Page 148 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
forty-three
Padraig
Later
Thedoorshutsbehindme, soft as a breath, and the townhouse swallows it whole.
My bag slides off my shoulder and thuds to the floor.
I make it to the sofa on muscle memory, sit, fold forward, hands over my face.
The first sound surprises me. A dry hitch. Then another. I suck air, miss, and my insides break open. Deep and ugly. Ribs working like bellows, shoulders shaking until my muscles burn.
Tears push hot across my knuckles. I try to slow the flood. Useless. Every breath brings the scene in the kitchen back: Isla with her poster. The way Stevie’s mouth trembled when she looked at me.
Now I know the truth. She fucked Cooperdaysafter I thought we were getting back together.
How. Could. She?
I couldn’t get it up for another woman fortwo fucking years.
I press my palms into my eyes until stars burst. Doesn’t help. Images keep coming. First days of school I didn’t see. Loose teeth I didn’t pull. Jokes I never heard, fights I never broke up, songs I never taught. Years stack in a crooked tower across the room and I can’t reach any of them.
It ebbs only when my chest gives up. I fall back into the cushions, throat raw, shirt damp at the collar. Silence moves in again, heavy as wet wool.
I stare at the ceiling until it blurs.
I can’t sit inside my head alone. Not tonight.
Unlocking my phone, I hover my thumb over his name.
We haven’t spoken since the New Years Eve show with LTZ, what was supposed to be my last gig with the band. He was cold. Angry. It hurt, but I didn’t change my mind.
Pride tries to pull my hand away. I hit call before it wins.
Two rings. Liam fills the screen, hair in his eyes, a square of dim kitchen behind him.
He blinks when he sees the state of me. Sits up fast. “Jesus. You alright?”
I shake my head. No sound comes.
“Okay.” He focuses on me like he used to back in the days after Da’s accident. Counts my breaths. “You with me?”
I nod, swallow. “Don’t know where to start.”
“Anywhere.” He leans closer. “Start with the feeling.”
“Empty.” The word scrapes. “Torn open.”
“Alright.” He waits. Doesn’t rush. “What happened?”
I comb through my hair, find a knot, pull until it hurts. “I keep seeing her face.” I’m hoarse from crying. “Isla. Standing in our kitchen with questions Stevie can’t answer.”
“Okay. I’ll admit. I’m lost.”
“Dar.” I look straight into the camera because I can’t say it to a wall. “Tonight I found out she might be mine.”
He doesn’t speak. His eyes hold steady, like he heard me before I said it. “Come again?”
