Connor nods. “Main support.”
“We’d have to find a way to get Koko to say yes.” My practical nature kicks in. No point in getting excited about another opportunity likely to be snatched away at the last hour. “She’s reluctant to commit to long tours.”
Fuck, I’m jaded.
“Well, I’m giving you a heads-up so if you need to, you can find someone new.” Connor threads his fingers together. “You’ve done it before.”
“Easier said than done. The girl’s got a killer tone.” I shrug. “Plus, Koko looks good on stage and has ambition. I’m sure we can convince her.”
“She’s a fuckin’ Siren, even when she’s pissed off.” Padraig rests his chin in his palm.
Connor smiles. “Well, keep your shit together so we can make this happen.”
We fall into a quieter rhythm. Talk setlists, radio play, venue sizes. Padraig and Connor swap notes on lighting rigs and tech crews. I tune in and out, watching the lake through the glass like it might give me a sign.
Padraig nudges me. “Dar, did you hear Connor’s question?”
I shake out the cobwebs and glance at him. Tilt my head expectantly.
“You hear from Linus?” Connor repeats, fork paused mid-air.
I go cold. I can’t say anything.
Padraig doesn’t let it go. “Jesus. You didn’t tell him?”
“He messaged again,” I admit. “Couple months ago. He started his own management company, has some cool acts.”
“And?”
“I didn’t answer.”
Padraig swears under his breath.
Connor watches us, quiet. “Why? You still have feelin’s for him?”
“It’s not about my feelin’s.” I wave him off, uncomfortable. The only person who really knows about my private life isPadraig and I’m a bit salty about him bringing this up in the first place.
“Then what’s it about?” Connor asks.
“He’s based in Dublin.” I come up with a lame explanation. “We’re here, hangin’ on by a fucking thread. What am I supposed to say? So glad you’re findin’ success with other bands?”
“He would manage us again in a fucking heartbeat.” Padraig shakes his head. “You could’ve responded to find out what he wanted.”
“He knows we’re over,” I snap. “We’ve both made peace with it.”
Connor looks at me. “You sure?”
“I’m sure he’s better off withoutme,” I seethe.
I have an uncanny way of shutting down a conversation. We all resume eating.
A few minutes later Connor tries again, “If the Europe leg happens, you could reconnect.”
“Hard pass,” I mutter. “I’m not entertainin’ a fuckin’ reunion tour while I’m still bleedin’.”
Padraig grips my wrist. “Might as well bleed with purpose.”
I want to punch something. Instead, I drain my water and crunch on a mouthful of ice. Swallow.
