Page 119 of Cadence
“I asked him why you haven’t accepted the deal.”
Snapping upright, I stare at him. “Dad…”
“You knew it might’ve come from us, sweetheart,” he says. “All the exposure, the crowds… The band is good,reallygood. You think my team would miss an opportunity like that?”
I look away, throat tight, toying with the tassels at the end of the blanket.
“Paige.” He continues, taking my hand in his. “I don’t sign artists as favors. You know that; you’ve seen it firsthand. Remember when you were a kid and would ask me to signwhatever band was your favorite at the time just so you could meet them?”
“But it’s not the same. It’s not that I think you pulled strings or whatever. I just…”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Maddox. I can’t track every artist on our roster,” he says firmly, giving my hand a gentle tug. “Believe me. James reassured me his guy had no idea who you were when he came to see you. They offered you the deal because they liked you, not because of me.”
I nod slowly, eyes fixed on our clasped hands. The lump in my throat is stubborn, sitting there, unwilling to move. Tugging me back into his side, he leans back with a sigh.
“I get it,” he murmurs. “But would you really turn it down just because it has Deveraux on the paperwork? Just think about it, okay?”
Hours pass by in flickers of blue light, and Dad turns the channel to one of his shows, but I’m not really paying attention. When I finally drag my sorry ass upstairs, the house it’s dark.
Pushing open the door, I head straight for my bed, sinking onto the mattress and finally looking around for the first time since I got here, the hazy fog lifting enough for me to actually notice everything in my childhood bedroom, still exactly the same as the day I left for college. The bookshelf hasn’t moved, my high school music awards still sitting covered in dust beside my old, beat-upTwilightbox set, worn and used from too many annual marathons.
Leaning forward, I flick on the lamp by the bedside, casting everything in an amber glow. Two identical notebooks lie side by side on the comforter, and my heart squeezes as I stare at them.
One used for my lyrics, the other Penny’s innermost thoughts.
I left the journal behind, too precious to risk losing it on tour, the last entry still unread. I’ve avoided it since I started reading, long before Maddox’s confession. Not just because it’s the end,the final page, with no more memories of my sisters left to unwrap in her own words, but because now… everything reads differently.
Himis Maddox.
God, I wish I didn’t know that. I wish I could still pretend he was just some unnamed guy—a background figure in her story. I stare at the journal, my stomach twisting with dread and morbid curiosity.
Shaking my head, I leave it and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. But when I return, it’s still there, of course it is. The brown leather cover is less sun-stained than mine, the spine barely creased.
Slowly, I sit on the bed and lift it into my lap. It feels heavier now, the leather not as soft as before, and for the first time since I found it in the box of things Dad gave to me, it feels like something I shouldn’t touch. Shouldn’t read.
Just like Maddox’s lyrics the first time.
But my hands move anyway, flipping pages until I reach the last one. I close my eyes when I see her handwriting and draw in a deep breath, slowly letting it out.
And I read.
Tonight’s the night.
I can feel it.
We’re staying late, a request from the band, because their first-ever album is almost ready to be released!!!!
I’m so happy for them. They’ve worked so damn hard… We all have. And even though I can’t wait to see them succeed, part of me feels… I don’t know, sad, maybe? This will be the last time they record at Big Sky. The last time I get to work with them.
It was bound to happen sooner or later. Dad’s been hounding me to move to one of the Deveraux Records sister studios. But I don’t know if I’m ready yet. The pressure of not letting Dad down…it’s huge.
I mean, Paige literally inherited all of Dad’s musical talent. Singing? She’s got a voice of an angel. Playing the drums? Out of this world.
Me? I’m tone deaf, can’t read music and my timing isn’t exactly…on time.
But this, working behind the scenes, producing, engineering, this is my thing. Not Paige’s, who insists on writing songs for other people.
I just wish she’d realize she’s meant for more than hiding behind someone else, y’know? She’s meant to be on stage in some way, performing for millions.
