Page 28 of Cadence
He doesn’t let people close. Not anymore.
Opening the passenger door, I toss my bag into the back seat, and it hits the old box I picked up from my parents’ house that I still haven’t unpacked. One of the flaps pops open, just enough to reveal a stack of crumpled music sheets, and I sigh, shutting the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. But I only get as far as starting the engine, not even wanting to go home yet, not ready for…anything.
Twisting around, I stare at the box before dragging it through the chairs, dumping it beside me and flipping it open. The smells of old paper and dust fill my nose and my fingers move instinctively, rifling through notebooks, photo albums, faded concert flyers, ticket stubs, a band tee I can’t believe has still lasted after all this time.
Near the bottom, I spot it, the old brown leather notebook, one of a matching set. My throat constricts as I lift it out and open the cover. The handwriting is as familiar as breathing, the textforever kept in time, and I start to read, smiling as memories flood my head from days gone past.
Without thinking, a melody rises from my lips, quiet at first, growing louder. I hum the words, then sing them, and before I even reach the high note, it’s his harmony I hear in my head, not my own voice reverberating around the car.
Maddox’s part. That gritty, raw rasp he throws in just before the final chorus.
His voice layers over mine like he’s sitting beside me, sounding the way it does in practice. A jagged harmony that wraps around the lyrics like it’s protecting it.
As the song dies on my tongue, my stomach clenches. I snap the notebook shut and shove it deep into the box, annoyance surging anew.
Of course. Of course he’s the one haunting the silence.
I slam the flaps closed, the cardboard creasing beneath my hand, and fall back into the seat, my hands coming to strangle the steering wheel.
Not unless they bleed for it.
Well, Iambleeding.
I have been since I walked through that door.
So where’s the privilege in that, Maddox?
Chapter Eleven
Maddox
“What’sgoingon?”Iask as soon as I walk into the studio the next morning.
The guys are sitting at the table, to-go cups from Beau’s coffee shop in front of them. Beau nods toward an empty seat, silently pushing one of the drinks toward me. Setting my case aside, I join them.
“So is this some type of intervention or something?” I joke, lowering down, pausing halfway when I catch Eli’s grimace, unspoken words passing between them.
“Not exactly.” Picking at the cardboard sleeve, he avoids my eyes as I sit down fully.
“We just wanted to talk,” Beau says. “Before Paige gets here.”
“Ifshe gets here,” I mutter, popping the lid and breathing in the nutty aroma infused in the steam.
“She’s coming back,” Eli says almost defensively. “She’ll just be a little later than normal.”
“And how do you know that?” I ask, trying to tame the agitation already wanting to come to the surface, because out of all of us, Paige is usually the first one in and the last one out. And walking in today, seeing them instead of her, my heart lurched.
Maybe hermaybewas a no after all.
“Because I texted her last night, begging her not to quit.”
I straighten, my jaw tightening. “You did what?”
“That’s not important.” Beau holds up his hand and takes a deep breath. “Listen, yesterday was…a lot.”
“Notjustyesterday,” Eli mumbles.
“For everyone.” Beau continues, ignoring him.
