Page 42 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
All three of us are sweat-soaked, riding the afterglow.
It’s our final show of the tour and we didn’t simply survive it, we fucking crushed it. Seattle showed up big time. A packedhouse. Everyone chanting our name. I swear the floor shook during the finale ofTir na nÓg.
Connor follows us in from side stage, straight to the ice chest full of beverages. He digs through the cans before cracking open a root beer with a grin. “Proud of you both. Even prouder there’s no booze.”
Liam and I never second-guess our decision to tour dry. No beer, wine, or liquor in the dressing room. No drink tickets or after-show shots. No airline bottles or flasks tucked into duffels. It’s our one nonnegotiable.
Not because of Da, though it’s certainly a factor. We’ve seen too many bands use gigs as an excuse to party and it makes them lose focus.
Not us. We don’t have the luxury.
Connor slumps into the sagging loveseat. He hasn’t stopped grinning with pride since the encore where he joined us onstage. Liam paces, jittery from adrenaline, hair damp, cheeks flushed.
Felicity hovers near the makeup mirror, blotting her lipstick like she’s prepping for paparazzi. She shoots me a look over her shoulder.
“C’mon. Can’t we splurge on champagne for the last night?” She sticks out her lower lip.
I don’t take the bait. “Felicity. If you want to get fucked up, we have the next few weeks off. Do it on your own time.”
“For a bunch of Irish guys, you’re no fun.” She pouts. “Too fucking wholesome.”
Connor’s eyes pop out a bit. Liam acts like she doesn’t exist. I shake my head.
She shrugs and resumes adjusting her eyeliner, like we’re the ones being inappropriate.
“Hey, love, mind giving us a minute, yeah? Family stuff.” Connor gives her a nod toward the door.
She looks up, feigning confusion. “Oh, don’t worry about me. Go about your business.”
“Jesus Christ. Take a fucking hint,” Liam snarls, tossing a towel over his shoulder.
Her lips press tight. She stands, slow and dramatic. “For the record. This ismyband too. I’ve been part of every show. Every mile on the road. Every song. I’m sick of being treated like an outsider.”
“Felicity, c’mon.” I try to soften the edge. “We haven’t seen our brother in over a year. This isn’t band shit, it’s family, okay?”
She scoffs, yanks her bag off the floor, flips her hair over one shoulder and stalks out without another word.
The second the door closes, Liam flops into the chair across from Connor, exhaling hard.
“She’s not happy,” I sigh.
Liam raises an eyebrow. “She’s never fucking happy.”
Connor leans forward, forearms on his thighs. “So. Give me the download. Tour highs, tour lows, what the fuck happened in L.A.”
Liam catches my eye and smirks. “What didn’t?”
“Honestly?” I lean back and let my head hit the wall. “We made it through with minimal damage. Linus killed it as a manager. We had decent crowds. Alt Rock stations are spinningTir na nÓgnonstop.”
“And the band dynamic?” Connor’s low voice is almost surgical.
Liam shifts. “There’s no way around it. Felicity’s…difficult. Intense. Great singer but, fuck me, she’s unbearably entitled.”
“You’re too hard on her. She’s a hard worker. Her bad attitude is because you shagged and dumped her.” I toss a scrunched-up napkin at him.
He shrugs. “Dar. Let it fucking go. It wasmonthsago. She slipped into my room night after night, wouldn’t take no for ananswer and I fucking regret giving in every day. Worst fuck of my life.”
“Ah, well.” Connor nods, unsurprised.
