living room on wobbling legs, shrieking with triumph like she owns the earth she walks on.
Sloane sits on the floor beside the couch, turning a wooden block over in her hand with quiet concentration.
Fire and water. One wild, one still. Fraternal twins in every possible way. They mirror their father’s respective personalities.
I lower myself onto the rug beside Sloane, knees cracking in protest. Their birth was rough on my body and mind.
Some days I feels like a house someone forgot to finish building.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Quinn making a beeline for the bookshelf.
Liam swoops in before she can climb it, planting her on his hip.
He kisses her cheek until she squeals, catching my eye over her shoulder.
He smiles with relief. I’m not freaking out like I would have done a year ago.
Postpartum anxiety consumed me for months after they were born. My brain conjured up danger at every weird noise. Every creak of the house. I checked their breathing religiously. Melted down if they slept longer than expected.
Pregnancy drummed up a lot of old emotions. Then, suddenly, I was in charge of two small lives in the midst of shaking off shadows of my past. I kept guard over them the way no one ever kept guard over me, afraid my childhood might slip through the cracks and touch them.
Liam and I have been each other’s rocks. As I helped him navigate his relationship with Rory, he contacted my old therapist for a referral. The right drug cocktail helped. The fog has thinned. My hormones leveled out. I’m able to be present with my babies without shaking from unfounded terror.
I breathe easier now and love being a mother more than I ever dreamed possible. The mess. Their weight against my chest. Every sticky kiss.
My body on the other hand? Not so much. My curves are different. Softer. Squishier. I’m heavy in places I never expected. I can’t seem to be bothered with any sort of fitness routine.
Liam assures me he loves the way I look. Linus, when he’s home, still adores me like a religion he invented. While I’m happy they’re both still attracted to me, it’s time for me to get ready to step back into the spotlight. Even if the thought of leaving my daughters is unfathomable.
The guilt sits low and constant, wanting to be home with our girls instead of getting back to work.
Liam’s chomping at the bit to be on stage again.
Spends hours working on music in our makeshift recording studio after the girls are asleep.
Traveled with Padraig last month to an award show and came back raring to go.
I can’t fault him for getting back into the groove.
Over the past year since the twins were born, he’s been incredible.
Hands-on, steady, shoulder to shoulder with me every sleepless night.
We’ve been together for every bottle, every fever, every first. The rhythm of our days is shaped around their needs, their laughter, their cries.
It’s changed us.
We’re a true triad now. Linus and I had our years alone, Linus and Liam had theirs. Now, Liam and I have sealed our side of the triangle.
Today, Linus is coming home in time for the twins' first birthday. We’re so ready to have him back.
He opens the front door and lets his suitcase fall against the wall with a soft thud.
The sound of his voice sends Sloane squealing across the room.
Quinn freezes mid-squack, eyes wide with recognition.
He’s already on the rug before I can stand, scooping them both into his lap, covering their cheeks in kisses until they’re shrieking with laughter.
Then he turns to me. Pulls me close until our foreheads touch, his breath warm against my skin. The second his hands find my waist, I feel his relief at him being home.
Also, something deeper. Hungrier.
Liam stoops down and kisses him, like he’s grounding all of us.
“We missed you.” He nuzzles his beard.
Linus’s hand finds the small of his back. “I felt it. Every minute.”
He misses us more than he lets on. I see it in the way his messages get longer the later it gets, when the hotel curtains are drawn. He longs for our quiet intimacy, laughter in the kitchen, sex in person instead of watching me and Liam fuck to get him off.
Life now is far from the steadiness of when the three of us did everything together.
The thing is, Isis Management exploded. Every artist he signs turns to gold.
He’s building an empire, and it’s beautiful to watch.
On the down side, Linus knows the Delta first class lounge menu by heart.
Remembers which flight attendants will sneak him biscuits and what airports have the best espresso.
He sends us videos from green rooms and side-stage corridors, eyes tired, promising, “Next month will be quieter.”
It never is.
He tries. God, he tries. Overcorrects with too many gifts for the girls. Never misses a FaceTime call with them. Puts way too much pressure on himself.
Linus is always afraid of not being enough, even when he’s already everything.
Every time he comes home to us, his whole body radiates with tension. Urgency. A need to re-anchor. He’s wired. Overstimulated. Rather than rest and have some downtime with his daughters, he wants to immediately integrate into our routine.
We try to keep him involved, but he always feels disconnected from raising his kids. Our sex life. Liam’s reunion with his family. All of the day-to-day activities.
To cope, we’ve been seeing a relationship therapist to navigate this stage of our life.
It’s like everything else. We hit a wall, then build a door.
Slam into another, then build stairs. We’re learning by bruises and patience.
Find tools to communicate before and after fights.
Make commitments not to gang up on each other.
Hold space for each other’s insecurities and fears.
We’re inventing the rules. There’s no manual for a life built by three hearts.
Today, we’re meeting with a colleague of my family friend, Marcella Delgado, who helped LTZ guitarist, Zane Rocks’ fiancée gain full custody of her daughter in a bitter dispute and specializes in complicated family structures.
We’re finalizing all of the paperwork to legally protect each of our parental rights with the girls and with each other.
Decidedly the least sexy part of our relationship.
Realizing it’s time to go, I stand up. Linus watches me struggle to my feet and frowns. I shoot him a look before he can say anything. “I’m fine.”
“You’re tired,” he observes helpfully.
“We’re all tired,” I retort.
Liam hugs me from behind. “Quinn woke us at three, Sloane at five. We’re more than tired. We’re spiritually defeated.”
Hearing him joke about it means he’s over the grumpiness. Linus’s presence has a funny way of helping him in this regard.
“You two take the girls, I’ve got to change.
” I head to the bedroom to find something presentable to wear.
My jeans fit again, but not comfortably.
My hips look fuller. My stomach isn’t flat.
My thighs touch in new places. I try to repeat the mantra “your body is beautiful, a map of everything you’ve survived. ”
If I’m ever going to be on stage again, I need to be strong. Grounded. Able to stand in front of a mic without feeling like the floor will swallow me whole.
Liam comes up behind me as I fasten my necklace. He places his hands on my waist, warm and steady. His cheek rests against the top of my head.
“What are you thinkin’?” he asks.
I meet his eyes in the mirror. “I’ll be glad to get this paperwork done.”
“Aye.” He slips his arms around me. “I’ll go change the girls. I wanted to check on you.”
I lean up and kiss him. Liam’s so thoughtful and supportive. He’s grown so much. Fatherhood rewired him overnight but I know he misses the road. He’s ready. So is Linus. I’m the hold-up.
One day we’ll find balance again. I believe it more today than I did a year ago.
Linus comes in next. “Marcella texted. She’s ready whenever we arrive.”
He meets my gaze in the mirror. A flicker of nerves. He maintains he doesn’t care about ceremonies or paperwork or symbolic gestures, but he does. Ever since the fallout with his family, we’re all he’s got.
On the way to the firm, Quinn babbles in her seat and Sloane kicks her feet in happy silence. Marcella waits for us in the lobby like she can sense the chaos approaching.
Her smile is warm. Confident. “You five ready?”
I swallow. “Ready enough.”
Marcella leads us into her conference room like she’s done dozens of times before. Today, there’s something quieter in her step. Not cautious. Intentional. She knows what this meeting means to us.
Our future is about to be formalized.
Skylar Morgan, seated at the head of the table, gives us a welcoming nod. “I’ve reviewed the drafts and we’re in excellent shape.” She sets stacks of documents in front of us. “Today is about clarity and next steps.”
Liam, Linus, and I take our seats, leaving the girls in their car seats.
The platinum Claddagh rings on our fingers glint under the overhead lights, proof of the choice we made back in Dublin.
The day after Linus’s family fractured, we went to a little shop off the River Liffey and bought symbols of our own making.
Love. Loyalty. Commitment.
“Everything’s been incorporated,” Skylar continues.
“The shared ownership of your Seattle home, which you can mirror on for any other properties you buy. Your healthcare directives and power of attorney. The coparenting agreement, guardianship instructions, and the trust language surrounding your daughters.”
Linus takes my hand. I squeeze gently.
Skylar scrolls through her notes. “Let’s talk public-facing details.
Your relationship is private. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.
At the same time, you’re not anonymous. Fireball is known.
Your audience is growing. Linus, as their manager, and Avonna and Liam, as rising artists in your own right, you’ll need to agree how you want to be seen. ”
“You don’t have to label yourselves.” Marcella glances at us. “It’d be good to be on the same page about how public you’ll be. Joint interviews? Social media? Tours? Awards shows?”
Liam leans forward. “We’re not hidin’. We’re not making any announcements.”
I nod. “If people notice the rings, fine. If they ask, we’ll handle it. We’re not pitching a documentary.”
“Good.” Skylar smiles faintly. “Lead with boundaries, not defensiveness.”
Linus clears his throat. “My bigger concern is band logistics. If things go sideways, like if someone uses our relationship to question Avonna’s role in Fireball, or my role managin’ them, I need protections in place.”
“We’ve included conflict-of-interest language, non-retaliation clauses, and a contingency if Fireball ever wants to restructure leadership.” Marcella is already ahead of him. “You’re covered.”
Liam’s jaw sets. “Not gonna happen.”
“I know,” Linus says quietly. “If it does, we’ll be ready.”
Marcella folds her hands. “There’s one last item to confirm.”
I look up.
“Parenting,” she says. “If anything happens to Avonna. Or to either of you.”
I exhale. “We already decided. They’re our daughters. Both of them. In every way.”
“The paperwork reflects your wishes.” Skylar nods. “Contractual paternity for both fathers. Cross-adoption finalized before their second birthday. No ambiguity.”
Liam looks at me. Then at Linus. “They deserve to grow up never questionin’ how loved they are.”
“They will.” Linus slides his hand across the table to take Liam’s hands.
Skylar closes the folder. “Well, we’re finished. The rest is signatures and notaries.”
“Congratulations.” Marcella looks at each of us in turn. “You’ve finished the tricky part. You’ve chosen each other. The rest is structure.”
We convene in her office with our signed documents, a parenting plan, and a trust protecting everything we’ve built.
Sloane crawls toward Linus and lifts her arms for him with a quiet chirp. He picks her up, kisses her forehead, and she melts against his shoulder. Quinn tries to scale Liam’s leg with wild determination before he scoops her up, laughing softly as she claws at his shirt.
Marcella watches all of us with a steady gaze. “You three have already built the love part. I envy you, Avonna.”
I look at my daughters. One serene. One fierce.
One from each man I love.
Nature wrote our story before we even knew there would be a chapter like this.