“I’ll go find the realtor.” I head for the back door.
“Ask if a waffle maker’s included,” Liam calls after me.
From the sawdust, Sloane yells, “WAFFLE!”
We all laugh.
For the first time in a long time, we’re setting down roots.
Maybe the building phase is over.
We’re already here.
fifty-five
Liam
Two Months Later
Avonnaisthemostmagnetic person in the room.
She stands near the edge of the private dining space, laughing softly with someone from Atlantic, a glass of sparkling water cupped in both hands. The emerald satin dress clings to her hips and thighs, skimming the curve of her belly, celebrating the softness she hasn’t rushed to lose. Her hair falls loose over one shoulder, glossy and wild.
She looks powerful. Grounded. Alive.
I’m in a black suit I’ve owned for a decade, tailored enough to feel intentional. No tie. Open collar. The kind of clean I save for nights like this. Padraig lounges next to me, sipping club soda, hair tied back, boots scuffed to hell. His black jacket’s a little more rock than red carpet, but he wears it like armor.
The Isis Management Grammys pre-party is in full swing. Linus never does anything halfway, but there’s something especially intentional about tonight. No blown-up logos, no bloated guest list. Seventy-five people packed into the private dining room at Fleming’s downtown. The carpet is low-lit, the wine is flowing, servers circulate with trays of steak and salmon, and the conversation crackles with names I recognize from playlists on Spotify.
No one’s performing. No one’s pitching. It’s the biggest award show in music. Tonight is about presence.
Fireball hasn’t toured in two years. Tonight is Linus’s way of saying we’re back without saying a word.
He’s gorgeous, across the room in a dark suit, crisp and sharp, working the crowd. The LTZ guys are posted near the back, talking to a few nominees. Connor catches my eye and tips his glass. I nod. We haven’t had time to catch up in ages.
My focus has been on Avonna. On the girls. On getting through the sleepless nights and early mornings and fragile hours in between.
Padraig’s girlfriend Mara sits down next to him. She’s a pretty girl. Wearing some shimmery bronze number.
A server passes with a tray of drinks and she politely declines the offer stating, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I can’t. We’re pregnant.”
Padraig smirks and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Figured we’d make the announcement while everyone’s dressed up.”
“Congratulations.” Avonna joins us.
Mara beams. “Thanks. We haven’t told many people. We wanted to wait.”
I nod tensely. “Right.”
“I’m going to go out on tour with you guys.” Mara claps. “I’m so excited.”
There it is. My pulse thuds.
Avonna shifts closer to me. “Wow, a whole tour?”
“Yeah. We’ve talked about it a lot. Mara wants to see the whole thing. Experience it.” He looks at me pointedly. “I figure if your family’s all gonna be there, so should mine.”
I feel the thrum of pressure under my ribs. Avonna and I stepped back for a while. We needed to. Babies. Healing. Everything. But Fireball’s ready. I’m ready. Goddammit. Padraig.
