Cadence (Fractured Frequencies #1)

Chapter One

Maddox

Kill me.

Slowly. Brutally. Use a rusty spoon if you want. God knows, it’d hurt less than this.

Four hours, twelve underwhelming performances, and nothing but off-beat timing and phony bravado.

“This fucking blows,” Eli groans behind me.

His fingers lazily drag over his bass strings, the muted twang clashing with the recording playing through the speakers. My knee won’t stop bouncing, every tick of the clock inside my head a countdown, the walls inching in with every wasted second watching this.

Reign Cooper’s Lost and Found Tour is in a month. One fucking month. He’s not just big–he’s global. Multi-platinum, arena-packing, the kind of artist who breaks the internet every time he releases a new song, and he chose us to open for him.

We should be rehearsing, preparing for the biggest moment of our music careers, instead of wasting time with half-rate drummers who sit behind that kit and fumble through the set list like they’ve never held a pair of sticks before.

Pressing my fingers into my closed eyes, black spots dance behind my eyelids, the pressure more favorable than watching the poor excuse for rhythm currently crashing and burning on the small riser in front of us.

“Stop it.” Beau throws a pointed glare at our bandmate over his shoulder. “You’re being rude.” Turning fully, he shoves Eli’s feet off the chair beside him. “Do you want to at least try to look like you’re part of this band or not? Get your ass off the couch and sit with us.”

Eli salutes mockingly, resting one hand on his instrument, silencing the low drone, while making no attempt to sit properly. Instead, he hooks his ankle under the chair and drags it closer, propping his feet back where they were.

“He’s not great, but at least he’s not as bad as the last guy,” he mutters, fingers now drumming on the sleek, ocean-blue body of his bass laying across his thighs, the beat completely out of sync with our current auditionee.

My shoulders stiffen at Eli’s words, and the faint clench of my jaw only grows stronger with each new audition. We can’t afford “not great.” Not when our entire future rides on finding someone to replace Austin.

“He’s fucking shit,” I bite out under my breath, my hands curling into fists under the table.

“Shhh,” Beau hisses as he watches the drummer butchering our best track.

His lips turn downward as he jots something on the portfolio in front of him.

Right on cue, Jet Fury misses the downbeat, again, and I snatch the pen from between Beau’s fingers, side-eyeing him as I slowly drag a thick black line across the page.

He shakes his head and grabs it back, placing it out of reach and returning his attention to Jet, searching for something—anything—remotely usable.

“Could be worse,” Eli muses, his voice closer now as he leans through the gap between Beau and me. “At least he showed up.”

Beau exhales sharply through his nose, writing ‘maybe?’ at the top of the page and adding it to the small pile beside him. “At this rate, we’ll be auditioning until we’re fifty.”

“We don’t have the time,” I grind out, thrusting a hand through my hair. Austin’s betrayal somehow stings worse now than it did a few weeks ago.

Beau glances at me, hearing the underlying frustration in my voice before he turns a polite, professional smile toward a now finished Jet. The poor bastard’s panting, sweat dripping down his brow, his previously perfectly coiffed hair now a mess.

“Thank you for coming in today,” he says, tapping his phone to check the time.

“Want me to play anything else?” Jet asks as he swipes the back of his hand across his top lip.

“I know I missed a couple beats, but I was nervous. Playing Sip Station’s music for Sip Station?

Talk about intimidating as hell.” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, glancing at each of us.

“That last song you released was everywhere, man. I couldn’t go on social media without hearing it. ”

“Yet if he can’t handle playing our music just for us, how the hell does he hope to play it in front of thousands of people?” I mutter, straightening in my chair. “We’ll be in touch.”

Jet’s hands shake as he packs up his gear, pausing when he reaches the doorway, face pale. His mouth parts like he wants to say something, but he thinks better of it and slips out without a word.

As the door clicks shut, I slump forward, rolling my neck.

Silent pops crack along my joints as my eyes trace a cable snaking across the scuffed vinyl floor.

The room is a wreck; gear cases scattered everywhere, empty energy drink cans knocked over, the trash overflowing with crumpled-up paper.

The place reeks, too, of sweat, cheap coffee, and a particular brand of desperation that makes my skin crawl.

“We’ll find someone, Maddox, but you need to cut them some slack,” Beau admonishes, leaning back in his seat with a sigh and dragging a hand over his short, dark hair. “Nothing was wrong with that guy or the last one—hell, even the first guy was alright—but none are good enough for you.”

“I don’t want good enough,” I say, tone clipped. “Good enough isn’t how Reign found us. Good enough won’t land us a goddamn record deal. Don’t you get that?”

“I do, but–”

“This is our chance, Beau, our one shot to show the world that we deserve to be on that stage,” I say. “We were so close, and then Austin decided to fucking bail–”

“Austin didn’t bail,” Beau corrects, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“He didn’t want it as much as we did,” I murmur, the echo of the sharp blow I felt the day he said he was done twisting under my ribs. “He never did.”

I sigh, swallowing the bitter realization that our former drummer thought we were just some teenage garage band, clinging to hopes and dreams of making it big.

“I mean, he did just have a baby, Mad,” Eli says, holding up his hands placatingly when I whirl around, glaring at him.

And? Plenty of rock stars balance music and families, so why the hell couldn’t he?

“Exactly,” Beau adds, “Weekend shows were fine for him when we first started out. Playing in venues that maybe meant staying overnight? He could manage that. But things are different now. A three-month tour with one of the biggest-selling artists in the US? You can’t fault him for wanting to stay home. ”

The words hit harder than I expect, some of the resentment I’ve held against him finally ebbing.

Scrubbing both hands down my face, I drag them over the stubble on my jaw before letting them fall into my lap.

“Yeah,” I mutter finally, voice rough. “I know.”

But knowing that doesn’t make it suck any less.

“Plus, I kinda agree with Beau,” Eli says, picking at the frayed arm of the couch.

“No one’s going to walk in and magically be like the great Maddox Knox and play like the guitar is an extension of his body.

” His blue eyes flick to mine, a smirk quirking his lips.

“It might take some work before we’re tour-ready again. ”

“Work we shouldn’t have to put in–”

“Okay, we get it, you’re bitter,” Eli teases with a heavy breath as he stretches his arms over his head. “But what’s done is done. Stop wasting all this energy on shit you can’t change and move the fuck on.”

Groaning, I rub my temples, staving off a raging headache. “Fine. But if this is the best we’ve got, we might as well call it.”

Beau ignores me, running his finger down the audition list. “We’ve got one more. Paige Erikson.”

“She any good?” Eli asks, starting back up his idle strumming.

Beau shrugs. “Her demo was solid.”

Demo or not, that doesn’t mean she’s got the skill to back it up. Studio magic can make anyone sound decent; it’s what happens in this room that matters.

The throbbing in my head worsens, a dull ache pushing behind my eyes. If she’s like the rest, we’ll be done in less than five minutes.

“Whatever,” I grumble. “Tell Thea we’re ready for her.”

Beau fires off a quick text to our manager, and the room slips into a quiet lull; the sound of rock music coming from Eli’s phone breaking up the silence.

“Do you know who we need?” he says, after a beat. “Her.”

He shoves his phone through the gap, scrolling down to another video of the same girl he’s been sharing with us constantly, ever since the day he randomly came across her page months ago.

Dressed in leopard-print pants and a black top, she fills the screen, playing along to a Tina Turner track.

Her head’s out of frame, her identity a total mystery.

There’s nothing distinguishable about her, except that her hands are magic as she moves them across the toms like the kit was built just for her.

Every hit lands, the level of control unlike anything we’ve seen today. There’s no overplaying, no showing off, just her and pure instinct.

It’s sexy as hell. Not just the skill, although that alone is enough to earn respect, but the way she gets music.

Lives and breathes it, doesn’t seem to care about attention or ego.

And that hits somewhere deeper than I want to admit, because if we could get someone like her…

Opening for Reign Cooper is just the start.

One step closer to that coveted label deal.

“Jesus,” Beau mutters, leaning in. “She’s good.”

“Right?” Eli grins.

“Who is it again?” I ask, watching a stick flip mid-air, before it’s caught and crashes onto the cymbal like muscle memory did all the work without her brain knowing what was happening.

Eli shrugs. “No idea. It’s totally anonymous.”

“Cool, a ghost drummer. That fucking helps.” I shake my head and sit back with a groan.

“Want me to message her? I mean, it’s worth a try?”

Placing my hand over his phone, I push him back. “No.”

“But she’s talented as hell,” Eli whines, like I’m purposely stopping him from meeting his hero.

“I don’t care how good they are. We don’t want some wannabe who’s too afraid to show their face.”