Page 29 of Cadence
“She should’ve told us who she was,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Maybe. But when did you expect her to tell you, anyway?” he fires back, not angry, just honest. “When you were being so nice to her? Making her feel welcome?”
The dig hits, low and true and I drag a hand over my mouth, the stubble on my jaw prickling against my fingers. My chest’s too tight, lungs burning with all the things I don’t know how to voice.
I could pretend it’s about professionalism, or band dynamics. But none of that explains why I can’t fucking stop goading her, that each time I watch her play, I’m drawn in by her. And all I want to do is push her, see the challenge in her eyes that makes me feel alive for the first time in nearly two years.
“How am I supposed to trust someone who walked in hiding shit?”
“You’re acting like she’s some undercover spy trying to infiltrate the band to bring us down.” Eli huffs, pushing his empty cup away. “She didn’t want any special treatment because of who she is. She wanted to prove she could make it on her own. Surely, musician to musician, you can understand that?”
“Of course I do, but she’s a Deveraux. What happens when people find out? Every win will look like a handout. Or… What if someone bigger gives her an offer and she takes it?”
Fear coats my questions, because there’s a very real chance that could happen. And if I keep treating her like I have? I don’t think I could blame her if she dropped us—me—on our asses.
Or worse, what if she said something? One word to her dad and we’re done.
Kit Deveraux makes careers, and he sure as hell can end them too. No record deals, no tour slots, no second chances.
“Then we let her go,” Beau says, shrugging. “But don’t drive her out just to prove something you’ve made up in your head.”
I don’t respond, because contrary to what the guys think, I actuallydowant her in our band. Not that I’d ever admit it, but when she plays, something inside me starts to believe that we actually stand a chance at making it. And that scares the fucking shit out of me. Because if she quit, it might be worse than the day Austin left.
“And for the record,” Eli adds. “I don’t think she’d ever do that. Paige seems pretty adamant to keep the link to her dad a secret.”
Beau leans forward, fingers clasped together. “We’re not asking you to be best friends. We’re just asking you not to be the reason we lose her.”
“And the reason we lose this shot,” Eli says.
“We’ve got two weeks before we tour, Maddox. Two. If something explodes between you before then, we don’t have time to fix it.”
Beau pushes to his feet, scrunching up a paper bag with crumbs on it, taking it to the trash. I’m quiet, glancing between them, replaying everything they’ve just said. They’re not yelling, not shouting, just…disappointed. Tired.
“I didn’t mean to—” I cut off, heat crawling up my spine.
“Act like a child?” Eli asks as he gives me a pointed look.
Beau laughs humorlessly, gesturing toward him. “Ifhe’ssaying that, you know it must be true.”
“I would be offended, but…” He shrugs, half-laughing, half-huffing before taking on a rare, serious tone. “Dude, she actually wants to be here… And if you got to know her, you’d realize that she’s sweet and funny and really fucking talented…”
I bristle. Hearing the way he describes her makes this sort of…primalnesspeek its head up. How the hell does he even know this?
“Some of the artists Paige has worked with in the past…” He blows out a breath. “Talk about impressive. Aiden Fitzgerald… Mia Wood… ThemotherfuckingNobel.”
The names rattle off like they’re nobodies, as if he’s listing indie singers still trying to make it from the bedrooms. But they’re not, far from it. If anything, it’s like she was ghostwriting for Harry Styles or sitting in the recording booth with Taylor Swift.
“Stop glaring. I’m not fucking her or anything. I just went down a rabbit hole after she said the whole thing about being in the charts yesterday,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Although she is the hottest one in the band by far.”
My spine snaps straight. “What?”
“Calm down, caveman.”
Beau cuts a look between us, his lip curling like the answer’s already written on my face. “Wait, is that what this has all been about? You’re into her?”
“I’m not—” I grind the words out, low and clipped, but my fists curl, giving me away.
“Right,” Eli mutters under his breath. “Because throwing curveballs during sets, staring at her like she’s both a threat and a meal, and looking like you’re about to lunge over this table to kill me is totally normal bandmate behavior.”
