Page 40 of Cadence
Mademebetter.
She slams her palms on top of the bag, head bowed like she’s holding herself together.
“They were great, Maddox. But that’s not the point,” she growls, roughly tugging the strap onto her shoulder before turning to face me. “You had so many opportunities to tell us you were going to change them. Every time we sang them in practice, even when Eli asked if we were definitely adding the song to the set list, and not once did you say,oh hey, I’m thinking of changing the bridge.”
“I know, I get it…” I swallow roughly, stepping toward her, only for her to step back, bumping against the table.
“Do you? So, why did you do it then?”
I’m trying to defuse the situation, but I’m the one now shaking.
“There’s no straight answer,” I say. “At least not one that doesn’t make me sound pathetic—”
“Try me,” she snaps. “What made the great Maddox Knox think he’s so above everyone else, he didn’t have the common decency to let them in on—”
“I don’t know, okay?” The words tear out of me before I can stop them. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That I don’t fucking know?”
I exhale sharply, lacing my fingers at the back of my head as I look up to the ceiling.
“Lyrics, I can do–sometimes–but this…” I point between us. “Talking about what I feel? Letting people in? It’s like trying to speak another language. I’ve only ever managed it with a pen and a melody.”
She scoffs, the sound bitter. “So accepting my help was really that hard that you had to do it behind everyone’s back?”
A heavy silence rests on top of us as she regards me, brow furrowed, hand tightening around the strap of her bag.
“You know what? Forget it. I’ve learned my lesson.” She lowers her gaze to the floor, voice lacking emotion. “Next time I see you’re struggling, I’ll leave you alone.”
She moves to step around me, and my heart lurches. I can’t let her go. Not like this.
My hand finds her arm before I can think about it, fingers gently latching onto her bicep, the leather sleeve warm from her skin. She stills, her eyes landing where I hold her, refusing to look at me. But I feel her breathing shift beneath my touch all the same.
“Accepting your help means I’m not as good as I thought I was,” I choke out, the muscles in my neck pulling taut. “The way we played tonight hasneverfelt like that. Thecrowdhas never felt like that. And admitting that I need your help isn’t something I can easily do. Call it egotistical, I don’t care, but I promise you, the decision to use your lyrics was an impulse, one I made right before we started the song, because the second youcame on stage, the fans loved you, and that changed everything.” I sigh, my words rough when I speak again. “I know I crossed a line. But you saw something no one else ever has…and you didn’t mock it, didn’t tear it apart. You just…wrote back.”
Finally, she tilts her head. From this close, I can see everything. Her mascara-coated eyelashes, the light brown freckles dusting over the bridge of her nose, the side of her neck pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
“You’ve seen the parts of me I can only let out in songs that will never be heard because they’re the worst bits of me,” I say, voice fraying, vulnerability making me feel exposed. Everything burns, like saying it out loud is scraping open a wound that’s barely managed to heal. “It should’ve scared you off.”
“Why would it?” she asks. Her gaze locks with mine, pinning me in place, glossy and clouded with something she doesn’t want me to see but can’t hide either. “They might just be your best parts.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew,” I mutter, lowering my head. “You’re already in deeper than you realize.”
Her bag slides off her shoulder with a dull thud, her fingers curling around my wrist like she needs it to keep steady.
“Your experiences make you who you are, Maddox, and they’re there, in that notebook, in every chord you play…” She swallows, her eyes imploring me to believe her. “And yeah, they’re beaten and bruised, but they mean something. They mean something to me.”
I can almost feel the breath of her unspoken words against my skin, louder than any raised vocal or drumbeat.
“You speak to my shattered pieces in a way I didn’t think was possible. What I read in your notebook…” she trails off, inhaling a shaky breath. “Ifeltit in my soul. It was real and beautiful and so full of life. And if you don’t see that, if you don’tfeel that, then let me help you.”
The lump in my throat is damn near suffocating, the heat radiating from her hand scorching. She steps closer, studying me.
“I meant it when I said it was great, but it wasn’t because of anything I did. You already had everything there; I just rearranged things a little. That’s all.”
Her hand is still on my wrist, mine somehow on her hip. I don’t even know when that happened. I just know I never want to forget the feel of her skin beneath my palm–warm and soft and so damn dangerous–as we stand toe-to-toe, caught in that breathless place between restraint and want.
Gently, my thumb strokes the smooth skin, feeling the ripple of goosebumps I create in my wake, but the shudder she gives…it does something to me.
Her chin tilts upward, flecks of dark navy lining the outside of her already brilliant blue irises. I watch a flush spread across her cheeks, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip, slow and uncertain, until she lowers her gaze, dragging mine along with it.
