Later, when she’s asleep, I think about how far we’ve come. What it took to get here.
Two babies sleeping in Seattle. A band finally ready to rise again.
Tonight, the three of us together where we belong.
I close my eyes.
Wherever they are, I am home.
fifty-six
Avonna
Eleven Months Later
Fivemonthsintothemove, the house finally feels lived-in.
Sunlight streaks through the kitchen in the mornings.
Sloane and Quinn chase each other barefoot across the tile. Our shoes pile near the door. Linus’s favorite coffee mug lives on the windowsill.
We’re finally in our forever home.
Only, we haven’t been here much.
For the past ten days, we’ve been buried in the studio with Ty and Connor, chasing the same lightning we caught on the last album three years ago.
Tyson Rainier is one of the most-sought-after producers in the business now, but he’s back with us, hoping to help us strike gold again. Our previous collaboration sparkedFireball’s last resurgence, right before everything paused when I got pregnant.
Then, unexpectedly,From the Ashesexploded as the theme for Netflix’s hit show,The Kerry Line,and our appearance at the Grammys turned heads. Linus’s solid guidance has the industry paying attention again. People want to believe in us. We all know this is probably our last shot.
The pressure is high.
This record has to hit.
Most nights, we crawl into bed still in our clothes, too wiped to do more than grab a couple of hours of sleep. No kissing. No cuddling. No sex. There’s nothing left to give each other at the end of the day. Liam and I are pouring it all into the music.
Linus is holding us together with paperclips and strings.
Maureen flew down to help the nanny while we work. I thank her every day, even when the guilt gnaws at my ribs. We leave before the twins wake. Come home long after they’ve gone down. We’re able to keep this pace because we only have a few more days before Ty times out.
The clock’s ticking. We have to finish what we started.
The record is good. Better than good. It’s wild, sharp, and tender. Guts and glass. It sounds like all of us, pulling in different directions, trying to make something real.
It should feel like a miracle, but there’s something out of reach.
Liam’s unraveling. He won’t say it, but I see it in the small things. The way he won’t meet my gaze when he misses a harmony. The way he lingers in the booth after a bad take, as if the silence will punish him more brutally than anyone else. The way his body flinches when Padraig barks a correction from the control booth.
Linus sees it too. He doesn’t push. He stays steady, as always. He’s able to calm Liam when he needs it most. Duringbreaks, he checks in. Re-centers us. Keeps the center from cracking.
We’re an unbreakable unit. Linus, Liam, and me. Onstage and off. The rhythm is instinct now. The way we move. The way we reach for one another when things fray.
Unfortunately, Padraig’s the fray.
The dynamic has shifted from the twins being the inner circle of Fireball. Since day one of this recording session, Padraig’s cut through every moment with sharp edges. Loud. Moody. Unpredictable. He slams doors. Rewrites fills mid-song. Pulls apart arrangements he loved the day before.
“I don’t know where I fit anymore,” Padraig confessed last night, pushing his takeout container aside as if he’d lost his appetite for more than food. We were crowded around the table with Connor, Ty, and his wife Zoey, the conversation drifting between logistics and half-made plans. “You three talk about your family and I’m standing on the outside tryin’ to figure out where my life went sideways.”
