I’m in.
Whatever this is.
thirteen
Liam
Four Months
Therestaurantsmellslikecardamom and rain-soaked pavement.
A tiny bell over the door rings when we step inside, half-drowned out by sitar music floating from a decrepit old speaker hanging from a tenuous wire. It’s the only place still open this late, an Indian café tucked between a pawn shop and a tattoo parlor.
After three weeks on tour, it feels almost civilized.
Linus orders a mango lassi. I get water. Neither of us touches them.
We’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes, and I can feel him studying me. Not judging. Watching. He’s good at observing me until I crack.
“You can stop lookin’ at me like I murdered someone.” I lean back in the booth, shoulders aching from load-in.
His mouth twitches. “You’ve been broodin’ since soundcheck. Don’t tell me it’s nothin’.”
“Could be the four hours of sleep or the fact we’ve spent three weeks living on crisps and gas-station coffee.”
Linus folds his arms. “It’s Felicity, isn’t it?”
I freeze. “What about her?”
“Come on.” His Dublin lilt wraps around the words, low and steady. “She’s snappin’ at the crew, changin’ setlists mid-show, and glarin’ daggers at Padraig every time he opens his mouth, so she is. You can’t tell me nothin’s going on.”
My stomach turns. He’s not wrong. He never is.
“She’s being herself,” I say finally, a poor attempt at dismissal. “She wants control. Always has.”
“She’s got it.” Linus’s gaze is sharp. “Over you, at least.”
I bark out a bitter laugh. “Jesus. You don’t miss a thing.”
He doesn’t blink. “Wanna tell me what’s up?”
The question lands like a punch. I glance at the table, at the tiny cracks in the wood, at my own reflection in the thick varnish. I want to lie. I really do.
Linus deserves better.
I exhale sheepishly. “Padraig doesn’t know I fucked her.”
His breath catches, barely. No shock, just quiet resignation. “You never told him?”
“I planned on it.” I’m mortified. My twin and I have never kept secrets. “Then it went too long. Now it’s weird and shouldn’t matter, but she’s tryin’ to use it to her advantage.”
He waits.
“She’s been danglin’ it over me ever since,” I admit. “She hates Stevie. She knows how much it’ll destroy Padraig if he finds out I messed anything up with her, and she knows it. It’s diabolical, isn’t it? She smiles and sings and makes me feel like filth in my own band.”
Linus nods once, the way he does when he’s processing. “Can you tell Padraig?”
“I’ve meant to for ages. He’s already on edge.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Christ. No. I can’t tell him. Not with Stevie gone on her internship. He’s barely holdin’ it together.”
