Page 72 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
Liam restlessly drags a hand through his hair. “We’ve talked about it. I’ve never been into anyone as much as Linus, but both of us also love women. We talked a lot about how hard it would be to stay faithful. How, ideally, we would meet someone who wouldn’t be scared off. And for the record? What Felicity said about us was absolute bullshit. She overheard us talking, twisted it and practically offered herself up.”
My stomach knots. “Oh. You turned her down?”
“Of course we did. She wasn’t what we wanted. She was looking for an in and when she didn’t get it…” He shrugs, thebitterness in his voice obvious. “Well. You saw how it all went down. Thank God she’s gone. I’m sorry you lost Stevie in the process.”
I let out a slow breath, guilt and anger tangle up inside me.
Liam’s quiet for a beat before he smirks without humor. “Two sad Irish bastards. Writing songs about heartbreak in our twenties. Very on brand.”
“Jesus.” I huff out a laugh, but it dies quick. “You think she’ll come?”
“I think you should be ready either way. Whatever happens tonight, be kind to yourself.” He stares at the ceiling.
The last time I saw Stevie in person was Seattle, and I’ll never forget her look of hurt and betrayal. It rips me open in the middle of the night.
God, if only I’d told Stevie about Felicity coming on to me. Instead, I kept my mouth shut, convincing myself I was protecting her. Protecting us. Protecting the band. I see now how my silence made Stevie question everything we had.
How my cowardice and immaturity cost me the most important thing in my life.
I’m trying to make changes, even if it’s too feckin’ late for me and Stevie. Taking charge of Fireball has forced me to grow a backbone. To stand by decisions even when they blow up in my face. Thankfully, Stevie and I have stayed in touch even if she shuts down the possibility of a future together. She’s given me grace, which I don’t deserve. Her life is different now. She’s happy with her job. Fiends. Maybe someone new.
“You’re not holding out hope, are you?” Liam asks.
I hesitate. “I’m trying not to, but I won’t love anyone the way I love her. I don’t know how to move on.”
“I know it seems futile.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps it’s time to figure out what’s next, Dar. We both need to.”
I nod, but as I climb down from the stage and glance at the venue doors, all I can think is whether Stevie will walk through them.
Will she be smiling at me or at someone else?
Could I survive if it’s the latter?
A couple hours later, I’m checking my phone like it’s a lifeline. Nothing. No Stevie. No text. No reply to the one I sent after soundcheck. We’re minutes from stepping onstage and I have to accept she’s not coming.
Liam slaps my shoulder as we line up side stage. “Head in the game. We go out there tight.”
I nod and follow him out into the dark stage and can see the club is packed wall-to-wall. Two hundred bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, voices lifting in a cheer so loud it rattles my ribs.
All for us.
Arleigh’s first to the mic and the stage lights illuminate her form as Liam and I take our places. She’s been a game-changer for our vibe. She’s gorgeous and naturally magnetic, with a throaty rasp that threads through Liam’s guitar perfectly. I settle behind my kit, sticks in hand, and the roar of the crowd drowns out the knot in my chest.
By the time we hit the opening chords ofBroken Compass, the room explodes. Liam’s solo blazes, Arleigh’s voice a perfect counterpoint, and the crowd surges with us. Each song feels better than the last. By the time we hit the encore,Ghosts on the Wire, I almost forget she isn’t here.
The energy in the room pulls me under and I’m lost in our music and the crowd who loves us. When the lights drop and the last chord rings out, I let it wash over me.
The three of us towel off backstage, Liam already grinning as he strips off his shirt for a clean one. “Good fucking show,” he beams, sweat dripping off his nose. “Best in weeks.”
Mitch, our one-person road crew, gestures toward the stage door. “Come on, guys. Fans are waiting. You know the drill.”
We do. We’ve made a point of it since we started this tour. We talk to everyone who buys a ticket, sign whatever they hand us, and thank them for coming out. We’re slowly but surely building enough loyalty to keep a place like this packed on a Tuesday.
At the merch table, we pose for selfies, sign our limited-edition vinyl, scrawl our names across shirts and setlists while Mitch sells t-shirts and snaps pictures for socials. Eventually, the crowd winds down and the energy softens as the line thins out.
Then I see her.
Tucked into the far corner, leaning against the brick wall, watching us. Her hands are shoved in the pockets of a dark-green trench coat. She’s wearing black tights, ankle boots and a soft gray scarf looped around her neck. Her hair’s a little longer than it was in Seattle. She’s not wearing much makeup, but she doesn’t need it. She never has.
