Liam is the first out the door with Angel and Ryder close behind. Graham stands, but he doesn’t move, making my stomach twist.
But when Maddox lingers, the twist becomes knots. Many, many knots. Anxiety trickles down my spine when he turns to Maverick. “Those songs…brother, they’re gold.”
My attention snaps to Maddox, knowing I couldn’t possibly have heard right. “There’s a Grammy in there. How many more of those do you have in you?”
Maverick clears his throat, his eyes falling my way. I can feel Graham’s into burning the side of my head. Maddox looks atall of us, suspicion darkening his blue eyes as his mouth puckers. The sound of his tongue clicking three times makes me break eye contact, dropping my attention back to the papers on the table.
“I—uh…That’s all I have right now, but I’m working on a few others.” Maverick offers, but fuck, even I can hear the nerves in his voice.
I watch them from my peripheral. Maddox slaps his back, nodding, but his eyes are on me. “Good. I want to see them. If you need help with them, let us know.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Maverick says as Maddox turns to leave, but pauses, turning his attention back to me, contemplation twisting his lips.
Fuck, I can see the damn wheels spinning in his head.
No one moves when the door clicks. Maverick shifts in discomfort, but all I hear is Graham’s silence. Even without looking, I know his arms are crossed and those dark, accusing eyes are lasered in on me. I wait, counting in my head: three, two…
“Why the hell is Maverick’s name on songs you wrote?” he blasts across the conference room.
“I didn’t write them,” I lie at the same time Maverick points at me like a snitching four-year-old. “He made me do it.”
“Fuck off.” I shake my head and face my brother. “This asshole found the songs on my laptop and liked them. They were mostly unfinished, so we finished them. He wasn’t supposed to fucking use them. But he wouldn’t shut up about it, so I told him fine—go ahead. Just leave me out of it.”
“Why would you do that, Jagger?”
“You have them in your hand. They’re shit. They will tank his whole fucking career.”
“I was right, asshole. They’re good. You heard Maddox. He wants those songs recorded.”
“We need to consider Maddox is having another episode,” I deadpan. A joke. Mostly.
Graham’s sharp inhale causes one of my own. “He’s not fucking wrong. Neither is Maverick. They’re good. My question is, why do you think they’re not? It’s literally your job to know if something will work.”
“Like you just said, it’s my job, and Iknowthey’re not good. The arrangements are sloppy. The lyrics don’t flow. Nothing about those songs is marketable. They’re damn sure not Grammy-worthy.”
Graham’s head tilts to the side, his dark eyes assessing me. “What happened?”
“Come again?”
“What happened? I didn’t know you still played, but you obviously do. You just started hiding it. I want to know what caused that because you had so much fucking talent when you were younger…And your passion for music is practically unmatched. I want to know what made you stop. Was it…”
“Shut up, Graham.” My fist slams down on the table as I stand and glare at my brother.
He crosses the space separating us, getting close enough that only I can hear. “That’s not what I was going to say,” he hisses, then relaxes his posture and softens his expression. “I was going to ask, was it Mom? Because she didn’t mean it, Jagger. You were so goddamn talented. It came as easily to you as breathing.” He taps his finger on the papers. “Still does, apparently. You never belonged in an office or behind a desk.”
I want to argue with him, but he’s out of the room before I can think of anything to say.
When I look at Maverick, he’s glaring. “Don’t fucking start.” My voice quakes through gritted teeth. Every muscle in my body aches with the need to hit something. A line. A face.
“Fine. You want to be a little bitch and hide in an office or in the shadows of whatever slimy bar looking for talent when you knowyou arethe talent? Be my fucking guest.”
“Why is everyone on my damn case? Why is it so hard to trust that I know what I’m talking about?”
“Because when it comes to yourself, you are fucking blind. Willfully so.”
“Whoa! What are we arguing about?” Thad asks, looking between us as he removes earbuds from his ears. I forgot the asshole was still here.
I narrow my gaze at Maverick as my need to deflect and make light of the situation changes to irritation. If he’d just drop it… “That you’re an epic douche,” I say, turning my attention to Thad. “He says you’re just an ordinary one.”
