Page 69 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
We talk. Not often.
Enough to remember what we were. What we can’t be again.
At first, the texts and occasional calls with Padraig were excruciating. Being without him was like I’d lost a limb.
Talking about all of it, honestly, hasn’t helped. His position remains, he would never cheat on me and he didn’t want to upset me over something he considered a non-issue. I’ve tried to see his point of view, but deep in my soul I know we’ll never be the same.
He begs me to come back. Sends half-finished songs, late-night voicemails, memories stitched into chords. He promises to leave the band if it means I’ll give us another chance.
Sometimes I almost cave because I miss him so much. Of course I love him. Part of me always will. He was my first kiss, my first time, my first forever. We grew up wrapped around each other, too entangled to see where he ended and I began.
We were never fragile. We were flame.
Then I breathe. Remember.
Our unraveling started when I chose something of my own. A dream I didn’t want to shrink to fit within the trajectory of the band.
The truth is, we built a life too soon. Played house and planned our future before we knew which direction we’d grow in. Our foundation cracked under years of mismatched priorities, unspoken fears, and diverging priorities.
What happened with Felicity brought it to light, but it was bound to happen eventually. Padraig and I are heading down different paths.
Doesn’t mean I don’t feel the burn.
It does mean I’m not willing to get scorched again. Both he and Liam are fully committed to Fireball. Even more so than before. Part of me thinks it’s because Connor’s band, LTZ is gaining momentum and they want to keep pace. Both of them are working harder than ever, and the effort shows even though he sounds exhausted whenever we talk.
Felicity’s gone now, obviously. She didn’t go quietly. There were ugly words, threats of lawsuits, a smear campaign on social media that fizzled when no one cared enough to listen. But the band survived.
A woman named Arleigh stepped in a few weeks later. She’s talented, stable, and solid, which is exactly what Fireball needs right now. Padraig doesn’t think she’s their forever singer, but she’s helping them get through a nationwide tour on the success of the album they finished before the implosion.
It’s done better than they expected. Two songs charted on alternative radio, and Fireball’s been headlining midsized venues all across the country. Unfortunately, Linus had to return to Dublin after graduation, which has left Liam as heartbroken as Padraig. The two of them have been forced to handle the band’s direction on their own.
Last week he told me a big LA-based management company’s circling, promising bigger opportunities. Hopefully, signing with them will relieve some of the pressure and allow him to enjoy the ride a bit more.
I won’t be on it with him.
I won’t go backward. My life is in New York now. I’m thriving through my heartbreak.
The hotel is more chaotic and consuming than ever, but I’ve also proved I can keep up. I’m not the tentative intern I was when I started. I’m a full-fledged event planner now, juggling corporate clients, weddings, and black-tie galas. My reputation is finally starting to mean something in the company.
Besides, this city has a way of sweeping you up and making you believe you’re part of something bigger. The constant bustle of activity. Late nights effortlessly bleed into early mornings. I love the thrill of knowing you can walk out your door and find anything from a pop-up concert in Central Park to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with the best food you’ve ever eaten and a skyline so bright it erases the stars.
There’s no shortage of people to meet or places to be and it’s intoxicating. New York makes me feel limitless and I’m grateful to live in a place where I can get lost, build myself up, and become a better version of myself.
A year later and missing Padraig is quieter now, something I carry without letting it crush me.
He and I aren’t the same people we were when we broke up.
Maybe that’s the hardest part to admit. There’s no going back, no rewinding time to what we used to be, so I’ve learned to lean into the present instead.
Saturday mornings with Cooper have become part of my present. He’s already waiting outside my apartment when I come down the steps, scrolling his phone with one hand, a paper coffee cup warming the other.
“We’re going uptown.” He hands me my caramel latte, tucking his phone into his coat. “PB Brasserie in Harlem. Supposedly the bestcroque madamein Manhattan.”
“Whoa, a big claim.” I gratefully take my morning caffeine staple. “How long’s the wait gonna be?”
He cocks his head. “What do you take me for? A chump? I reserved a table. Eleven-thirty. Which means if we don’t leave now…”
“We’ll be those people,” I finish, falling into step beside him.
