41. You Land on Your Feet
41
YOU LAND ON YOUR FEET
MAGGIE
Mess It Up By Gracie Abrams
“D ylan’s in a meeting, he’ll be right out,” Janice says, her voice clipped as she adjusts the pearl buttons on her cardigan.
On the glass table in front of me is a copy of Echo magazine featuring Paper Skies. I pick it up and start flipping through the pages. It’s surreal that I’ve actually spoken to the frontman, Jaxon Steele, and while their music is going through the roof right now, he’s still a pretty down-to-earth guy. So, it’s nice to see them getting the attention they deserve.
I cross my legs and settle further into the couch when I feel eyes on me. Glancing up from the magazine, I catch Janice staring as if I’ve suddenly sprouted three heads. Her glasses slide down her nose, and she doesn’t bother pushing them back up.
“What?” I shrug.
“Nothing,” she says quickly, shaking her head and readjusting her glasses with a practiced motion. “Are you feeling okay, dear?” she asks, her tone laced with that overly polite concern that’s more annoying than comforting.
“Peachy,” I reply, flashing her a sardonic smile. She presses her lips into a thin line and turns back to her keyboard, her fingers clacking away with mechanical precision.
It’s not like I’m looking forward to going in there anyway, so Dylan can take all the time he wants. In fact, if he had to cancel, that’s fine with me too. I’ll fight the L.A. traffic another day. I bury my face in the magazine and start reading the interview.
“Pffft amateur questions,” I mumble to myself but then come across a nice mention of Velvet Drift. The next breath I draw is laced with pain, and as I sit here in this lobby, it strikes me—this was where I first met Felix.
I slam the magazine closed and slap it back on the table. My gaze drifts down the hallway past the reception desk.
What am I doing? I think to myself.
I’m acting like a coward.
Straightening my posture, I glance toward Dylan’s office. He’s probably not even in a meeting. He’s making me sit out here and stew.
Goddammit, Dylan. I stand abruptly.
Janice looks up from her computer, her eyebrows arching in mild surprise. We lock eyes, and for a moment, it feels like a standoff. Her expression hardens like she’s daring me to try something, her hand hovering over the desk as if she’s ready to spring into action.
“I’m just getting a drink of water,” I say as I take a step closer to the hallway.
Janice stands slowly, her movements deliberate. “Let me get that for you, dear,” she says, her voice sickly sweet as she edges closer, and I take my chance, hoping she hip checks the desk and I’ll get a head start.
“Maggie!” she calls, her voice rising as I take another step. Her tone sharpens as she shouts my name again, but I’m already sprinting past her.
“He’s in a meeting!” she yells, her footsteps scuffing against the carpet, way too close for comfort. I dart right into the maze of cubicles and skid past a digital gaming table, its neon lights casting a faint glow on the walls. Whoa, when did Dylan authorize that ?
I reach Dylan’s office just as Janice materializes in front of the door, her breathing labored but triumphant.
What? How?
She smirks, clearly pleased with herself, and crosses her arms over her chest. Before I can process her sudden appearance, the door swings open, and Morgan storms out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor.
“You’re delusional!” she shouts, her voice echoing down the hallway. Her eyes lock onto mine, flickering with surprise and maybe a hint of embarrassment. “Maggie,” she says, her tone softer now, though there’s an edge to it.
I give her a small wave, unsure of what else to do, and glance past her to see Dylan sitting at his desk, his hand dragging down his face.
I am in deep shit.
“Hi, Morgan. How’ve you been?” I ask out of politeness, though I know this is hardly the time for small talk.
“I’ve been better,” she snaps, her voice brittle. “Especially when your friend here is trying to poach my artists,” she adds, loud enough for Dylan to hear.
Dylan stands, but before I can tell her friend is a loose term for Dylan these days, Morgan’s already storming around the corner. Janice smiles smugly and waves me inside. “You can go in now,” she says, her tone dripping with fake sweetness.
I narrow my eyes at her as I pass and then close the door in her face with my hip.
“Can you give Janice a break? I don’t need her having a heart attack chasing you down the hall every time you come here,” Dylan snaps.
I ignore him.
“So, you’re poaching artists now?” I ask.
“I wasn’t exactly poaching,” Dylan admits, and I silently welcome this little distraction from my own ass chewing. “If they don’t come to Stonewall then they’ll go somewhere else.”
I shake my head and scoff. “You’re living in delulu land if you think that gets you off the hook.”
“I’m just trying to help her out,” Dylan offers. “Which is what I was trying to do with you.”
So, this is how it’s gonna go down?
“You wanted experience after being rejected by the induction board,” he starts, his voice rising. “I put you on tour with an up-and-coming band and what do you do?”
I cross my arms over my chest, bracing myself for what I know he’s gonna say next.
“You sleep with the rockstar, and when things didn’t work out—which I warned you about,” he points an accusatory finger at me, “you bailed.”
“I didn’t bail,” I protest.
“Then what did you do, Maggie? Because you still have several weeks left of the tour and yet you’re standing in my goddamn office.” He turns toward the windows, grabbing the back of his neck. I can see the tension in his shoulders through the thin band t-shirt he’s wearing.
“Look, I know you’re having a bad day but you don’t need to take it out on me,” I say, stepping closer.
“You think this is because I’m having a bad day?” He spins back to face me, his eyes narrowing. “Maggie, I’m running a business. A business that relies on people doing their job—not flaking out when things get tough. I can’t keep Stonewall profitable if employees don’t do their jobs.”
I take a step back. “So, I’m just an employee?”
His expression softens, but only slightly. “Right now? Yeah. An employee who didn’t finish the fucking job. And what do you want me to do with that? Be fine? Because I’m not.” He gestures toward his desk, where his computer screen glows faintly. “I have unfinished edits and footage.”
“Do I need to remind you that I don’t even get paid for this job ?”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to shed another tear over this stupid tour and this stupid job.
“You know what I did on that tour?” I step closer to his desk, my voice trembling with anger. “I filmed every performance, every setup, did crew interviews… I even set up a social media presence for Velvet Drift, which wasn’t my fucking job.”
I don’t need Dylan making me feel even shittier for leaving so I turn to go, but something inside me snaps— fuck that . I whirl back around. “And those videos I posted, by the way, are what brought in the fans.”
Now I’m done, I start toward the door again, but remember another gold nugget of information, so I pivot back.
“And let’s not forget the duet with Ivy— that I filmed and edited —which blew up online and got her to sign with you.” I dig through my bag, my hands shaking slightly, and pull out a thumb drive. “So instead of making me feel like shit for sacrificing my relationship with Felix so he could focus on what he went there to do, you should be thanking me.” I toss the drive onto his desk, the plastic clattering against the wood. “There’s more than enough footage on there.”
“Maggie!” Dylan calls after me, but I hold up my middle finger, stopping him in his tracks as I storm out of his office.
* * *
“Hey,” my dad knocks on the door before entering.
I sit up on my bed and cross my legs, hoping I don’t look like I just cried my eyes out.
“Everything okay?” he asks, stepping further into the room and taking a seat on Joey’s bed. His weight makes the mattress groan slightly.
I grab one of the pillows and hug it to my lap. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”
He cocks an eyebrow, his expression a mix of concern and mild amusement. “Well, for one, you came home before the tour ended, and two, Wade called and said you’re not returning Dylan’s phone calls.”
I roll my eyes, the sting of betrayal fresh. “He snitched to Uncle Wade. That little…”
“Dylan’s worried about you,” he says, clasping his hands together and resting his tattooed arms on his thighs. His fingers drum lightly against his knees.
“Dylan, huh?” I raise an eyebrow, trying to deflect.
“Me too,” he admits. “You’ve been home for almost a week, and you barely leave your room.”
“I’m fine,” I say, though the lump in my throat betrays me.
“You can’t bullshit me, kid.”
Fuck me for being a daddy’s girl because I can’t hide anything from him.
“Fine.” I flop backward on my bed before rolling over on my side.
“I didn’t want to be on the tour to begin with,” I admit, though he already knows this. “But once I was there, I kinda got the appeal.”
My dad smiles. “How’s that?”
“It was fun, and I could be creative in a way that I couldn’t be in school.” I smile for the first time, thinking back on the tour. I remember the thrill of using the roller-skates to glide across the stage, the rush of standing on the speaker to get the perfect angle.
“What changed?”
My smile falters. As close as I am to my dad, I don’t want to talk to him about my pregnancy scare. He’d freak out and threaten to go pound Felix into the ground. Not that he would actually do that—or at least I don’t think he would.
“I started to lose sight of what I really wanted,” I say instead because it’s true. “I wanted to be a filmmaker, but I had envisioned working on documentaries of extinct animals or global warming, not rockstars tearing up the stage.”
“I know you’ve struggled to figure out what you want to do,” he says, his tone steady.
“I’m not like Joey. I didn’t come out of the womb knowing what my life’s purpose is,” I sigh.
“Joey might think she’s found her purpose, and while she’s got your mom’s love for horses, she hasn’t lived like you have.”
“But Joey…”
“Has never had anything else.” He reaches across the space between our beds and pokes me in the shoulder, his touch light but reassuring. “You’ve lived. And being confused about what you want is normal.”
I smile at him, a small but genuine curve of my lips. Even though I’ve questioned it sometimes, he’s always had faith that I would find my way.
“This is the time to find yourself, and it fucking sucks and it’s painful but necessary,” he explains. I raise an eyebrow at his choice of words, and he grins.
If anyone knows about struggling, it’s my dad. After everything he’d been through with his old band, he found the record store, which he complains about constantly, but I know how much he loves it.
He ruffles my hair, his fingers rough but comforting, and stands, filling the doorframe like a protective barrier against the world. “You’re gonna be okay, kid,” he says.
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re Maggie Morgan, and you always land on your feet. I have faith in that,” he says and then pulls me in for a hug. My head hits his solid chest and it’s everything I didn’t know I needed. I give him one last squeeze before letting go, and the door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a faint flicker of hope.
On my bed, my phone lights up with an unknown number. I reach to send it to voicemail, but my fingers fumble, hitting the wrong button instead.
“Hello?” a voice answers, smooth and magnetic. Familiar, yet unexpected. “Maggie?"
I press the phone tighter to my ear. “Yes?”
“It’s Jaxson,” he says, and the name alone is enough to root me to the spot, his voice unlocking memories I’d tucked away. “Jaxson Steele from the tour—Paper Skies.”
“I know who you are,” I manage, my nervous laugh betraying me. God, could I sound more ridiculous? “How did you get my number?”
“I reached out to your agent. Insisted I talk to you myself,” he explains, and I can’t fathom why. Our conversations on tour were fleeting, surface-level at best, and I had no idea he’d even known I had an agent.
“Did we get disconnected?” he asks after a beat of silence.
I smack my forehead. “Nope, I’m still here,” I say quickly, cringing at my slip into awkwardness, before quietly screaming into the void of my room and sitting on the edge of my bed.
“So, here’s the thing,” he says, his voice dipping into something playful and deliberate. “I’ve got a proposition for you—if you’re interested.”
The words trigger my defenses, my mind whirring with the possibilities. What could Jaxson Steele possibly want with me ? “That depends,” I say, standing and instinctively planting a hand on my hip as though he could see my stance of mock defiance.
His chuckle floats through the phone, deep and warm, vibrating against my ear. It’s impossible not to imagine his disarming dimples—the ones that render girls helpless wherever he goes.
“How would you feel about directing our next music video?” he asks, as though it’s the most casual question in the world. “We’ll wrap up the tour soon, and we’ll be in L.A. in a couple weeks…”
For a moment, his words hang suspended, shimmering in the air like something I don’t quite trust. “A music video?” I echo, still grappling with the idea. “For you ?”
“Does that seem so hard to believe?” he asks, his tone sobering just enough to make me wonder if my shock might’ve offended him.
I exhale a laugh, shaking my head at myself. “It’s just… unexpected, that’s all. What kind of timeline are we looking at? And location?” My brain races ahead, cataloging everything from permits to concept ideas. “Do you already have something in mind? Because when you performed ‘Ghost’ in Minneapolis, I had this whole scene play in my head?—”
“Is that a yes?” he interrupts, his voice brimming with hope.
“Oh, right,” I stammer, flustered. “Yes! I accept. Sorry, I’ve had way too much coffee today, so for future reference, feel free to pull the key out of my back and toss me into the corner if I get out of hand.”
His laughter rumbles again, more infectious than it has any right to be. “That’s one of the things I like about you, Maggie. You’re funny.”
“And just what every girl wants to hear,” I fire back teasingly, dripping sarcasm.
“Alright, how about this: not only are you funny and talented, but you’re also…” He pauses, and something about the quiet makes the air shift in the room. “Pretty damn gorgeous.”
My pulse skips, warmth pooling in my cheeks. Is Jaxson Steele flirting with me?
“How about when we’re in L.A., we talk concepts over dinner? Or maybe I can take you to a club,” he offers, his voice wrapping around the invitation like silk.
“My head’s already spiraling with planning locations, permits, coordination… We don’t have much time, I don’t think…” The familiar rush of creative excitement takes over as I pace the room. “I’ll also need to call my agency to iron out contract terms.”
“Maggie,” he interrupts, his voice soft but insistent. “I’m asking you on a date.”
For a beat, I can’t find words. “ Oh ,” I finally breathe, the realization crashing over me like a wave. “ Ohhh .”
“Don’t seem so surprised,” he says, a lightness to his voice, though I can sense something vulnerable beneath it. “You’ll give me a complex.”
Somehow, I doubt a guy like Jaxson could ever suffer from anything resembling insecurity.
“It’s not that,” I say, fumbling for an explanation, my thoughts colliding in a tangle. “I’m just…”
“Not over Felix,” he surmises, and the name alone hits me like a strike to the chest. “I thought since you left the tour, the two of you were done.”
His assumption jars loose all the emotions I’ve been trying to shove away and bury deep.
“And, ya know,” he continues, his tone dipping into something quieter, “I figured maybe this was my chance.”
Jaxson Steele—charming, handsome, soulful Jaxson—has just laid his cards on the table. And all I can think about is Felix.
“Maybe in another life,” I whisper, my voice wavering under the weight of emotions I can’t suppress. “You’re incredible—talented, funny, all that. But I found my person. And for me… we’re never truly over.”
The words leave me raw, the crack in my heart widening by the second.
“Well,” Jaxson says after a moment, his voice gentler now. “I hope Felix knows what a lucky guy he is.”
The insecurity slips in like an unwanted guest and my defenses rise as realization sets in. “Is that why you want me to work with you?”
“No,” he says quickly, stumbling over his words. “God, no. I’d never… I’m such an idiot. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I swear.”
“Then why?” I press, needing to believe there’s something more.
His laugh comes softer this time, almost reverent. “Because you’re crazy talented, Maggie. You’ve got something different, something real .”
And for the first time in far too long, I find my lips curving into an involuntary smile.
“Plus,” he adds with a teasing lilt, “I saw the Ivy duet. I knew you and Felix were a thing back then, and I thought, ‘Shit, if she can pull off an incredible video with Ivy practically draped all over her man, then she’s got serious talent.’”
The mention of that duet stirs something bitter in me. “It wasn’t easy,” I mutter under my breath. “Believe me.”
“What made you think I could direct a music video?”
“Felix showed me the one you were working on for him…”
“Oh, God, that’s not finished. I haven’t edited it.” I’d stopped working on it because of everything going on and hadn’t been able to pick it back up since.
“Are you kidding me? It was a great concept. That phone booth. Where did you even find that?” The mere thought of that day breaks me in two.
Curiosity edges out my restraint, and before I can stop myself, I ask, “When did Felix show that to you?”
“A couple days ago,” Jaxson answers, and my breath catches. “That’s how I knew you’d left.”
I blink, wondering what Felix said to him.
I swallow hard, willing myself to keep asking questions even as his words tear at me. “What do you mean?”
Jaxson hesitates. “I’m not sure I should?—”
“I just need to know he’s okay,” I plead, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Performance-wise, he’s killing it,” Jaxson admits, but it’s the pause that follows that sets my heart racing.
This is what I wanted, wasn’t it? For Felix to thrive without distraction? To not be chained to my mistakes?
“Off-stage? All I know is he hasn’t been to some after-parties and he’s skipped press stuff.”
“What?” I ask more to myself than to Jaxson. I thought if I left, he’d be able to focus without me in the way, but now I’m questioning myself and my decisions.
Jaxson’s voice pulls me back. “Anyway, our publicist is useless. We weren’t gaining any traction. But I saw what you did for Velvet Drift. Those guys were practically invisible at the start of the tour, but by the end…” He lets out a low whistle. “You made sure the world noticed them.”
“That was all Felix and the guys,” I say reflexively, unwilling to hold credit that isn’t mine.
“It takes more than good music,” Jaxson counters firmly. “You made them visible. Don’t downplay what you bring to the table.”
His words plant a seed of pride I almost don’t recognize.
“I am kind of a genius. Especially considering I did all that without fancy equipment,” I say, finding my voice again.
Jaxson’s laugh deepens, the sound warm but not stirring anything in me—not the way Felix’s name still does.
“And that,” he says with conviction, “is exactly why we need you.”
A thought crosses my mind. “Aren’t you with Left Turn Records? Won’t that be an issue?” I ask hesitantly.
“Do you still work for Stonewall?” he asks.
I was never technically on the payroll. “I don’t work for Stonewall. I have my own agent.”
“Then it’s not a problem for us, unless it’s a problem for you.”
“It’s not a problem.” I swallow hard knowing that getting caught in the crossfires between Stonewall and Left Turn might cause some waves with Dylan, but right now I don’t care.
“Alright then, have your people call my people.” I pause, blinking in disbelief. “Wow, I really just said that. I have people now. And I’m going to be working on a music video for Paper Skies !”
Jaxson laughs on the other end. “Welcome to the big leagues.”
The thought fills me with a burst of joy—joy I wish I could share with the only person who’d understand. The one person I thought didn’t want to hear from me.
But maybe… maybe I was wrong.