Chapter Seventeen
Maddox
“Dude, what the hell was that?” Beau shouts, getting in my face as soon as we’re off stage, uncaring about the crew awkwardly standing to the side, waiting to help us with our gear.
“It’s not what it looks like. It wasn’t…” Frustration seeps through my pores, the explanation behind all of this on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to get the words out. “Fuck, it wasn’t planned.”
Beau’s eyes bug out, a look of incredulity near apoplectic as he glares at me. “Nothing you do is unplanned, Maddox.”
“Cool it, okay?” Eli wedges himself between us, pressing both palms into our chests. “Safe to assume that impromptu change had something to do with Paige?”
“What do you think?” Beau mutters, turning his back on us and yanking out his earpiece.
“Beau, listen, I’m…” I try to apologize and make this right with the guy I should never have tried to outshine on stage, even if that wasn’t my intention, but he shakes his head, holding his hand up.
“Just…go find her, Maddox.”
I’m already moving, not just because he told me to, but because the moment I saw her leave unexpectedly split something inside me in two.
I told myself it was guilt from staying on that stage, basking in the glow of being surrounded by fans, instead of doing immediate damage control.
But it wasn’t that at all. It was the look on her face as she stared at me from across the drum kit like I’d broken something she’ll never let me fix.
And the idea of her walking away from all of this—from the band—makes a dark tightness coil around my lungs, squeezing hard enough that it feels dangerously close to panic.
Taking off through the crew, I shove my guitar at some poor stagehand who barely has time to catch it.
I don’t even know what I’m going to say when I see Paige. All I know is I need her to understand I didn’t do this on purpose. That it might seem like a dick move, but I’m not the asshole I’ve somehow managed to paint myself as.
Reaching the dressing room at the end of the corridor, I pause at the door.
Light spills across the concrete floor, bleeding out from the gap where she’s not quite closed it.
Inside, shadows flicker, moving just as frantically as the sounds of her packing.
I step forward, squinting between the crack, watching her shove things into her duffle, her hands trembling so hard a brush slips from her grip and clatters loudly to the floor.
“Fuck’s sake,” she grumbles.
I move inside, bending to grab it before she can even turn around.
Straightening, her eyes land on me, bouncing between my face and hand, going colder than ever before, the bright blue like ice cutting straight through skin and bone.
I wordlessly hold out the brush, and she snatches it from me, shoving it deep into her bag.
My jaw clenches, throat locking as I watch her pace around, the veins running up her delicate neck popping like it’s taking every ounce of strength she has not to fall apart.
All because of me.
And even knowing that should be enough for me to keep my distance, give her the space I know she desperately needs, but I don’t.
I can feel myself leaning toward her, my feet moving forward like gravity has a mind of its own whenever she’s near.
I’m supposed to be apologizing, telling her why I did what I did.
But the closer I get to her, the more my thoughts derail, and all I can think about is how badly I want to reach out and touch her.
To remind her that she’s not alone.
“Listen, Paige. I know you’re mad…” The ice shatters, replaced with a fire that engulfs her entire gaze, her fingers strangling a can of hairspray.
That might’ve been the wrong thing to say.
I hold up both my hands, trying to disarm her as I continue. “But did you not hear them out there? The crowd loved it.”
Her eyes don’t soften. If anything, they penetrate harder, and I feel it splinter behind my ribs. She’s not just mad; she’s disappointed. In me. And that’s even worse.
She edges forward to jab a finger in my face. “Don’t you dare come in here and try to justify you ambushing us.”
“Ambush…? That’s not what happened.”
“Oh, really?” She laughs, the sound incredulous as she folds her arms over her chest, staring me down. “So, what was that then?”
She’s fire and fury, wrath and grace, and I’m caught somewhere between wanting to fix this and wanting to drag her closer just to feel the burn.
She waits, eyebrows slightly raised, and I should be ashamed of how much I’m focusing on her mouth pulling into a tight line, her chest rising with each breath.
“Clearly, I’m not doing a good job of apologizing here, but…”
“Oh, that’s what you’re trying to do?” she deadpans. “I must’ve missed the part where you actually said the words.”
Spinning back around, she shoves the hairspray away and zips up her duffle in a long, jerking pull, the high-pitched rasp ringing loudly in the small dressing room.
“I’m sorry, okay? But you have to admit, the lyrics were good. The crowd went absolutely wild for them.”
I’m grasping, thinking of something to make this better and to stop her from walking out that door and never coming back. Praise, logic, anything but the truth that I did it because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About her words, her voice, how she made the song better.
Made me better.
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 has never felt like that. The crowd has 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 you came 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. “I felt it in my soul. It was real and beautiful and so full of life. And if you don’t see that, if you don’t feel 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.
Her eyes grow wide with anticipation, her gaze flitting between my mouth and my stare. The heat between us is unbearable, her lips right there for the taking, and I can practically feel them already, hear her shallow breaths, the tremble in her exhale.
I shouldn’t want this.
I shouldn’t want her.
But I do.
She leans in, barely, like she’s wanting to see if I’ll close the distance, like she’s letting me choose what happens next.
Physically, Paige is beautiful, the drummer in the background with the wild auburn hair.
And if we met in a bar, she’s the one I’d want to take home.
But it’s so much deeper than that. She’s talent and music personified.
She’s open and kind and lets people close in a way that’s genuine.
She smooths out my rough edges without trying, even when I fight to keep them sharp.
Paige Erikson might just be my downfall.
She swallows, the curve of her throat working through it so unbelievably sexy, and I tilt forward. We’re inches apart, her soft exhale coating my lips as I lower my gaze, catching the silver pendant around her neck, the P a mocking symbol of who she is.
I step back, every cell protesting as I do. Her hand slips from my wrist, the warmth of her touch vanishing like it was never there.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I promise you, Paige, I never meant to hurt you.”
Lips parting a little, her eyes search mine for the lie, but I’m not hiding anything. But then she blinks, a breath catching in her throat, a wounded flicker resembling hurt flashing in her gaze.
“Goodnight, Maddox,” she whispers, voice thin, before turning and disappearing into the hallway, the door closing behind her with a soft snick that feels like a slam. I stare at it, at the place she was mere seconds ago, one kiss away from undoing everything I thought I knew about myself.