Page 140 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
Here we go.
He says it like it’s sacrilege. Like I’ve pissed on a cathedral.
“We’ve been clawing for this for going on two decades,” he goes on. “We’re coming off the best two years of our entire career. All the tours, all the bullshit, everything we gave up. You took half the year off. We waited around for you. And now you want tobreathe?”
I cross the room slow, holding his gaze. “Yeah. I do.”
A beat of silence.
I pour a splash of apple juice into one of the kids’ glasses and take a sip.
“We’ve been pushing for years,” I repeat for the umpteenth time, hoping he’ll fucking hear me in front of our entire family. “Maybe now’s the time to slow down before we burn out. Or our private lives get us dragged through the mud.”
His eyes flash.
Seamus clocks it from the corner, but says nothing. He’s learned.
We all have.
Connor leans forward, arms crossed, calm as you please in his attempt to settle us down like we’re his wee brothers and not nearly forty-year-old men. “It’s not about now, lads. LTZ hit our peak and we ran ourselves into the ground chasing every next big thing. You remember how it ended for us.”
The whole room grinds to a halt. Even the fire.
Ronni’s hand rests over his bicep. “He’s not wrong.”
“Some things are bigger than the next big gig.” I nod to Ronni.
Liam doesn’t move right away. He stares over the rim of his soda, the fire catching the edge of the glass, then says what he knows I’m thinking out loud. “You want out.”
He turns partway toward the room. Not all the way. Enough to glance around without settling on anything. His gaze skips over Ronni with the baby, over the girls whispering on the rug. Over Stevie. Over Rafferty, curled asleep in the corner like he doesn’t exist.
“You’re chasing a dream, Dar. The whole family thing. The quiet life. Pretending it’s enough.” His voice stays rough. Tight across the vowels. “It isn’t real.”
The world slows to a stop as I stare at him, slack-jawed.
He doesn’t say Stevie’s name.
Doesn’t look at her. Not directly.
Hasn’t since we walked in.
He hasn’t asked about the kids. Never even mentioned Rafferty’s birthday he missed four months ago.
He stands here, shaking his head at me, pretending he knows what’s real.
I’m watching him unravel and try to take me down with him.
This isn’t about the band.
It’s about me.
It’s about the life I built while I was away from him. Atrulyfulfilling life.
Because all of our children—hers and mine—belong to me now. I’m part of their every morning, every scraped knee, every bedtime story whispered in the dark.
He doesn’t have any comprehension of what it means. Doesn’t know where he fits into my new life.
When, for years, there was no line between us.
