Page 1 of Cadence
Chapter One
Maddox
Killme.
Slowly. Brutally. Use a rusty spoon if you want. God knows, it’d hurt less than this.
Four hours, twelve underwhelming performances, and nothing but off-beat timing and phony bravado.
“This fucking blows,” Eli groans behind me.
His fingers lazily drag over his bass strings, the muted twang clashing with the recording playing through the speakers. My knee won’t stop bouncing, every tick of the clock inside my head a countdown, the walls inching in with every wasted second watchingthis.
Reign Cooper’sLost and FoundTour is in a month. One fucking month. He’s not just big–he’s global. Multi-platinum,arena-packing, the kind of artist who breaks the internet every time he releases a new song, and he choseusto open for him.
We should be rehearsing, preparing for the biggest moment of our music careers, instead of wasting time with half-rate drummers who sit behind that kit and fumble through the set list like they’ve never held a pair of sticks before.
Pressing my fingers into my closed eyes, black spots dance behind my eyelids, the pressure more favorable than watching the poor excuse for rhythm currently crashing and burning on the small riser in front of us.
“Stop it.” Beau throws a pointed glare at our bandmate over his shoulder. “You’re being rude.” Turning fully, he shoves Eli’s feet off the chair beside him. “Do you want to at leasttryto look like you’re part of this band or not? Get your ass off the couch and sit with us.”
Eli salutes mockingly, resting one hand on his instrument, silencing the low drone, while making no attempt to sit properly. Instead, he hooks his ankle under the chair and drags it closer, propping his feet back where they were.
“He’s not great, but at least he’s not as bad as the last guy,” he mutters, fingers now drumming on the sleek, ocean-blue body of his bass laying across his thighs, the beat completely out of sync with our current auditionee.
My shoulders stiffen at Eli’s words, and the faint clench of my jaw only grows stronger with each new audition. We can’t afford “not great.” Not when our entire future rides on finding someone to replace Austin.
“He’s fucking shit,” I bite out under my breath, my hands curling into fists under the table.
“Shhh,” Beau hisses as he watches the drummer butchering our best track.
His lips turn downward as he jots something on the portfolio in front of him. Right on cue, Jet Fury misses the downbeat,again, and I snatch the pen from between Beau’s fingers, side-eyeing him as I slowly drag a thick black line across the page. He shakes his head and grabs it back, placing it out of reach and returning his attention to Jet, searching for something—anything—remotely usable.
“Could be worse,” Eli muses, his voice closer now as he leans through the gap between Beau and me. “At least he showed up.”
Beau exhales sharply through his nose, writing ‘maybe?’ at the top of the page and adding it to the small pile beside him. “At this rate, we’ll be auditioning until we’re fifty.”
“We don’t have the time,” I grind out, thrusting a hand through my hair. Austin’s betrayal somehow stings worse now than it did a few weeks ago.
Beau glances at me, hearing the underlying frustration in my voice before he turns a polite, professional smile toward a now finished Jet. The poor bastard’s panting, sweat dripping down his brow, his previously perfectly coiffed hair now a mess.
“Thank you for coming in today,” he says, tapping his phone to check the time.
“Want me to play anything else?” Jet asks as he swipes the back of his hand across his top lip. “I know I missed a couple beats, but I was nervous. Playing Sip Station’s musicforSip Station? Talk about intimidating as hell.” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, glancing at each of us. “That last song you released waseverywhere, man.I couldn’t go on social media without hearing it.”
“Yet if he can’t handle playing our music just for us, how the hell does he hope to play it in front of thousands of people?” I mutter, straightening in my chair. “We’ll be in touch.”
Jet’s hands shake as he packs up his gear, pausing when he reaches the doorway, face pale. His mouth parts like he wants to say something, but he thinks better of it and slips out without a word.
As the door clicks shut, I slump forward, rolling my neck. Silentpopscrack along my joints as my eyes trace a cable snaking across the scuffed vinyl floor. The room is a wreck; gear cases scattered everywhere, empty energy drink cans knocked over, the trash overflowing with crumpled-up paper. The place reeks, too, of sweat, cheap coffee, and a particular brand of desperation that makes my skin crawl.
“We’ll find someone, Maddox, but you need to cut them some slack,” Beau admonishes, leaning back in his seat with a sigh and dragging a hand over his short, dark hair. “Nothing was wrong with that guy or the last one—hell, even the first guy was alright—but none are good enough for you.”
“I don’t want good enough,” I say, tone clipped. “Good enough isn’t how Reign found us. Good enough won’t land us a goddamn record deal. Don’t you get that?”
“I do, but–”
“This is our chance, Beau, our one shot to show the world that we deserve to be on that stage,” I say. “We were so close, and then Austin decided to fucking bail–”
