The Higher We Soar

14. Predictable unpredictability

It was late. The watch on my wrist had long since ticked past midnight, and I was slumped over the keyboard, my headphones pressing into my temples as I stared blankly at the notes in front of me. My mind had been racing since the previous day, but now, after hours of fruitless composition, it felt like it was grinding to a halt. In a grand gesture of frustration, I let my head drop dramatically, forehead first, onto the keys. The discordant clamor that erupted in my ears was, in some twisted way, more satisfying than anything I'd managed to create all night.

With a defeated groan, I yanked off the headphones, tossed them on the floor and flung myself onto the bed. It had been a long, solitary day in my apartment, the walls closing in as I tried to wring music from a mind that felt as barren as a desert-

Knock, knock, knock!

The sharp sound jolted me from my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat as I shot upright, the sudden movement making the room spin a little. I blinked, trying to figure out who this might be. My neighbors, bless their tolerant souls, usually put up with my late-night noise with barely a grumble. But tonight, I'd been working with headphones on, hadn't I? Unless, of course, I'd banged my head on the keys a bit too enthusiastically...

Before I could piece together a rational explanation, the knocking came again, more insistent this time. I hesitated for a second, then left my bedroom and slowly moved toward the door. The wooden floor creaked under my feet.

"Lenn? I know you're in there," a voice called softly but with an urgency that sent a jolt through me. Another knock, more insistent, followed. "Please, let me in."

That voice-I knew it too well by now. My heart lurched as I grasped the doorknob, my fingers trembling for some reason.

"Madd?" I breathed, opening the door, and our eyes locked.

It was him. Maddox, at my apartment door past 2 in the morning. Before I could utter another word, he slipped inside, brushing past me with a decisive yet strangely gentle nudge, closing the door quietly behind him.

He didn't say a word at first. Instead, he started pacing the length of my open plan living room, his hand raking through his tousled hair, eyes darting around as if searching for something just out of reach. With a small, frustrated shrug, he peeled off his denim jacket and tossed it onto a chair by the kitchen table. It slid right off it and crumpled onto the floor, but he didn't seem to care one bit.

"What are you doing here? Did... something happen?" My voice wavered despite my efforts to keep it steady. "You look like-"

"I just want to talk," he stopped pacing and cut in, his tone sharp enough to make me flinch.

This wasn't the Maddox I knew. The playful, unpredictable spark in his eyes had been replaced with something darker, more intense. He looked like a man on the brink, someone who had spent too long thinking about this moment-and was now desperate to get through it.

I had hoped-foolishly, it seemed-that whatever had sparked between us in the studio would fade with distance, that I could write it off as a moment of weakness or a lapse in judgment. But standing there, facing Maddox with that intense, unyielding look in his eyes, I realized how naïve I had been. This wasn't something I could simply ignore or escape from, and it was clear that Maddox had no intention of letting me.

"You couldn't have done this at a reasonable hour? It's the middle of the damn night!" I blurted out, grasping at any shred of control I could muster. "Besides, shouldn't you be getting ready for your trip? Or, I don't know... already on your way to the airport?"

"What I should do and what I want to do are two different things," he replied, his voice low but firm. "And right now, I want to talk about what happened between us."