Page 9 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
“Exactly. Except flip it inside out.” I lean back on my hands. “Drag it through distortion pedals. Make it burn. Recreate it.”
Padraig is stunned. “You think?”
I nod. “I do. It’s unexpected, which makes it cool.”
The twins look at each other and do their stealth telepathic speaking thing.
Without another word, Padraig returns to his kit and spins his sticks. Liam adjusts his tuning, then tweaks it again. The air changes. Grows sharper.
They start to play again. Sloppier now, but louder. Padraig’s tempo pushes too fast, Liam’s chords turn sharp at the edges. The whole vibe is more punch than polish.
I don’t interrupt. I watch because whatever they’re doing isn’t perfect by a long shot, but you canfeelit in your bones.
Padraig throws himself into the rhythm like he’s in a cathartic frenzy. Liam’s movements are tighter. His shoulders are hunched, teeth clenched. They don’t look at each other because they don’t need to. They’re twins. Tethered. Even when everything in their family is slipping.
As they play, they seem to be exorcising themselves of McGloughlin family secrets. Liam’s secrets. Every ounce of sorrow and despair they’ve been through since Rory got hurt. Chasing. Searching. Reaching.
For what, I’m not sure.
Finally, an hour later, Padraig drops his sticks onto the snare and exhales so hard it turns into a roar. “Fuck, that felt good.”
“It was a goddamn mess.” Liam grabs a towel from the back of the chair. “A grueling disaster.”
Padraig sneers, “You were playing on hyper speed.”
“I was following your rhythm.” Liam launches the towel at his brother. “You’re the goddamn timekeeper.”
Padraig tosses it back. “I try to be, when you let me.”
I stay where I am, ping-ponging my head between them as they banter. “Neither of you were listening to each other. It felt like you were each trying to outrun feelings you’re suppressing.”
Padraig wipes his face, eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
“Neither of you want to admit you’re scared to leave for school.” I look him in the eye. “Not when everything’s already changing and neither of you know what to do.”
“I’m not scared of shit,” Liam snarls.
I hold his stare. “Don’t bullshit me. You’re scared ofsomething.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t deny it, either.
“I’m psyched to go to college.” Padraig rubs his hand through his thick waves, breathing hard. “I wonder if we should wait a year, though.”
Liam sets his guitar down. “Wait for what? Da to sober up? For Ma to stop pretending she can fix him? For Cillian to suddenly become old enough to run the company so Connor can stop playing the martyr and play with us again?”
“No.” Padraig looks at his feet. “I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”
Liam puts his hand on Padraig’s shoulder. “You feel as bad as I do about leaving Connor with this mess.”
His words land like a hammer. I glance at Padraig. The guilt in his eyes says it all. I flick my eyes to Liam. He hides it better, but it’s there.
Sighing, I stay out of this one. Their family dynamic isn’t something I can fix. What I can do is give the twins some relief. I get off my ass and gather their crumpled setlists. Put them in order. Stack the cords. Reset the amp levels.
Liam watches me, confused. “What are you doing?”
“Helping.” I fluff the pillows on the couch. “Temporarily.”
“Thought you didn’t want to manage us.” Padraig takes my hand.
