Page 25 of Cadence
I growl low in the back of my throat, and he slams his mouth shut.
“Holy shit,” Eli breathes. “You’re serious.”
Glancing at him, she nods once. Eli blows out a breath, eyes bulged as he cards a hand through the front of his blond hair, the strands sticking up between his fingers. A slow, excited smile spreads over his face.
“Does this mean you could get us into—”
“Stop.” Her voice lashes out before he finishes. “That.Thatright there is exactly why I didn’t say a word.” She rounds on all of us, fire in her now icy eyes. “I didn’tdeceiveanyone. People see the name and they stop seeingme. I’m either a shortcut, someone to barter favors from, or a fraud. There’s no in-between. No one wants to believe I earned a single thing. That I’ve worked for every fucking thing on my own.”
Eli opens his mouth, but she cuts in again, her voice firm. “I already told you why I kept that account private, why I kept my name hidden. It wasn’t to manipulate anyone. It was to be judged by what Ican do, not who I’m related to.” Her gaze swings back to me. “You think I don’t know what this looks like? But the second someone figures out who I really am”—she points to Eli, who flinches—“this happens.”
“Shit, I…” Eli trails off, scratching the back of his neck.
She doesn’t soften, doesn’t move her attention from me as her voice drops, firmer now, not mad, just exhausted. “You want the truth, Maddox? You want to learnallabout me? Fine. Before this, I was a songwriter, a damn good one. There wasn’t a day when the charts didn’t have a songIwrote on them. But people didn’t want me because I was good; they only requested me because I’m a Deveraux, a connection to my dad.” She takes a breath, a flush climbing up her neck. "Do you know how it feels to sit in a room and show an artist the song I’ve poured my heart and soul into, staying up endless nights just to figure out why a line wasn’t working, only to have them ask if my dad thinks it will be a hit?”
Every single word lands harder than the last, each one a stone dropping into the pit of my stomach. Because I have been there, stressing over my lyrics, not sure if what I wrote before was better than the tweaked version or one that popped into my head, only to disappear before I had the chance to write it down.
“Playing music…beinginit? That’s what matters to me. Creating something real? That’s all I want. I just wanted one space where I wasn’t someone’s legacy. Where it was about my skill, not who raised me.”
She snatches her phone and turns her back, practically dismissing me.
The guilt doesn’t hit in pieces. It crashes all at once, sharp and disorienting, and it’s not about the way I’ve been testing her all week, or even what I just said to her.
Because I finally know why she felt familiar.
Ihaveseen her before. Not recently, not credited on songs I’ve heard streamed online, but somewhere I never should’ve been. Surrounded by suits, serious and subdued faces, auburn hair pinned up neatly as Paige sat alone and quiet. I only caught the side of her face, a mere glimpse as I walked past, never really thinking I’d see her again.
And now she’s here, playing in my band.
I stand there, pulse still pounding, the burn of adrenaline turning to something sour in my chest. She changed her name, hid who she was, just to be taken seriously. Just to be heard.
I haven’t simply fucked up, pushed too far; I think I’ve cracked something I might not be able to fix.
“You’re still coming to practice tomorrow, right?” Eli asks, cutting through the thick air.
I flinch like his words hit my skin. My eyes drag to her, heavy with everything I can’t take back. She’s quiet for a beat, scanning the room like she’s already halfway gone, like she’s measuring whether any of this is still worth it.
When she finally moves, it’s with purpose, grabbing her bag, shoving her sticks inside, swinging it over her shoulder. Her fingers curl tight around the strap, her gaze fixed on the floor.
“Maybe.”
Then she walks out, not slamming the door, not saying goodbye. Just…gone.
I stare at the empty space she leaves behind, my mouth opening, a half-formed apology stuck in my throat. But I don’t say anything, don’t chase after her. Knowing I might already be too late.
Chapter Ten
Paige
Ihatehim.
I hate him sofuckingmuch.
My skull throbs with every heartbeat, each pulse a cadence I can’t keep up with as I shove the studio door open and storm into the lobby. I’m short-circuiting, too many emotions crashing into each other inside my chest to make any real sense of them.
He’s a fucking dick.
As I press myself to the wall, my headache intensifies and my breath catches in my lungs. Each inhale scrapes down my throat like sandpaper with that burning-behind-the-eyes feeling that lives there when you’re holding too much in.
