Linus squeezes my fingers. “Handled that well.”
I raise a brow. “You mean the part where the reporter called me a brainwashed slut in different words?”
He doesn’t flinch. “Still proud of you.”
I give him a small smile and lean into his shoulder.
Our dressing room sits at the end of a cluster. Not a trailer this time, a proper suite with a table full of food listed on our rider, couches draped in soft throws, iced towels ready to go. Most of the bands have cleared out by now, so there’s not alot of activity, except for the getting-to-be-too-familiar raised voices.
Linus frowns. “Jesus, how do they still have eardrums?”
We laugh, the kind of bone-weary sound coming from too many days on the road. He holds the door open for me. Inside, Liam and Padraig stand toe to toe, the air around them practically crackling.
“You think this is what we worked for?” Padraig snaps. “So we could be the goddamn punchline at the end of some clickbait article?”
Liam fires back, “They asked you one fuckin’ question. You didn’t have to explode.”
“Didn’t I? You weren’t the one who had to explain to some guy why our band’s legacy might get reduced to a poly sex scandal!”
Linus steps in quickly. “What’s goin’ on?”
Both turn toward us. Padraig looks broken. Not from the set, we all are, from something heavier. Deeper.
Linus crosses to the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water, tosses it to Padraig. “If it’s any consolation, Avonna got the same line of questionin’. You’re not alone.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Padraig scoffs. “Easy to say when you’ve got your family out here. Your girls.” His eyes flit to mine, then Liam’s. “I’ve got my own life. You think I want to see my face on TikTok next to some slow-mo footage of Liam lickin’ your neck durin’ the bridge?”
Liam’s face clouds. “It happened once and was spontaneous. Don’t make it sound like Linus, Avonna, and I are fuckin’ under the goddamn lights.”
“I’m not judgin’ you.” Padraig plops into a chair. “I’m angry at the way our story gets hijacked. We started this band in the literal basement. I hate how twenty years of blood and sweat can be overshadowed by one headline. We didn’t build Fireball for our legacy to be reduced to this.”
The silence hangs heavy.
“Me either.” Linus folds his arms.
Padraig’s eyes narrow. “Don’t. Make. Excuses.”
“I’m not.” He holds his hand up in surrender. “Don’t you twist this into somethin’ it isn’t.”
Padraig exhales, shoulders slumping. “Fuck.”
“We get it.” I sit next to him. “The curiosity factor sucks.”
Liam sinks into the couch across from us, dragging his hands through his hair. “No one’s goin’ to think we’re a gimmick unless we act like one. We’ve been through hell and back. People love this record. The reviews are insane. Our work is payin’ off and we’ve seen it with LTZ, when you have more money, more problems. More success, more trolls.”
“Yeah.” Padraig relaxes. “True.”
“They keep calling it a rebirth.” Linus snorts. “Which is ironic as hell.”
All the fight leaves Padraig’s body. He stands and heads toward the door. “I’m sick of bein’ defensive. I’ve given so much to this band. Don’t you ever wonder, what’s the payoff? I’m exhausted and need to get back to the hotel. Text me what the plan is for tomorrow.”
Then he’s gone.
Across from me, Liam slumps over, elbows on his knees. Linus lowers himself beside me. We sit in gravity Padraig left behind.
“He’s still spiralin’,” Liam speaks after a while. Not with anger. With guilt. “I push him without thinkin’. We’re grown men, for fuck’s sake, and both of us still tryin’ to take care of each other first.”
“You’re twins, babe. It isn’t the wrong instinct,” I try to soothe him. “You want to keep space for him, as you should.”
