He walked out before she could respond. But the truth was, she had nothing more to say.
7
Max
Nashville, Tennessee
December 22
At the three rapid knocks on the door, Max’s fingers immediately paused on his guitar strings, and a scowl took over his face. He felt like he was endlessly being disturbed—whether during rehearsals or while he was trying to chill out with some yarn and John Denver.
“What?” Max replied, with more irritation than necessary. Sadie, seated on the piano’s bench, shot him a familiar look—the one she sported when she disapproved of what he was doing, or saying. He shook his head at her as if to say,Do not start with me.Sadie murmured that he was “impossible,” and his scowl deepened.
“Uh, can I come in?” It was Landon. Max was still mildlyannoyed with his assistant. If Landon had been more careful, Patsy wouldn’t have escaped the trailer the week before, Sadie wouldn’t have jumped in her ridiculous heels to go after the little dog, she wouldn’t have sprained her ankle, and Max would never have gone to her apartment to check up on her that night. Which meant he wouldn’t have met her gran or had so much fun getting costumes and going out for dinner. But he also wouldn’t have ended up at the Song Sparrow with Sadie, where everything unraveled as quickly as a sharp yarn pull on a half-knit sweater.
Hedidremember that night at the Song Sparrow now, but until Sadie had brought it up, he hadn’t remembered meeting her there because of what else had happened that evening. Max should have just explained himself, but being back at the Sparrow had ignited a barrage of unpleasant feelings he’d worked hard to lock up. She also hadn’t given him a chance to explain, being so committed to her own version about why he’d taken off that night (that he was a jackass, and that’s what jackasses do). He wasn’t proud that he’d left her there, twice now, but she had made him madder than a stinging hornet with her accusations.
So, yeah. The unfortunate chain of events wasn’t exactly Landon’s fault, but none of it would have happened without his carelessness, either. Sadie’s ankle seemed to be better, even though it remained an alarming mash-up of green-and-yellow bruising. But she was clearly stillnothappy with Max, and holding her own grudge.
Well, the feeling is mutual, Sadie.
Just before Landon had interrupted, they had been workingon their next duet—a cover of “All I Want for Christmas”—for the upcoming Christmas-themed episode ofStarmaker. The tension was thick in the rehearsal room. He and Sadie had been at each other’s throats, disagreeing on everything from the arrangement to the temperature of their rehearsal room. Max liked it warm, so he could play in only a T-shirt, but Sadie’s preferred rehearsal outfit was tights and long, bulky sweaters.
“Look, if you had to wear what I do every time you stepped onstage, which is basically nothing, you’d be reaching for big sweaters, too,” she had quipped when he’d suggested she simply take off a layer if she was too hot. It was the most she’d said to him in days.
“Hello?” Landon knocked again—gently, rapidly, like a baby woodpecker testing its first tree—as he slowly opened the door, peeking his head in. It was then Max realized why his assistant was being so cautious: it was this fake relationship. Landon probably didn’t want to disturb them in case things were hot and heavy behind closed doors.Ha!The reality could not be further from the truth.
“To what do we owe this great pleasure, Landon?” Max could practically feel Sadie shooting him that look again. He wasn’t interested in seeing it, so he kept his eyes downcast and on the strings, as he plucked-plucked-plucked.
“You have a visitor,” Landon said.
Now Max glanced up. Then looked at Sadie, who shrugged, as surprised as he was.
“Who has a visitor?” Max asked.
“Well, he didn’t want me to—”
“Maximillian, my boy!” Holden Brody stepped throughthe rehearsal room’s doorway, and Landon beamed at the musical legend while Sadie stared in shock, mouthing, “Maximillian?”Max scowled at the use of his full name (which he never went by), and felt a flurry of emotions, none of them good.
Holden Brody was approaching sixty, but he looked much younger. Max shared his dad’s chiseled jawline, his dark hair (though Holden had twice-monthly coloring appointments to keep his that way) and deep brown eyes. Holden had on one of the cowboy hats he was rarely without.
“And you must be Sadie Hunter,” Holden said, taking his hat off with one hand and bowing slightly toward her. “What a pleasure it is to meet you.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Brody.” She smiled under his gaze, and Max’s irritation ratcheted up. Though he was used to his father’s effect on people—everyone responded the same way to Holden Brody, as though he were a god (and he was, at least in Nashville)—seeing Sadie fall under his spell made his stomach twist.
“Please, call me Holden,” Max’s dad said. Then he turned to Max, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. “Well done, Maxy. She’s delightful.”
Sadie looked tickled to hear Max’s childhood nickname. “I didn’t ‘do’ anything, Dad.” Max’s tone made it clear Holden’s visit was not a welcome surprise. “Why are you here?”
For one moment Max saw his dad’s perfect veneer wobble, but he soon recovered and turned to Landon. “Would you mind, young man? It’s leaning against the wall, just outside the door.”
“What is?” Max asked as Landon practically ran throughthe doorway to retrieve whatever it was Holden had brought with him. He was back a moment later, lumbering slightly with the awkwardly shaped, gift-wrapped box.
“Happy Birthday, Max.” Holden gestured for Landon to give Max the gift.
“ ‘Happy Birthday’?” Sadie slowly turned toward Max. “Today’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Should I get a cake?” Landon asked.
