Page 11 of Cadence
The overhead fluorescents buzz faintly as I take everything in, wanting to commit it all to memory. There’s a couch against one wall, faded and frayed from years of abuse, and a mini fridge hums in the corner, half-buried under cables and a spare amp. The carpet is dark and uneven, probably older than me, holding the ghosts of every artist who’s passed through here, praying to make it big.
Still, it feels…right. Even if I keep waiting for someone to walk in and tell me this was a mistake.
I move slowly around the room, letting my fingers drift over the edge of a cymbal stand, the smooth metal of a mic boom, the peeling corner of an old set list taped to the wall. None of it scares me; it’s all as familiar as breathing, but the drum kit in the middle,thedrum kit, withSip Stationprinted across the bass? That’s new.
And it’s mine.
A flutter hits low in my stomach, the faint wave of nerves and excitement trickling in as I close my eyes and breathe in deep. The stale tang of coffee and the ever-present smell of warmed-up electronics fill my lungs with musk, recycled air, hopes and dreams.
When I open them, everything looks the same but feels different all at once. Like the ground is waiting to open up under my feet at any second.
Holy shit, I’m so out of my depth.
My heart rate kicks up a notch, my palms damp. I need a familiar voice, one that will talk me off this ledge.
Digging into my bag, I pull out my phone, tapping the top name on my call log. Sliding the strap off my shoulder, I drop it near the couch, barely waiting as the call connects, the clacking of her heels ringing through the speaker as soon as she answers.
“Paige? What’s going on, honey?”
“Tell me why I’m here again?” I ask, pacing a slow loop around the room, pressing the phone tight to my ear.
Mom chuckles, the sound like a balm. “Because they called you back and said you got it.”
“Yeah, I got that part,” I say, rubbing my forehead with my thumb. “I meanthis.Joining the band, playing alongside someone who clearly didn’t want me here.”
Even as Olive sat in my living room the following day, hungover as hell but listening smugly as Beau called to give me the good news, it just didn’t make sense. Maddox sounded so adamant in his decision, so did Beau and Eli force his hand? Or did he have a change of heart?
Why does it even matter? I’m here, aren’t I?
A soft beep sounds in the background, then the click of a door, and I picture Mom walking into her office, coffee in one hand, folder tucked under her arm.
“Maybe he was just having an off day,” she says. “You did say they’d been auditioning all afternoon. That’d wear anyone down.”
“An off day?” I snort. “He tried to trip me up by doing some sort of mega-mix of their old tracks, and then shut me down completely when I held my own.”
She laughs. “I’m sure theyallwant you there, honey.”
“I guess.” I slow my pacing, now near the guitar rack. “I just thought since he’s the frontman or whatever and clearly had so much to say about who got the job, he would’ve at least reached out to clear the air or something.”
It’s not that Iwantedhim to reach out, not to say I belonged here, anyway, but I can’t seem to shake thisneedto know what he really thinks now he’s had time to… cool off. Even if I’ll never admit that I sat with my phone glued to my hand, jumping each time it so much as vibrated.
I slam my eyes shut as embarrassment coats my skin at how fucking pathetic I was all weekend. And the feeling obviously hasn’t faded.
“Maybe the real question is,” Mom says, the sound of her laptop powering up crackling faintly over the line, “why does his opinion bother you so much?”
I open my mouth to answer, but my throat closes around exactly zero excuses. Because the truth is, I want him to like me. Not in the way that matters to the band, but in a quiet, twisted way where it would feel good to impress him without even trying.
See? Pathetic.
“Don’t let one bad encounter ruin something great,” she adds gently. “Just play like you always do. Show him why saying yes was the right call. He’ll come around.”
The door creaks open behind me, and I spin, my heart stuttering ashewalks in.
Maddox hesitates in the doorway the second he spots me. It’s a brief, barely noticeable pause, but enough to slow his stride. My stomach flips, heat coating the back of my neck like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t.
A flicker of something close to annoyance crosses his face before he manages to mask his expression. Then, just like that, he keeps moving, eyes down, jaw tight, dropping his guitar case with a dull thud.
Off day, my ass.
