Page 115 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
To the life we had before it shattered.
Tomorrow, the ache for Padraig will be there.
Maybe then, I’ll be ready to embrace it.
thirty-three
Padraig
A Few Days Later, Present Day
Ineverthoughtthesepieces would see the light of day.
No one’s ever known much about my art except Stevie. Well, and Liam.
Stevie used to love sitting cross-legged on the floor of my room while I worked, watching shapes and colors take form. She’d tell me I had something rare. Gushed about how I saw the worlddifferent from anyone else. I’d laugh it off, convinced the band was my real shot.
She’d shake her head, kiss me, and say I didn’t have to choose. Back then, I believed I did.
During Rafferty’s first fragile months and the hours spent holding him in the half-light, listening to his breath fight its way in and out, my hands itched for brushes, for paper, for color. Art didn’t merely fill the silence, it kept me from falling into it.
Piece by piece, stroke by stroke, I immersed myself into something that made me feel more like myself than I ever had.
By the time we moved back to Seattle, I’d amassed quite the portfolio.
On a whim, I brought a few pieces into Molly Moon’s, hanging them under a pseudonym—P. O’Malley, Ma’s maiden name. Outside of my school exhibits, it’s the only time I’ve ever put my work on a wall for strangers to see, and I didn’t want the McGloughlin name anywhere near it.
A couple weeks later, Caden Price, owner of Ash & Iron Gallery, called me in. The second I stepped through his door, he pegged me from Fireball. I nearly bolted. He wouldn’t let me. Said my work hit him harder than anything he’d seen in years. Practically begged me to join his inaugural “Masked” series, to highlight new artists.
No bios, no names, only art.
It was the perfect opportunity.
So here I am. My first real gallery show. Every mixed media piece I’ve made over the past year, plus a few collages from high school and some oversized acrylics I painted in college—all for sale.
I’d stored the older pieces in the old band rehearsal room at my parents’ house. Sifted through the canvases leaning against the basement wall, edges wrapped in yellowed newsprint. Layersof dust dimming the colors. I peeled the paper away. Curated my favorites.
Now everything hangs under track lighting on whitewashed brick.
I move from piece to piece, half-listening to strangers’ quiet reactions. People mill about and stop in front of each one, lean close, step back. They don’t see me. Just the work. Exactly how Caden wanted it. An honest read.
I’ve kept this exhibit close to the chest. A quiet event no one can pick apart or twist into something else. Aside from Caden, Mara’s the only person who knows about this event and only because I needed her to stay with our son tonight.
Being here’s almost enough to drown out a memory looping since the day at the ice cream shop.
Stevie, her kids flanking her like they’ve learned to move as one. Isla’s eyes locked in haunted stillness. Grief etched deep, years before her time. Seeing them hit me harder than anything in a long while. Split me open and left me raw.
Witnessing Stevie’s strength and quiet resilience stirred something inside me. Fuck. I’ve been trying to figure out my future since the album wrapped. Liam’s priorities pulling one way. My son’s needs pulling another.
Things with Mara have been complicated. She’s made no secret about her intention for the three of us to be a family, which we are and will be forever. I’m not getting back together with her, though, and it creates tension we both try to stuff down for the good of our son.
The day at the ice cream shop gave Mara and me a reason to finally strip every layer back and hopefully move forward on more stable ground. When we got home, she asked about Stevie and I told her everything I’ve been carrying for years.
How Stevie and I grew up side by side from the time we were seven. Lost our virginity on her living room couch and promisedeach other forever. How we lived every waking moment of high school and college inside each other’s orbit, sure we were soulmates. How her leaving shattered me in ways I’ll never recover from.
I also confessed the truth I’ve never spoken aloud. Music was Liam and Connor’s dream, not mine. I followed them out of loyalty and family trauma.
In doing so, I lost the only woman I’ve ever loved.
