Page 33 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
Regardless of his promise, I feel a crossroads looming.
One he doesn’t see coming.
My fear is, whatever path he takes will leave someone devastated.
nine
Padraig
Six Months Later
ThefirstnotesofTir na nÓgchorus begin and the crowd fucking ignites.
I don’t even need to look at Liam to know.
We’ve got them.
This isn’t some random frat basement or a Pullman dive. We’re playing The Bartlett in Spokane and it’s packed.
Electricity zips through my chest when Felicity belts the chorus. Half battle cry. Half blessing. I hammer the drums so hard the sticks blur. Liam’s beside me, possessed, guitar snarling like it’s alive. Sweat runs down his neck, his hair is soaked, mouth open like the music’s pulling breath straight from his lungs.
We don’t look at each other. We don’t have to. By the time we crash out the last chord, the crowd’s screaming like we’re gods. Someone screams “Fireball forever” right before a bra sails onto the stage.
Felicity barely glances at it, instead smirks and boots it into the pit like a soccer ball. When the song ends, she bows deep. Graceful. Cocky. She owns every soul in the room, and knows it.
An hour later, we bolt offstage, lungs heaving, hearts pounding, laughing like we’ve pulled off a heist.
Drunk on a kind of adrenaline no drug could provide.
We’re three shows deep this week. Thursday a Pullman bar set. Friday frat party. Tonight our first headlining gig in a half-decent city. Our official band email’s blowing up with more and more offers.
Who knew I’d become addicted to the rush. There’s literally nothing like the high of a crowd full of people rocking out to your band.
We file into the green room, which is really a storage closet with a busted door and a cooler of half-flat Red Bulls. Doesn’t matter. I’d play a gas station parking lot if it meant chasing this feeling.
Exhausted, I drop onto an overturned gear crate. My tank is stuck to my back, lungs fighting for rhythm. Liam sprawls in a folding chair across from me, towel slung low over his neck, eyes shut, pulse visible in his throat.
Across the room, Felicity paces in slow circles, barefoot. Her heels dangle from one hand. She hums a piece of the chorusunder her breath, glowing from the show. Until she glances over at Liam, who doesn’t open his eyes. Doesn’t move or acknowledge her whatsoever.
Her smile falters for a breath before she leaves abruptly. “I’ll be back.”
Lately, Felicity watches him all the time. Gives him yearning glances she tries to hide. Laughs at things he says a second too late. For some reason, he ignores her. He certainly doesn’t encourage her attention.
In fact, he barely meets her gaze.
Neither of them have said anything in front of me but it’s clear she’s caught feelings and he’s not cool with it. Whatever the hell passed between them, it’s annoying. From the way she hangs on his every word, I can tell she hopes he’ll throw her a bone.
She’ll be waiting for a hundred years. I know my brother. If he’s not interested, you don’t exist. Which makes the situation uncomfortable.
“Fuck, that was good.” Liam moans like he’s having the orgasm of his life once she’s gone.
My forearms are vibrating. “Yeah. I can’t get over how many people knew the words to some of our songs. They love her.”
“Nah.” He opens one eye. “They love us.”
What? He’s delusional. Liam likes to be the center of attention for the most part. But, if you believe the hype, Felicity’s the reason we’re charting on half the college stations west of the Rockies.
“They love Fireball,” I concede to keep the peace.
