Page 55 of Cadence
He doesn’t speak straight away, carefully choosing his words too. “You don’t have to pick one version of you, Paige. They can both matter.”
My gaze darts to his, lips parting in surprise. He shifts back, almost like he’s afraid he’s said too much, nodding toward his usual spot across the bus.
“I’ll let you get back to it then.”
“Thanks again for the coffee,” I say as he turns to leave, sliding into his seat and resting his guitar back over his lap.
I watch him as he settles, his words echoing in my head like it’s a simple decision. He hunches over his notebook, head bowed, hair falling in loose strands across his forehead, thumb clicking the pen against the table.
Three fast, two slow. My teeth catch my lower lip, the hot porcelain burning my hands as I get sucked into a haze, my entire body fidgeting in the booth.
That rhythm. Almost the same one he used when he…
Stop.
The tablet screen fades, grabbing my attention, and I tap it with my finger, waking it back up. But even the half-finished edit can’t distract me for long. My eyes drift again, to his knee bouncing under the table, the jittery movement of restless tension.
His headphones are on now, brow furrowed, our moment from before a distant memory as he gets sucked into the space he disappears into whenever he’s chasing a sound that won’t land.
Whatever’s in his head isn’t working, and it’s pissing him off.
I should look away, focus on my own work, but every time his thumb shifts, that ring catching the light, my stomach tightens. Same hand, same fingers, the ones that slid over me like they already knew what I needed.
My thighs press together, heat pulsing low, and I shift against the leather again, pretending it’s the seat making me squirm and not my traitorous body.
One touch, and he’s rewired me completely.
I force my gaze down, cheeks hot, eyes on the screen.
Not on him.
Maddox exhales sharply, cutting through Eli’s groans and Beau’s laughter as he dies in-game,again. His guitar is silent, notebook open in front of him, lips pressed beneath his ever-present scowl.
I recognize the spiral. The frantic pen tapping, the weight in his expression. The page is probably half-filled with scratched-out lines that I’d bet were good until he second-guessed them.
I should let him struggle and pretend I don’t care. Lord knows I’ve already been burnt before. But I do care. I always fucking do. Because I know that place he’s in. I’ve lived there, and I could help. Hell, I could fix the damn problem before we hit the next gas station.
But I don’t move. Helping means getting close again. And close is where I lose my grip. Close is how control rooms turn into pressure cookers. It’s how recordings end up saved instead of deleted.
Shoving away my thoughts, I refocus on my tablet, getting lost in my editing while the rest of them are wrapped in gameplay and banter.
“You’re up, Mad,” Eli calls out sometime later, breaking through my concentration.
Maddox’s head stays down, ignoring him as he strides over, tugging one side of his headphones away.
“The fuck?” Maddox snaps, jerking back as they clatter to the floor.
“I said it’s your turn to play,” Eli says, hands up, sheepish.
“I’m busy.”
“You’ve beenbusysince we left LA,” Eli mutters. “Come chill. Play with us.”
“No.”
“Maybe if you asked Paige for help,” Beau suggests from the floor, “you wouldn’t be staring at the same four lines like they pissed in your Cornflakes.”
The bus stills, even the game fades out. Everything pulls toward Maddox, waiting for a repeat of what happened the last time Beau suggested my help.
