Chapter 63 Liam
sixty-three
Liam
New Year's Eve
The arena breathes like it’s alive.
Weighty.
Pressure pools under my boots. Climbs the risers. Settles into muscle and bone.
Climate Pledge Arena holds its breath with us, twenty thousand people leaning forward, waiting for ignition. New Year’s Eve sharpens everything. Endings feel closer tonight.
Beginnings louder.
Fireball is opening for LTZ. Our last fucking show.
The room feels seismic. Two forces sharing a single night, we may be playing first but there’s no hierarchy anymore.
Backstage teems with movement. Techs shouting counts. Guitars being tuned in standby. Drum cases stacked shoulder high. I roll my neck once, feel sweat already forming. Padraig stands a few feet away, sticks loose in his hands, wrists easy.
No pacing. No edge. His stillness unsettles me more than nerves ever could.
“You ready?” I ask warily.
He looks up and smiles. Calm. Certain. “Aye.”
Linus stands off to the side with Avonna, not directing or watching screens tonight. He’s soaking in the moment too. Sloane and Quinn have their headphones on. Avonna kisses them both and adjusts her in-ears and meets my gaze.
No hype. No pep talk. “You good?”
“As long as you are.”
She nods once. No need for more words, she understands how emotional this is for me.
We climb the stairs to the side stage. The lights drop. Our intro sound detonates and the sponsoring radio announcer thunders into the mike, “Ladies and Gentlemen hometown heroes, Firrrrrrrrebaaaaaallllllll!!!”
We step into it and the roar slams through my chest, rattles my ribs, buzzes my teeth. Avonna moves straight to the lip of the stage and the crowd surges forward in response. Her voice slices clean through everything, strong and unflinching.
I hit the opening chord.
Padraig locks in behind me, every hit lands with purpose. No waste. No hesitation.
The first song lifts and the room moves. Irish flags wave somewhere beyond the lights. Hands rise and fall in time. Sweat runs into my eyes. My fingers burn on the strings.
I don’t slow down for a fucking second.
Between songs, breath ragged, I glance back. Padraig grins, already counting the next entry.
We tear through the middle of the set. It’s going by too fast. I feel twenty years collapsing inward.
Small clubs with sticky floors. Vans rattling through rain.
Missed birthdays. Fights screamed and swallowed.
Reconciliations built on sound instead of words.
Every sacrifice a thread beneath the notes.
Avonna sings and the crowd follows. Cheering. Listening. Receiving.
During a quick interlude, I lean toward Padraig. “Still good?”
He laughs. Loud. Free. “Never better.”
Something shifts then. Not fear.
Recognition.
He isn’t bracing. He isn’t clinging. He’s present in a way I haven’t seen onstage since our college years.
By the time we reach the final few songs, my body vibrates with exhaustion and release. Avonna closes her eyes and opens the last song softer than expected. Forty thousand people quiet at once. I feel the pause ripple outward, a held breath shared by strangers, friends, and family alike.
The chorus hits and the crowd gives it back to us. Every word. Every note.
Padraig lifts his sticks high on the last beat.
Silence.
Then the noise breaks open.
We stand shoulder to shoulder, arms hooked, out of breath. Avonna laughs through tears. I scan the seats, see families blurred together, faces lifted, voices gone raw from shouting us back into existence.
Padraig steps forward and bows. No speech. No signal.
He doesn’t need one.
Backstage crashes in again. Shouts. Hands. Movement. LTZ’s opening bass rattles the walls. Someone shoves a bottle of water at me. I don’t drink.
Padraig doesn’t bother changing. He makes a beeline toward the elevator.
I follow.
Cold air slips through the crack and cuts across my sweat-soaked shirt. He grips the metal rail with both hands, shoulders rising and falling as he breathes. The noise from inside the stadium vibrates through the concrete.
“So…” I kick the ground.
“So,” he answers.
For a moment neither of us moves. The space between us holds twenty years of noise and motion and stubborn loyalty. Vans breaking down in the rain. Gear hauled up back stairwells. Nights spent sleeping upright so amps wouldn’t freeze. Arguments shouted, swallowed, forgiven without ever being named.
“This is really it?” I fight back tears.
He nods. “Aye. This is it.”
The words settle heavy. Final. I feel them in my chest, squeezing everything we built together into dust.
“I don’t know how to do this without you.” My voice cracks, despite myself.
He turns then, meeting my eyes, steady and calm. “You do. You have your own family now and you’ll do it differently.”
“You sure you won’t regret this?” I toe the ground.
“Nah.” He shakes his head once. No hesitation. “I won’t regret choosing my life.”
I think about all the times he chose my life instead of his. Tours taken when he should have stayed home. Chances passed because the band came first. Years spent holding the rhythm steady so I could chase the music with him.
“There’s nothin’ left to argue about,” I say, more to myself than him.
“No,” he agrees. “There isn’t.”
I step closer. “I love you, Dar.”
“Ah, Dar.” He exhales, eyes softening. “I know. I love you too.”
It lands deeper than any crowd ever could.
We stand there a few seconds longer, breath fogging between us. He looks lighter now.
Unburdened. I hate him and love him for it in equal measure.
I step forward without thinking. He does too.
We collide chest to chest, arms locking, the way we always have when words run out. I feel his breath hitch before he steadies. My hand grips the back of his T-shirt, fingers curling into fabric worn thin from years of travel and use.
Padraig and I are two bodies who learned each other before we learned anything else.
I think about Padraig as a kid, hands too big for his first sticks, eyes locked on me during every practice.
How many times he saved us without asking for credit.
How many times he carried the weight so I could stay out front.
Same bones. Same stubborn heart. Same rhythm carried since the womb.
He pats my back twice, firm and familiar. I do the same. No lingering. No spectacle.
Twin love, clean and undeniable.
Then he steps back, already pulling away toward whatever comes next.
When I turn back, Avonna waits near the wing, eyes bright with everything she refuses to hide. Linus stands beside her, hands loose at his sides, watching me with the quiet understanding he always carries.
“He’s done.” I fight bursting into tears.
Linus wraps his arm around me. “I know. You’re gonna be okay, my love.”
“We’re here, baby.” Avonna grasps my hand. Her grip is firm, grounding. “We’re always here.”
I squeeze back. “Yeah, I know.”
Inside, LTZ shakes the building on its comeback show. The sound rolls through the walls and into my bones. Fireworks prime somewhere overhead at the Space Needle. The timing of the countdown echoes faintly from the floor seats.
Voices rise together and then a new year is upon us.
The three of us stand at the side of the stage and seal a brand new year with a kiss. A promise of the future.
Fireball doesn’t end here.
It changes shape.
For the first time, I don’t chase the noise to drown the pain. I let it move through me instead. Every note from the stage behind us carries history, loss, love, stubborn hope.
I let the music say goodbye in a way words never could.