Page 13 of Cadence
Like I’m exhausting him, he exhales through his nose. “Since I could hold a guitar.”
“Same.”
That earns me a look, an unimpressed flick of his brown eyes, like he’s trying to decide if I’m joking or not.
“Drumsticks,” I clarify quickly.
He says nothing. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t nod. Just goes back to tuning.
The silence stretches, painful now, and I shift my weight, toe tapping lightly against the floor, waiting for him to throw me a bone. A single word. A grunt. Something. Whatever game we’re playing, Maddox is winning, and he’s not even trying.
I take a small step closer, like getting in range might provoke a reaction that actually lasts longer than a few seconds. “You don’t like me, do you?”
His focus doesn’t leave his guitar, and there’s a flat edge to his voice as he says, “It doesn’t matter if I like you or not.”
“Right,” I breathe out as my stomach twists.
Glancing around the room, I nod like I agree, even though I don’t. It’s juvenile, having to have this conversation, but when we’re expected to be in each other’s proximity all the time, especially when we’re about to be touring for three months, liking each other is kind of key.
“I mean…it kind of seems like you don’t want me here.”
Maddox finally looks up, gaze unreadable as he leans back in his chair, giving me his full, undivided attention. I might have wished for it before, but now that I have it, it’s unnerving.
“What gave you that idea?”
I press my thumb into my palm to ground myself. He doesn’t even notice, and each second he watches me with that smug smirk on his lips sets me more on edge. I’ve had enough. My pulse kicks harder as frustration creeps into my voice, and I tilt my head slightly, narrowing my eyes.
“Let’s cut the shit, okay?” I take another step forward, barely aware I’ve moved, drawn deeper into his space with every word. “I know you don’t want me here. I know you must have been overruled. And I know you’ve had an issue with me from the second I walked in.”
Maddox sighs, slow and measured, shaking his head, his dark eyes never leaving mine. “It doesn’t matter.”
I scoff. “It matters to me.”
His fingers dig into the body of his guitar, his knuckles whitening slightly as they press into the wood.
“You got the spot, didn’t you?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” His voice is clipped, patience thinning by the second.
My feet move again of their own volition, like his irritation is a magnet and I’m made of steel.
“The point is, I need to know that you’re not going to make this harder than it needs to be.” Another step. I’m close enough now that I catch the slight shift of his boot, his knee angling outward like he’s unconsciously making room. “I’m good, Maddox. Clearly better than anyone else you auditioned, or else I wouldn’t be standing here. Just give me a chance.”
He lets out a low laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
I cross my arms again, shifting my weight, as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs now, voice rougher than before.
“Even when everything’s telling me not to, I’m giving you a chance.” He plucks a chord, low and off-key, the minor note vibrating ominously between us. “I looked you up, you know. Asked Thea about you, checked your socials… There’s nothing there.” His sharp gaze cuts to me, his pupils narrowing like he’s tracking a threat. “Anyone with your skill would be all over the internet, trying to make a name for themselves. You? You’re practically a ghost.”
I swallow roughly. “Maybe I’m just not big on broadcasting my life online for everyone to see.”
Everyone already sees too much without my help.
“Maybe,” he mutters, his top lip curling slightly. “But you see, the LA scene isn’t that big. Musicians, we all overlap. We’ve seen each other around; everyone knows someone in one way or another. Everyone except you.” The edge in his voice is impossible to miss. “You’re local. You’re unreal behind the kit. And somehow, no one’s heard of you?” He pauses, lifting an eyebrow. “Kind of weird, don’t you think?”
