Page 85 of The Broken Note

Jarod Cross’s blue eyes snap open and he cuts his gaze across the stage as if sensing my presence. He sees me and a slow, confident smile stretches across his face. Like a cat who has the mouse right where he wants him.

“Cadence.” He swings the guitar over his head in one smooth motion. Someone approaches and accepts the guitar from him.

I’m sure I look as dazzled as I feel, but I can’t find the strength to hide my expression. It’s my first time standing on a professional stage. Although Redwood Prep takes music seriously, this is not a school presentation. This is on another level altogether.

“You’re here.” Jarod snaps his fingers.

Magically, a bottle of water appears in front of him.

He twists the cap, takes a swig and holds out his arms.

The bottle is promptly removed.

He drops an arm around my shoulder. “Come. Walk with me.”

I stumble beside him, wondering when the hell I went to sleep and started dreaming about rockstars giving me stage tours.

“Everyone,” Jarod Cross gestures to his band, “this is Mulliez’s best student—Cadence Cooper.”

The musicians jut their chins up in a cool sign of greeting.

My stomach clenches nervously. “Hi.”

“Mulliez chose her?” The bass guitarist slides his eyes over me.

“How do you know Mr. Mulliez?” I ask.

“He played with our band. Briefly,” Jarod says. “He might not be with us now, but you never forget your bandmate.”

“What do you play?” the drummer inquires. He’s a tall, thin guy covered in tattoos. His hair is so shaggy that it hides most of his face.

“Piano,” I murmur.

“Keys?” He bobs his head. “Not bad.”

“We’re guitarheads over here, but we respect the piano. No hate.” The bass guitarist pumps a fist into his chest.

“You should play something.”

“Yeah, definitely. Let me hear what Mulliez staked his life on.”

Jarod chuckles. “Cadence?”

“I can’t.” The words escape on a squeak. Quiet and fearful.

Put me up against a raging monster like Dutch Cross and I’ll fight tooth and nail.

Ask me to play in front of a crowd, and I lose all my fire.

“Why not?” Jarod arches a brow.

“I have stage fright,” I admit, clasping my hands together.

The entire band goes silent.

Jarod studies me with a long look, his gaze sliding from my butt-length hair to my dusty sneakers. “What kind of relationship did you have with Mulliez?”

At once, everyone in the band stiffens.