Page 35 of Cadence
Reluctantly, I turn the page that’s dog-eared, today’s date written in small letters at the top, and I focus on what he’s battling with.
The lyrics here are good, likereallygood. But the last verse has been rewritten at least six times. Each version chips away at the same idea: loneliness in the middle of all the noise, faking it for the crowd, a silence that lingers long after everything else fades.
It’s close to perfect, almost there, but something’s missing. A beat. A payoff. I don’t quite know what yet. I chew my lip again, eyeing the door once more, then snatch his pen from the table. Popping the cap, I hover over the page, adrenaline thrumming in my blood as my writing appears next to his.
This hits, but what if you switch lines two and three? I think the crowd will go wild if you do that. And maybe instead of the last line, you sing; ‘Stuck in a cage that I can’t escape.’
I sit back, setting it down and almost closing the book. My hand doesn’t move for several seconds before I turn back a few pages and scribble something small at the bottom of that raw and aching song from five days ago.
Slamming the book shut, I leap away from the table, knowing I’ve already spent far too long there.
What the hell was I thinking?
My heart pounds in my ears, my hands shaking as I drop back onto the floor. Grabbing my tablet, I place it back on my lap and force my face into neutral, just as the door creaks open.
Maddox steps inside, his head lowered as he pockets his cell. But when it lifts, his eyes go straight to the notebook. Then to me. His expression doesn’t change, but something in the air does. A subtle tension, a crackle, and my stomach knots.
Before either of us can speak, Eli barrels in behind him, clapping a hand on Maddox’s shoulder with all his usual flair, a large, iced coffee in the other.
“Let’s get practicing,” he says, not noticing—or maybe choosing to ignore—the silent stare-off between me and our lead guitarist.
Beau follows, setting a cup carrier on the table, passing one to Maddox, then me, and immediately slamming back half of his before grabbing his guitar. I slide behind the kit, hands fumbling with my sticks just enough that I tuck them under my thighs to hide the way they tremble.
Seriously? I justhadto snoop? Had to insert myself into something he didn’t ask me to when he already barely tolerates me.
Now? I’m done for.
Eli’s rambling about hisWordlewin and Beau’s amp lets out a screech as he plugs in, the usual pre-practice noise filling the room. But all I can hear is the sound of Maddox flipping open his notebook, each slow turn of the page, the short pause, then the booming slam of the cover closing.
His nostrils flare, head lifts, eyes snap to mine. And for the first time since I’ve met him, he doesn’t look angry. He looks like he’s been stripped bare, like I reached somewhere no one’s supposed to touch, and found something I shouldn’t have.
Maybe…I did.
And now he knowsI’veseen it.
Chapter Fourteen
I see him for who he really is.
Not the guy he puts on for the others. Not the guy he is when he sings or plays or records.
It’s the one he keeps hidden away. The version he doesn’t want anyone to see.
But I see him.
And it’s beautiful.
P x
Chapter Fifteen
Maddox
Twonotes,likefingerprintsleft behind that marked me on purpose.
I did what the guys asked of me and tried to stop being a dick to her, but the second I walked back into the room, I knew something was off. It took all I had not to fly off the handle and unleash all my rage on her for crossing a line.
She might be a Deveraux, writing songs for artists I could only dream of working with, and has a social media account with more followers than Beau, Eli, and me combined, but that gave her no right to invade my privacy. That notebook’s the only place I let the noise in my head run rampant. The only space that’s mine—raw, unfiltered, messy—and no one touches it. Not even the guys.
