The room went quiet.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
Liam stared at his hands like he was counting old scars.
Padraig kept going, voice uneven now. “You’ve got this…unit. A direction. A house. I’m stuck living a life I don’t know if I want.”
No one interrupted him.
His personal life is in tatters. Padraig isn’t cruel. He’s drowning.
Instead of asking for help, he keeps circling a wound Liam has always worried about. His anger and hurt when Liam kept his life secret. The moment he realized the three of us were a unit he wasn’t part of.
Liam absorbs it all like penance. He continues to believe he owes his brother every inch of himself. Every compromise.Every silence. He thinks holding the band together means letting Padraig take pieces out of him without protest.
He’s wrong.
Every time Padraig pushes, Liam retreats further inside himself. Shrinks. Carries the weight alone. Linus and I see it happening in real time, the fault lines spreading between the twins like cracks in a foundation.
If we don’t find a way to bring Padraig back into the fold, the band won’t survive.
The brothers might not either.
I glance over to where Padraig’s adjusting something on the kit he’s already tuned twice.
“Hey.” I walk over and touch his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”
He tightens the hi-hat like it’s a ticking bomb. “No sleep.”
“Is Mara okay?”
He sighs heavily. “Hard to know. She’s always restin’.”
“I was thinking.” I crouch down. “I’m happy to keep her company one of these days. Maybe give you and Liam time to spend together.”
Padraig finally looks at me. “Her mum’s there. She’s got it covered.”
“I know.” I tilt my head. “I just thought…”
“I’m fine,” he cuts in. “There’s no need to try and patch things up with me and my brother. It’ll work itself out at some point.”
I wait a beat. “You’re carrying a lot.”
“Well, Avonna.” He exhales through his nose, short and sharp. “We all are.”
“True.”
He swallows. “Let’s get through this fucking session so I can get home.”
Padraig grabs his sticks and heads into the control room. Liam waits in the booth, headphones on, eyes forward.
The track rolls. He belts it out. Gritty, raw, fullof fire.
Silence.
Padraig taps on the mic, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Jesus, Dar. You’re still rushin’ the bridge.”
