“We missed you too,” I fire back, slouching next to Padraig. “Nice view. Real subtle.”
He smirks. “Treatin’ my brothers to something not fried or foil-wrapped.”
“Can’t argue with linen napkins and cushioned chairs.” Padraig glances around. “Haven’t been here since we were kids.”
The waiter drops off sparkling water without needing to ask. Connor always remembers the little things. Neither of us drink. Not since the incident. Some habits become second nature when you’re dedicated to not becoming your father.
We open with small talk. Gear, vans, recording schedules. Upcoming dates.
Connor already knows the most of it. We keep in touch via a three-way group text. An occasional call when service holds. Talking about it in person always lands different.
“Label’s small, but they believe in our music.” Padraig fills him in on our new plan. “We’ve got a timeline. Some real promo lined up.”
“Koko’s cutting vocals this week,” I add. “She’s sharp. Fast. Has instincts.”
Connor tilts his head. “Is she sticking around?”
“Tough to say,” I admit. “She’s cool. Talented. Tourin’ in a van with two broke Irish twins probably isn’t high on her vision board.”
Padraig adds hopefully, “She’s not a diva, though.”
“Aye.” Connor’s lips twitch. “Third singer in how many years?”
“Four.” I roll my eyes. “If you count the one gig where the guy tried to fuck the mic stand.”
“He was committed,” Padraig deadpans.
Connor laughs. “I still think about Felicity sometimes. What a storm.”
“Storms pass,” I mutter. As far as I’m concerned, the past is in the fucking past. No need to drum it up.
“Yeah, but she left carnage we haven’t been able to shake,” Padraig sighs.
No one says more. We don’t need to.
The waiter returns. Padraig and I order ribeye. Connor gets the salmon. Tons of sides.
“You still have the place in Federal Way?” Connor raises an eyebrow.
He doesn’t mean it like a question. He knows. We’ve talked.
“Yeah,” I explain. “Two-bedroom crash pad, cheap as fuck. Van’s in the lot. Storage unit two blocks over. Real high glamour, but we need somewhere to live when we’re not on the road.”
Connor huffs a laugh. “Probably better than most green rooms I’ve seen.”
“Cleaner too.” Padraig smirks. “No weird couch stains.”
The food arrives and we devour it. It’s so fucking good. It almost pisses me off. We’ve been choking down instant noodles and bar pizza for so long, a proper meal feels like betrayal.
Connor waits until the plates are half-cleared before he goes serious. “I’m not promisin’ anything.” He folds his hands on the table. “But if the next LTZ album lands the way the label hopes, we’ll do a US leg. Then Europe.”
I go still. Padraig doesn’t blink.
Connor looks between us. “I’ve already spoken to the guys. We want to bring you with us.”
It doesn’t hit all at once. It creeps. A weight in my chest. Familiar, hopeful, dangerous.
“You serious?” Padraig’s voice is eerily calm. Measured.
