Page 65 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

A FEW WEEKS LATER

My fingers thread through Poppy’s as I raise my fist and knock.

I wish I could say we’ve been inseparable since everything happened—but we haven’t.

I asked her to move in with me, practically begged, but she refused.

Said I needed time. Time to figure out how to be a dad, not just the fun uncle who pops in with candy and chaos.

She wanted time with Phoebe, too. Wanted to convince her to go to rehab.

And she did. Phoebe checked into an inpatient facility for the next three months.

Now, to try to convince her to move in with me again.

Noise explodes behind the door before a shout tells us to come in. Poppy laughs when we walk in and find three kids riding on Dane’s back while he does pushups like a human jungle gym. I scrub a hand down my face, hiding my grin.

“You wanted to see me, Maddox?”

“Yeah, just give Thor here a minute to grab his subjects and take them down to the nursery.”

Dane jumps to his feet, grabbing the kids up like they’re toys and carrying them out of the room, winking at me on his way.

Like that didn’t just make my stomach drop.

I’ve been anxious since Maddox called. I haven’t been in the office since the night everything changed. I’ve missed meetings. Ignored deadlines. But I’ve been busy—really busy—learning how to be a father.

I’ve spent the past few weeks figuring out Noah. His tells, his quirks, his favorite foods, the sound he makes when he’s overtired. The things a dad should know. Things I should’ve known already.

The guilt’s been heavy. Bone-deep.

It’s why I started therapy. Why I’m going to AA. Twice a day. Every day. Because anger and fear have ruled my life long enough.

And Poppy? She’s the calm in my storm. The soft place I land. But I can’t make her my cure. That’s too much weight for anyone to carry. So I’m learning to carry it myself.

But right now, I’m wondering if Maddox is about to fire me.

Do I need the money? No.

Do I need the music? More than anything.

Maddox gestures for us to sit on the couch across from him. He never uses the damn desk. Just sits in the corner like a king in his den. I wonder again how five grown men share this space.

“How’s everything been, Jag?” he asks, sitting on a sofa, gesturing for Poppy and me to sit.

I swear the desk is for decoration. I’ve never seen any of them behind it.

And who the hell shares an office with four guys?

For a second, I consider the generic answer, but it’s time to be honest with people. “It’s been hard, Maddox. Exhausting and hard.”

He chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, I know. It’s an odd question, don’t you think? But propriety. The fact is withdrawal is a bitch. Cravings are a bastard. Therapy is the cunt cousin of withdrawal. And AA…that little motherfucker lives to make your life hell.”

“Yeah,” I laugh, combing my fingers through my hair. “All of that.”

“But it’s necessary to get…to get through the day. Then through the next. Hang in there, yeah?”

“That’s the plan.” I shift in my seat, then shift again when I realize he’s watching me.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll put you out of your misery. Jagger, I’m relieving you of your duties.”

My stomach drops. Bile races up my throat.

But my anger is faster. I fight to swallow it down.

Focus on Poppy’s hand in mine. On her thumb, stroking back and forth.

It soothes the flames, but it doesn’t extinguish them.

“And you needed me to come across town to tell me that,” I say through gritted teeth.

“You’ve known me for how long?” He shakes his head. “You should definitely know me better than that.”

“Then what? You just told me I’m fired. What else could you possibly have to say?”

“I never said fired.”

“Stop splitting hairs, Maddox. That’s literally what relieving someone of their duties means.”

“Okay, fine.” He laughs, taking too much pleasure from my misery. “You’re not fired, though. For now, someone else will handle your regular job because in two weeks, I need you in the studio.”

If I thought hearing I’m fired made me nauseous, it’s nothing compared to what I feel now. My stomach twists and knots like I’m in a dinghy in the middle of the Atlantic. “Why would you need me in the studio?”

His head tilts. An amused brow lifts. “Now, who’s playing games?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, I know what you told me. I chose not to listen. If my wife can get in there and record, get on stage, no matter how infrequently, then you can too. I’ve always said I’m not in the habit of watching people waste their talent.

Do you think I wanted this place to sell albums or to create good music?

Because the two don’t always go hand in hand. ”

“The songs aren’t that good, Maddox. You’re letting our friendship make you biased.”

His blue eyes narrow, and his left eye twitches.

I’ve struck a nerve. “No. I’m not biased, Jagger.

But you’re still letting Maxwell in your head.

Time to get him out. You’ll record the songs, not Maverick.

In six weeks, we’ll begin dropping singles.

By concert season, you’ll be on tour with Lily, Maverick, and Mercury Rising. ”

“I can’t do that. I have Noah, remember?”

“And I have a shit ton of baby ready buses and a list of nannies on speed dial. It’s either this or I will fire you because I’m not watching you give up something you clearly want because your douchebag daddy fucked with your head.

” He leans forward, looking me right in the eyes.

“And you do want it, Jagger. Stop being afraid and grab it.”

“He’s right, Jagger. I don’t know much about music, but I do know you are talented. I also know how much you love it.”

“That brings me to you.” He turns his attention to Poppy.

My brows leap, and so do hers. “Me?” she squeaks. “I’m just here for moral support.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That I told him to bring you.”

She looks at me, and I flinch. “I might not have been very clear when I asked her to come with me.”

“Okay, well, I wanted to see you, too. Rumor has it you’re a pretty good dancer.”

She laughs, gesturing to her still-wrapped foot. “Not doing much of that right now.”

I wish I could say it hasn’t slowed her down, but that would be a lie.

Because of the injury, she hasn’t been able to work.

Not at the ballet or the club. It drove her a little insane, but I’m thankful she didn’t argue when I told her I would take care of her until she was on her feet again. Literally.

Unfortunately, I can’t fix everything. Her dance instructor asked her to perform in a showcase Christmas Eve. Considering it was a week ago, there was no way she could make it happen. I hated how disappointed she was about letting her teacher down, but I couldn’t magically fix her injuries.

“That’s fine. I don’t need you today.” Maddox tells her, shrugging his shoulders. “But in a few months, I’ll need a choreographer and a lead dancer to start rehearsing for the summer tour.”

“For Lily?” I ask, knowing she’s the only one of the three acts he names that incorporates dancers.

He nods, affirming my guess.

“And you want me?” Poppy squeaks. “Why me?”

“Because I saw you at the ballet. And because a little birdie told me you know how to do a lot more than pirouettes.” He smirks, and I scowl.

“Chill out, Jagger. I met Quinn the same way.” His head bobs from side to side.

“Kind of. The point is, I’ve done some checking.

You do a lot more than ballet, and you’re very good.

You’re also quite the skilled choreographer.

” Leave it to Maddox to find all of this out.

He said in the name of business, but it was in the name of being nosy—of being paranoid, and a deep need to make sure those he loves are safe.

“I could go through the whole interview and audition process, but why, when you fit the bill. Bonus points that Lily likes you, and that little fucking diva will make me punt her from the roof if we have to sit through auditions with her.”

“I don’t know.” But I can see the gleam in her eyes. She was a ballerina by duty. This would be her choice. “Can I think about it?”

“Yep. You’ve got six weeks to decide. Just remember, if you say no, her untimely demise will be on your head. No pressure.”

Poppy laughs, light and airy, and I already know what her answer is.

“You, on the other hand…Well, I guess you have a choice too. Record the songs and go on tour, or see how the other half lives in the unemployment line. Your brother won’t do it, so I’m pushing you out of the nest. Time to stop hiding behind what’s comfortable.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it, but only Sons can help me record them. Be the music.”

He grins wide. “Don’t ever think you and your brother aren’t alike.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because would anyone else come in here and negotiate with me by asking for my band to play their music tracks?

I chuckle. “Guess not.”

He stands, and we follow him out of the office.

As we walk to the elevators, my mind spins. I’m going to record my music. The dream I’d thought died long ago has not only been brought back to life, but it’s been demanded of me.

I’m nervous. Everyone may be right. Maybe I have been letting what Maxwell said hold me back. Mom, too. I know she was sick, but the words have never been forgotten.

But no matter how far I separated myself from the creation aspect, it was still there. My guitar was put away for years, but the melodies never left me, and the lyrics haunted me.

“What are you going to do?” Poppy asks me as we ride the elevator down.

“I’m going to finish the songs and record them.” Saying it out loud makes my heart pound, but I won’t deny it feels right. “Besides, Maddox didn’t give me a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice, Jagger.”