Page 3 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
one
Padraig
Fifteen Years Prior
Sunlightcutsacrossthescarred lockers in long strips, exposing scratches and old tape marks like battle wounds.
Down by the library, somebody blasts Lil’ Wayne from their phone. A pack of pimply freshmen argue over some bullshit at the stairwell. A couple of cheerleaders giggle conspiratorially when they emerge from the restroom.
Everything is familiar. It should feel like every other Friday. Except it isn’t and never will be again.
As I contemplate how the hell my life has been completely upended, I lean against Stevie Hayes’ locker with my arms crossed. I tap my toe to a rhythm I don’t recognize at first until I realize it’s one of our songs.
One Connor, Liam, and I wrote a few months ago before the accident.
My phone pings. Liam.
Dar, move your arse.
Fuck it. He can wait a goddamn minute.
Stevie’s late again.Alwayslate. Probably rescuing a freshman who’s lost. Or charming the debate teacher into thinking it’s his idea to let her drop the class.
She’s the kind of girl people sense when she walks into a room. Striking without trying to be. Honey-blonde hair touches her shoulders in messy waves. Her expressive brown eyes always seem like they’re holding something back. Her beauty’s effortless, grounded in raw creativity and emotional depth.
Without her, I’d never have survived these past couple months. I’ll admit it, my longtime crush has turned into something…more.
My phone buzzes again. I don’t bother looking because the doors at the end of the hallway bang open and Stevie barrels toward me. A tiny tornado of torn jeans and stubborn light. Her t-shirt’s knotted at the waist. She sees me and smiles like I’m the only person in the hallway.
Something knocks sideways inside my chest.
She slips between the couples making out next to me and stops in front of her open locker, breathless and grinning. “Seriously, McGloughlin?”
I push off the metal. “Apparently, you need a lesson in security clearance.”
“Security clearance?” She jabs me in the ribs with her books. “You suddenly running some underground locker mafia?”
“Might be a good way to earn a few bucks.” I grab her stuff before she drops it, flipping open her notebook. Her notes are chaos but organized in some random highlighted way. “You crack me up with your color-coding.”
“Fuck you. It helps me think.” Stevie shrugs as she reaches around me to grab her jacket. “Don’t mock the process.”
I hand the notebook back together with my sketchbook she safeguards for me. Her fingers brush mine.
Static. Electricity.Something.
No. Everything.
She’s been my—our—best friend since we were all seven years old. I haven’t told her my feelings have changed but I’m pretty sure she feels the same way.
Liam knows, of course. I don’t need to say a word. We’re telepathic in a way.
I’m not sure he’s happy about this turn of events, though.
“Dar. Let’s fuckin’ go.” Liam’s hoodie is half-zipped. His backpack is slung over one shoulder. His hair’s a mess. Dark mood on full display.
People always say we look exactly alike. We’re twins, so it’s true, but also not so much.
Liam’s a storm. I’m the calm before.
