Padraig speaks before I can. “He used to manage our band.”
Linus holds my gaze. “Among other things.”
I can’t pinpoint how I feel. I sure don’t know what I expected if I ever saw him again. Rage? Tears? Something explosive.
Instead, everything stills.
He places his hand on Avonna’s shoulder. “I manage Avonna now.”
I blink.What?
It makes no sense and perfect sense at once.
I look at her. “Really? Linus O’Donnell is your manager?”
“Yeah. He’s the best.” She tilts her head up at him.
“Ah, well, you always had good taste.” I direct this to him, trying to play it cool.
Linus’s lip twitches. “So does she.”
Wait,what?
I can’t tell if he means her music or something else.
Before I can figure it out, Padraig tugs on my elbow, likely saving me from myself. “Dar, it’s getting late. We should check our stage setup.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Padraig. Liam.” As I take a step back, Avonna touches my forearm. “Thank you both for your kind words. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
I flick my gaze to Linus before I meet her eyes and hold. “Count on it.”
When we walk away, I feel Linus’s gaze on my back like heat from a blazing sun.
Shit.
My past has finally caught up with me.
I have no idea what it wants.
thirty-five
Avonna
A Few Weeks Later
Thecateringtentisfast becoming my favorite place on tour.
I love the energy. The clink of utensils on compostable plates. An occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. Folding chairs scrape against the plywood floors laid down over grass. Crew members and artists move through the buffet line, nodding to each other over steaming trays of roasted vegetables, garlic chicken, and vegan curry.
Beyond the flap is the artist village lined with dressing rooms and green room trailers. A place to disappear if you need to. No one here is trying to stand out.
No matter how famous, everyone belongs.
I should be eating. Instead, I’m staring across the table at Liam McGloughlin.
His fingers curl around a plastic fork, forearm braced on the edge of the table. The scent of cumin and woodsmoke wafts through the air. His eyes are locked on mine, steady and unreadable.
