“Maybe you underestimate him.”
“Maybe you don’t know him like I do.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table. “You’re carryin’ all of it, Liam. The guilt, the band, your brother’s heartbreak. You’ll snap if you keep it bottled.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” I force a half smile. “You saw tonight. I nearly lost it when she tried to rewrite the bridge mid-set.”
“She’s poison.” His voice softens. “You know it.”
“Yeah.” I stare at the condensation trailing down my glass. “I thought with my dick and not my head. Jokes on me.”
The waiter drops off our food—saag paneer, naan, two plates we don’t touch. I pick at a corner of bread, tearing it into pieces I never eat.
“How’s Padraig really doing?” Linus asks after a while. “With Stevie away for so long?”
I huff out a breath. “How do you think? He hides it well, but he’s gutted. She’s in fuckin’ Switzerland livin’ her dream and he’s stuck here with me, playin’ small clubs and pretendin’ he’s fine.”
“He loves her.”
“He does.” I nod. “He can’t seem to see she’s chasin’ something for herself. He wants to hold on for dear life.”
Linus studies me. “You’re scared he’ll leave the band.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” I meet his eyes. “He’s my twin. My anchor. Without him, I don’t know who I am.”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. The silence says enough.
For a while, we eat. Conversation around us blurs into white noise. Outside, the streetlights smear across thewet glass. I catch our reflection in the window. My sharp, unshaven cheekbones. His thick beard and brown, knowing eyes.
Two men who look far older than we are.
Linus clears his throat. “You know, you’re doin’ good work. With the band, I mean.”
I snort. “We’re hanging on by a thread.”
“Maybe. It’s not pure luck you’ve still got fans showin’ up, radio play, sold-out college shows.”
I glance up. “You really think so?”
He smiles, a little crooked. “Aye. You’ve got something special. It’s messy, sure, but it’s real. You need to believe in it again.”
Something inside me softens. He doesn’t know what it means, hearing someone I care about give me encouragement.
“You’ve saved our arses more times than I can count.” I smile over at him. “You’re a bloody miracle, Linus.”
He laughs quietly. “I’m a manager, not a saint.”
“You’re both.”
My comment earns a shy, faint grin. “Careful. I’ll start thinkin’ you fancy me.”
I tilt my head, watching him. “What makes you think I don’t?”
His eyes darken. The air shifts, dense and charged.
We sit in silence again. This thing between us looming.
Finally I break the tension. “We need to talk about us, don’t we?”
