Chapter Nine
Maddox
“Tap out,” Eli grunts, clinging to Beau in a headlock, Beau’s arm around his waist, trying to break out of his hold.
The smell of leftover takeout and sweat linger in the studio, the afternoon lull already kicking in as the guys roll about in their mid-practice wrestling match. They pause mid-fight when they see me, a crooked smile playing on Eli’s lips like he’s in on a joke no one else has heard.
Or whatever they say when I’m not around.
I school my face, forcing my expression flat. It’s not lost on me that today’s felt…off. And it’s completely my fault. Especially after my blowup the other day.
Especially with her.
Paige has kept mostly to herself, appearing to gravitate more toward Eli out of everyone in the band. It shouldn’t matter, but something about the way her smile lands easier with him, or how she laughs more, claws under my skin.
It’s not like I want her orbiting around me, but watching them together, seeing her drop her guard enough for him? It stirs something inside me that I can’t quite name.
And I hate that I’ve noticed it. I hate even more that I care.
My eyes land on Paige, who’s sprawled on the floor half under the drum kit, one arm wedged awkwardly behind the bass pedal.
I take note of the old t-shirt with a rip under the arm, my eyes dragging slowly down to her faded black leggings that cling to her legs, continuing to her sneakers that have seen better days, and I frown.
None of this should be noteworthy. But I can’t stop looking.
Paige Erikson, real and impossible and fucking off-limits.
She’s a bandmate, a complication, a line you don’t cross, no matter how good she looks tangled in a pair of busted-up leggings.
Dark copper hair spills in messy waves over one shoulder as she shifts, cheeks flushed pink from the effort.
She lets out a soft, breathy grunt, face scrunching in concentration.
Then she bites her lip, reaches deeper, and pulls something small and glinting out from under the drum with a triumphant smile.
“Gotcha, you little sucker.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, eyes widening just a fraction, and the smile falters. The kind of slip you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it.
But I am.
She blinks, brushing hair from her face and pushing to her feet, smoothing her shirt with one hand, whatever she found still clutched tight in the other.
“Problem?” I ask with a raised eyebrow as I head farther into the room.
Paige shakes her head, her lips twitching as I’m about to pass her when she holds up a coin. “Find a penny, pick it up.”
I freeze. Shaking my head, trying to clear the sense of déjà vu, I turn just as she leans over the kit, one foot lifting off the floor, ass high in the air as she grabs her bag and gently slides the coin inside.
I should look away, start setting up, tune my guitar, literally do anything else but stare, yet my eyes rake over her again.
Her shirt rides up just enough to flash the black lace of her bra, the dip of her spine, the cluster of freckles at the base…and this time, I do look away.
But it’s too late. My brain’s already latched on, etching the image into some fucked-up corner of my head I never asked to be filled.
Another thing to replay later, to obsess over until I can’t breathe.
A cough cuts through my thoughts, and my head snaps toward it. Eli watches me from across the room, bass now in hand, lips curved in a knowing smirk. His eyebrows lift just enough for me to know he noticed every second I spent staring at Paige.
“Everything alright there, Mad?” he asks, voice light. Too light.
Heat scorches my neck, and I scowl, swallowing roughly and snatching a cable from the floor with more force than I mean to before dropping onto the couch. “Fine.”
“Uh-huh,” Beau says, obviously skeptical, fiddling with an amp and strolling toward me.
A sharp vibration rattles against the table beside me, abruptly pulling me from my embarrassment.
I ignore it at first, let it fade into the background, but it doesn’t stop.
I’m about to silence it, but the moment I touch it, I realize the device isn’t mine.
I stop cold, my blood crystalizing in my veins, turning to ice when I read the screen.
Not because it says Dad, but because of the picture behind it.
A man, mid-laugh, his arm thrown around a younger Paige at what looks like some backstage venue. Both of them caught in a sweet moment, eyes bright, almost identical.
And it takes less than a second to recognize the man.
Kit Deveraux.
CEO of Deveraux Records. The label. The fucking label. Everyone knows them, everyone’s chasing a deal with them, praying for a callback, hoping someone in that tower of glass glances their way.
I’m upright before my next breath, sitting no longer an option. The call ends, screen turning black, but the impact doesn’t fade. It’s there in neon lights, blinking, blinding, burning with an intensity that sits right on my chest, pinning everything down.
Paige isn’t just talented. She’s dangerous. Because she’s tied to Deveraux Records, and if I keep pushing her like I have—cornering her, testing her, baiting her—one well-placed whisper, one call to the wrong person, could wreck everything I’ve built.
Not because she wants to ruin me.
But because she can.
“Mad?” Eli asks, concern lining his words. “What’s happened?”
The second Paige’s eyes meet mine, everything inside me tightens, and all it would take is one more twist for it to snap.
Beau comes to my side, peering over my shoulder as the phone starts to ring again in my hand. “Huh. He looks like…”
I could wait. I should wait. Calm down and ask her quietly, reasonably, like a normal fucking human being, what’s going on. But I don’t. The words come out acid-soaked, every syllable tasting like blood.
“Kit fucking Deveraux.”
Paige’s face pales instantly, her throat working on a swallow I can both hear and feel as her lips part.
“Guess I figured out the real reason why you kept your little faceless account a secret,” I say, voice deceptively calm, ignoring the sudden chill that enters the room.
“What are you talking about?” she asks warily.
I laugh, a single, bitter sound. Holding up the phone, I display the now lit screen. Her lips purse as she reads the name, her face giving away nothing. “Kit Deveraux is your dad.”
Eli edges forward to get a better look, glancing at Paige when the weight of what I just said catches up, something resembling hurt crossing his face.
“Paige?” he says, brow furrowed. “Is this true?”
Something flickers behind her eyes, defensive, deflated, defeated. She inhales, her nostrils flaring as she tells me, not the cop-out I expected, but something much worse.
The truth.
“Yes,” she says, unflinching.
It feels like the ground tilts under me. The air shifts, and Eli chokes while I remain silent, my lungs squeezing tight.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” He continues. “We’ve been getting to know each other, and you didn’t tell me.”
“Because she only cares about herself, Eli,” I sneer, coming between them protectively.
“Maddox,” Beau warns, his voice low. “Why don’t you let Paige–”
“Do what?” I snap. “Have another chance to deceive us, like she’s done from the second we met her?”
“Fuck you,” she snarls and takes a step toward me.
“Wait…” Beau eyes go wide as realization dawns, his gaze darting to me as the color drains from his face. “As in, P—”
I growl low in the back of my throat, and he slams his mouth shut.
“Holy shit,” Eli breathes. “You’re serious.”
Glancing at him, she nods once. Eli blows out a breath, eyes bulged as he cards a hand through the front of his blond hair, the strands sticking up between his fingers. A slow, excited smile spreads over his face.
“Does this mean you could get us into—”
“Stop.” Her voice lashes out before he finishes.
“That. That right there is exactly why I didn’t say a word.
” She rounds on all of us, fire in her now icy eyes.
“I didn’t deceive anyone. People see the name and they stop seeing me.
I’m either a shortcut, someone to barter favors from, or a fraud.
There’s no in-between. No one wants to believe I earned a single thing.
That I’ve worked for every fucking thing on my own. ”
Eli opens his mouth, but she cuts in again, her voice firm.
“I already told you why I kept that account private, why I kept my name hidden. It wasn’t to manipulate anyone.
It was to be judged by what I can do, not who I’m related to.
” Her gaze swings back to me. “You think I don’t know what this looks like?
But the second someone figures out who I really am”—she points to Eli, who flinches—“this happens.”
“Shit, I…” Eli trails off, scratching the back of his neck.
She doesn’t soften, doesn’t move her attention from me as her voice drops, firmer now, not mad, just exhausted.
“You want the truth, Maddox? You want to learn all about me? Fine. Before this, I was a songwriter, a damn good one. There wasn’t a day when the charts didn’t have a song I wrote on them.
But people didn’t want me because I was good; they only requested me because I’m a Deveraux, a connection to my dad.
” She takes a breath, a flush climbing up her neck.
"Do you know how it feels to sit in a room and show an artist the song I’ve poured my heart and soul into, staying up endless nights just to figure out why a line wasn’t working, only to have them ask if my dad thinks it will be a hit? ”
Every single word lands harder than the last, each one a stone dropping into the pit of my stomach.
Because I have been there, stressing over my lyrics, not sure if what I wrote before was better than the tweaked version or one that popped into my head, only to disappear before I had the chance to write it down.
“Playing music…being in it? That’s what matters to me. Creating something real? That’s all I want. I just wanted one space where I wasn’t someone’s legacy. Where it was about my skill, not who raised me.”
She snatches her phone and turns her back, practically dismissing me.
The guilt doesn’t hit in pieces. It crashes all at once, sharp and disorienting, and it’s not about the way I’ve been testing her all week, or even what I just said to her.
Because I finally know why she felt familiar.
I have seen her before. Not recently, not credited on songs I’ve heard streamed online, but somewhere I never should’ve been.
Surrounded by suits, serious and subdued faces, auburn hair pinned up neatly as Paige sat alone and quiet.
I only caught the side of her face, a mere glimpse as I walked past, never really thinking I’d see her again.
And now she’s here, playing in my band.
I stand there, pulse still pounding, the burn of adrenaline turning to something sour in my chest. She changed her name, hid who she was, just to be taken seriously. Just to be heard.
I haven’t simply fucked up, pushed too far; I think I’ve cracked something I might not be able to fix.
“You’re still coming to practice tomorrow, right?” Eli asks, cutting through the thick air.
I flinch like his words hit my skin. My eyes drag to her, heavy with everything I can’t take back. She’s quiet for a beat, scanning the room like she’s already halfway gone, like she’s measuring whether any of this is still worth it.
When she finally moves, it’s with purpose, grabbing her bag, shoving her sticks inside, swinging it over her shoulder. Her fingers curl tight around the strap, her gaze fixed on the floor.
“Maybe.”
Then she walks out, not slamming the door, not saying goodbye. Just…gone.
I stare at the empty space she leaves behind, my mouth opening, a half-formed apology stuck in my throat. But I don’t say anything, don’t chase after her. Knowing I might already be too late.