Linus gets up from the chair in the corner he’s been sitting in like he’s been waiting for a cue.
“I fuckin’ knew it.” He claps my brother on the shoulder. “Knew you’d feel this way the second I heard the songs.”
Padraig rolls his eyes. “Of course you’ve already heard them.”
“Well, yeah. I’ve got a plan.” He claps his hands together.
I smirk. “Don’t you always?”
He lays the folder on top of a speaker. “Let’s do it right this time. No more van. No more couch surfin.’ Full relaunch. EP first, three singles, build the momentum. We tour the States. Then Europe. I’ve got a bookin’ agent ready when you say the word.”
Padraig raises a brow. “Oh, and who’s payin’ for all this?”
“First, invite Avonna in. Then, officially sign with Isis.” Linus shrugs. “We’ll front the money for you to release them independently, distribute the way LTZ does through a major. This’ll leave the three of you with more of the profits. I’m scoutin’ for a better publisher and, more importantly, I’ve got a Grammy campaign strategy. You saw what I did for Sidewalk Riot. Fireball can go bigger. At least three or four of these tracks are song-of-the-year worthy.”
Linus glances at me, then Avonna. “What you two are creatin,’ it could be the heart of Fireball.”
I look down, throat tight. For a second, nobody speaks.
Then Padraig claps his hands like a madman. “Fuck it. Let’s do it. I haven’t felt the creative flow and I’d love to write with the two of you going forward.”
Avonna’s breath hitches. Her eyes dart between me and Linus. She raises one shoulder.
I ignore her.
“You sure?” My eyes snap to Padraig and the familiar way he loosens his wrists and tests the bounce of the sticks against his palm before he sits down at his kit.
He smacks his snare. “Aye. I’m in. Firin’ on all cylinders.” His smile touches her like a blessing. “Avonna, you were the missin’ piece.”
She moves, instinct more than choice, closing the space between us, like she’s done a hundred times since we started this relationship with Linus in Dublin. Her hand brushes mine. No hesitation.
Trust.
Except, I don’t meet her halfway. I shift slightly. Enough to avoid her touch. Allow the moment to pass.
To anyone else, it’d look like nothing. But Linus sees. He always sees.
And heknows.
Padraig, oblivious, adjusts a cymbal. “Let’s run through them, yeah?”
“Okay.” Avonna misses nothing and everything all at once. “Count us in, Liam.”
I do.
The first chord lands like prophecy. The three of us fall into sync without a word. Her pure voice soars, juxtaposed against my gravely growl. Padraig’s kick hits like thunder.
The melody she and I first wrote after fucking each other raw in Dublin was on the edge of something neither of us could name at the time. It’s reborn here. Polished under California sun and twisted sheets and everything we’ve become.
Now with my brother’s tasteful percussion, the sound is massive. Unstoppable.
After all the years. The heartbreak. The grind. Sleepless nights in broken vans. Shitty clubs and furious fights and second chances, I feel it in my bones. Fireball is finally complete.
Linus doesn’t move from the corner, but I feel the shift in him. Gravity pulling away.
His eyes drop. Not out of anger, but sorrow. He understands the reality of the situation. When he and Avonna confronted me a couple weeks ago, I promised we’d tell Padraig about us when the time is right.
The timeisn’tright. Not now.
