Decidedly the least sexy part of our relationship.
Realizing it’s time to go, I stand up. Linus watches me struggle to my feet and frowns. I shoot him a look before he can say anything. “I’m fine.”
“You’re tired,” he observes helpfully.
“We’realltired,” I retort.
Liam hugs me from behind. “Quinn woke us at three, Sloane at five. We’re more than tired. We’re spiritually defeated.”
Hearing him joke about it means he’s over the grumpiness. Linus’s presence has a funny way of helping him in this regard.
“You two take the girls, I’ve got to change.” I head to the bedroom to find something presentable to wear. My jeans fit again, but not comfortably. My hips look fuller. My stomach isn’t flat. My thighs touch in new places. I try to repeat the mantra “your body is beautiful, a map of everything you’ve survived.”
If I’m ever going to be on stage again, I need to be strong. Grounded. Able to stand in front of a mic without feeling like the floor will swallow me whole.
Liam comes up behind me as I fasten my necklace. He places his hands on my waist, warm and steady. His cheek rests against the top of my head.
“What are you thinkin’?” he asks.
I meet his eyes in the mirror. “I’ll be glad to get this paperwork done.”
“Aye.” He slips his arms around me. “I’ll go change the girls. I wanted to check on you.”
I lean up and kiss him. Liam’s so thoughtful and supportive. He’s grown so much. Fatherhood rewired him overnightbut I know he misses the road. He’s ready. So is Linus. I’m the hold-up.
One day we’ll find balance again. I believe it more today than I did a year ago.
Linus comes in next. “Marcella texted. She’s ready whenever we arrive.”
He meets my gaze in the mirror. A flicker of nerves. He maintains he doesn’t care about ceremonies or paperwork or symbolic gestures, but he does. Ever since the fallout with his family, we’re all he’s got.
On the way to the firm, Quinn babbles in her seat and Sloane kicks her feet in happy silence. Marcella waits for us in the lobby like she can sense the chaos approaching.
Her smile is warm. Confident. “You five ready?”
I swallow. “Ready enough.”
Marcella leads us into her conference room like she’s done dozens of times before. Today, there’s something quieter in her step. Not cautious. Intentional. She knows what this meeting means to us.
Our future is about to be formalized.
Skylar Morgan, seated at the head of the table, gives us a welcoming nod. “I’ve reviewed the drafts and we’re in excellent shape.” She sets stacks of documents in front of us. “Today is about clarity and next steps.”
Liam, Linus, and I take our seats, leaving the girls in their car seats. The platinum Claddagh rings on our fingers glint under the overhead lights, proof of the choice we made back in Dublin. The day after Linus’s family fractured, we went to a little shop off the River Liffey and bought symbols of our own making.
Love. Loyalty. Commitment.
“Everything’s been incorporated,” Skylar continues. “The shared ownership of your Seattle home, which you can mirror on for any other properties you buy. Your healthcare directives and power of attorney. Thecoparenting agreement, guardianship instructions, and the trust language surrounding your daughters.”
Linus takes my hand. I squeeze gently.
Skylar scrolls through her notes. “Let’s talk public-facing details. Your relationship is private. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. At the same time, you’re not anonymous. Fireball is known. Your audience is growing. Linus, as their manager, and Avonna and Liam, as rising artists in your own right, you’ll need to agree how you want to be seen.”
“You don’t have to label yourselves.” Marcella glances at us. “It’d be good to be on the same page about how public you’ll be. Joint interviews? Social media? Tours? Awards shows?”
Liam leans forward. “We’re not hidin’. We’re not making any announcements.”
I nod. “If people notice the rings, fine. If they ask, we’ll handle it. We’re not pitching a documentary.”
