Page 126 of Cadence
… are you okay?
My stomach flips, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
No. But I need to see him
The address comes through, no follow-up, no further questions, just quiet permission.
I back out of the drive, heading into the city. It feels different, blurry, unreal,new. Headlights pass like shooting stars, every stoplight a chance to turn around, but as soon as it changes, it’s like a race to the finish line just to get to his house.
Street by street, I get closer to the part of him I’ve never seen, his world, his space, and my fingers tighten around the wheel as I grow closer to my destination. When I finally pull up, I cut the engine, looking through the rain-streaked windows toward his door.
My hands rest on my thighs, the bassline of my heart going haywire, beating through my skin. I could still leave; no one would need to know I’m here—well, no one except Eli and Olive. Taking a deep breath, I open the car door and step out into the downpour, my shirt and leggings soaking through instantly.
The house is quiet, older than I expected, too, the path and small garden out front well taken care of. My tongue feels too big for my mouth as I approach the wooden stairs, walking slowly up them to the willow-green front door.
The color he painted for his grandma, kept after all this time.
Something about that hits as hard as his song. He could have changed it, could have moved on, but he kept this piece of her, right here quietly guarding the front of his life. And I’m notready for how much that hurts. How much it means, what it says, without saying anything at all.
I close my eyes, steeling myself, and then knock, the sound of the low thud of my knuckles against wood being lost in the rain. I wait, hearing nothing inside, and try again, harder this time.
The porch light snaps on, the lock clicking, and then the door cracks open.
Maddox, or some version of him, appears in the threshold, eyes rimmed red like he hasn’t slept in weeks. His thick, dark hair sticks up in erratic tufts, like he’s clawed at it too many times to count and there’s stubble lining his jaw, not in a sexy, effortless way, but in a given-up-days-ago way.
God, he looks…awful. Not just tired, hollowed out. Like he gave too much of himself away and didn’t leave anything behind to hold him up. His fingers curl around the door, the paint brighter now under the porch light, glowing softly like a beacon.
The part of him that remembers the people he’s loved and lost.
My eyes snap to his, breath catching as the realization sinks into my chest, slow and sharp.
I’m one of them now too.
Whether he lost me or not, I’m part of what he carries, and that thought unravels something inside me. My chest caves, shoulders shaking, and before I can stop it, a sob escapes me. Tiny and broken and exhausted.
His face crumples, hand reaching for me before stopping himself.
“Paige.”
My name’s a whisper, like it hurts him to say it out loud, but not saying it at all would hurt worse. And that’s all it takes. I step forward, my fingers lifting to his face, brushing gently over the rough stubble on his cheek. His breath stutters, eyes closing, like he’s afraid if he looks at me, he’ll fall apart.
And maybe I will too.
Because this is the moment everything breaks. Everything I tried to hold on to in order to keep him out, every layer of grief and fury and longing, it all shatters in a single touch. My hand glides into his hair, and I lean in at the same time he does too.
Our lips meet somewhere in the middle, not fast or hard or all-consuming like it usually is. Softer, sweeter, more aching than ever before. A kiss making up for every word not said, every sleepless night apart, some semblance of forgiveness, even if we aren’t exactly there yet.
His hands move, one cupping the back of my head, keeping me close as his tongue dances with mine. The other lowers to the small of my back, pressing me against him, anchoring us together like he’s drowning and in need of saving.
And if he is, I’m drowning with him.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Maddox
Hermouthtasteslikerain and something I was too afraid to feel.
Hope.
