Rising West: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 1)

by Alyson Santos

  “You and Chris were more than bandmates. You had a personal relationship,” he says gently after a long pause.

  “Congrats, you read any freaking tabloid ever.”

  “I didn’t need to read that to know it.”

  “So what? I don’t see what it has to do with anything.”

  “Isn’t that everything?”

  I look over at him, struck again by the honesty on his face. The sincerity. Maybe I’m confused by him, but not because I ever doubt what he does reveal.

  “Who are you really mad at, Liberty?” he asks. “Is it me? Do you regret hiring me?”

  He blinks over, so genuine. So hurt by everyone today. Am I the worst offender? Hiring him was the only thing I’ve done right in the last three weeks. He should know that. Someone needs to tell him that he’s the only blameless one in this whole horrible mess.

  Tears burn behind my eyes as I study him. He doesn’t react, and it scares me how much I want him to. How much I want him to fight back and explode with all the pain and twisted emotions I’ve been holding onto in my own soul. Why do I think he would understand? Why do I think he would burn with that same fire? Detonate into something so tragically beautiful it would restructure our worlds.

  I clench my eyes shut. Because you’re desperate and broken and you think maybe he is too.

  Two souls clutching a lifeline.

  “Let’s hope the best is yet to come,” he starts reciting in a calm, strong tone.

  “‘Cause the rest is the blood-let ache that betrays a hero heart

  Stand strong through endless tides

  Stunning moon that pulls me under

  Breathe and beat, lungs and heart compete

  To tell the lie

  That I’m still alive.”

  My lyrics fill the room through the filter of his voice, washing over us in a peaceful wave that soothes and breaks at the same time. The way they bleed from his lips makes them bigger, deeper, and more painful than the day I wrote them. They tell a story about him that I’m longing to know. They hint at demons that don’t even scratch the surface of mine.

  “It’s not a lie, Liberty,” he says softly. “I know that because I’m still alive too.”

  A sob pounds against my chest, heavy, aching. I swallow, choking from the effort.

  “It’s not a lie,” he repeats, and I shake my head, still unable to open my eyes. What will I see? My disaster in the mirror or another one in a chair that I have no business clinging to? I hear the creak of the chair first, then sense a heat that starts to penetrate the cold veil over my world.

  When strong arms wrap around me, I have nothing left to fight. I’m useless. Just a mangled heart that can no longer contain the pain. No, I have no choice but to let my bloody mess burst out and consume the one person who shouldn’t have to understand.

  CHAPTER 11

  Mason talked about his childhood today. Am I a terrible girlfriend for wishing he hadn’t? Okay, I don’t really mean that. It’s just, I thought I wanted to know everything about him and it scares me that I couldn’t handle the small piece he finally shared. Maybe it’s because my own parents are so great, but I can’t imagine growing up with a father who abandoned you and a mother who blamed you for it. No wonder he doesn’t believe in himself. Who showed him a reason to? He spent his entire life being taught he was nothing, punished for existing in the first place. I understand the music now, though. It gave him meaning and community when nothing else did. Of course that’s why he thinks it’s all he is.

  MASON

  After yesterday’s photoshoot fiasco, no one’s surprised at the call for a band meeting before rehearsal. Apparently, Mr. Megabucks Diva Photographer didn’t take kindly to having his vision thwarted, and Liberty’s apology to us about the mess seems genuine. I search her face for more, but the no-nonsense band leader is back to account for the actions of her vulnerable alter ego I met in the dressing room. She avoids my gaze and focuses on the others the entire time she talks. We haven’t spoken since our unexpected bonding, so now I’m even less sure about where we stand. Enemies or soulmates? Could be anywhere in between.

  “Having said all that, what we did get from the shoot is pretty damn spectacular. Want to see the proofs?” She fires up her laptop and spins the screen to face us. “Pretty sweet, right? They still have to be edited, but these are the shots we get to choose from.”

  “Wait, they’re letting us choose our look this time?” Aaron asks dryly.

  “Now you know we’ve hit the big time,” Liberty teases back.

  He smirks and studies the screen. I follow as well, scrutinizing the images in disbelief. Who is that person—that rock star—staring back at me? His gaze is cold and determined, his posture confident like he knows he’s the shit and could give two fucks about it. Even the texture of my hair looks different with the lighting. If these aren’t edited yet, I can’t imagine what the final version will look like.

  “So I think we should each pick our favorites, and then we can narrow it down from there. Choose one of the band, one of Mason and me, and then...” She rotates the laptop enough to open another folder. “One of our new frontman for the features.”

  “Features?” I ask, stopping cold as the new photos populate the screen.

  Who the hell is that?

  I feel their attention as I stare at the stranger before me, but I can’t bring myself to meet it. In fact, I can’t seem to do anything, including think straight, as I try to process what I’m seeing.

  “Hey guys, can you go grab us some coffee?” Liberty says somewhere in the background. More sounds and commotion bang around me, but I can’t tear my eyes from the screen.

  When I finally do, we’re alone, just the two of us and the digital alien on display.

  “You okay?” she asks, sliding off her chair to move to the one beside me. We have the same view now. I wonder what she sees. “They’re incredible, Mason. You look…”

  “Strange.”

  “Perfect.”

  “It doesn’t look anything like me.”

  “It looks exactly like you.”

  I meet her soft expression for a moment before squinting back at the screen, trying to see what she does.

  “It doesn’t seem right,” I say finally.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “All of this. All the attention on me. It’s not my band. I’m no one. I’m just…” I’m just what? A missing piece? A misfit. “I’m just… Mason.”

  I don’t see her arm before it slips around me. I don’t see her head tilt to rest on my shoulder. But I feel both when they trigger a wave of warmth that awakens something long dead inside me.

  “Yes, you are,” she says. “And I think you might be one of the best things to ever happen for us.”

  The photo selection process also means we’re close to the announcement going public. I stare longingly at my guitar case when Sam calls during the second half of our photo meeting to inform us we have interviews and more conferences this afternoon. Apparently, we need to discuss the strategy. The strategy, like we’re going on trial or building a political campaign. Maybe we are. Maybe that’s the real takeaway from this introduction to my new life. Two weeks ago the music was all I had to show for years of sacrifice. Now that it’s my career, it seems to be an afterthought.

  “Do we ever get to actually play?” I mutter, glaring up from my coffee cup after Liberty ends the call with Sam.

  She shoots me a lopsided grin that kind of helps. “I know this sucks, and these next few weeks won’t be much better, but I promise, once the hype dies down, we can get back to business.” She pushes up from her chair and checks her phone. “Actually, we have a couple of hours before the first interview, if you all want to work. Maybe we can show Mason some of the new tracks.”

  My fingers are literally itching for my guitar, and I might be salivating at the thought of new music. “Are they for the album? When is it scheduled to drop?”

  “Well, we’re pushing the date
back a few months,” Aaron says, swinging himself up and onto the platform. “We still need at least four more tracks. Plus, now we have to re-work the ones we already did.”

  “With you,” Mitch adds, poking my chest as he passes to join Aaron and Tivo.

  I return his smile, my pulse picking up at the thought of being in a studio again. It’s been ages. Not since the Western Crush demo years ago.

  “Actually…” Liberty almost seems shy when she leans toward me. I’ve seen awkward, emotional, and untouchable badass Liberty, but never the shy version. Man, she’s cute. “Would you want to write with me tonight? After all the meetings, I mean. I have some ideas and I’d love your input. We could order some food or whatever.”

  I study her in surprise. The others are setting up their equipment, oblivious to the bomb she just dropped. We’d never discussed me writing. In fact, there were so many clauses about intellectual property rights in the contract that I’d assumed she explicitly didn’t want me involved.

  And I want to. More than anything, but…

  “Shit, I can’t. I have to tour a preschool for Brooklyn, and then I promised to take her to see the ocean.”

  Liberty’s gaze drops before she recovers with a stiff smile. “Oh right, your daughter. Of course, sorry. Well, have fun.”

  I watch her turn away with a sinking feeling. A loss? I never feel loss when it comes to Brooklyn. Never. She’s enough. Your daughter is supposed to be enough. She has been for almost four years. My life. My world to the point where I’ve barely looked at a woman and…

  “Wait,” I say as this one hoists herself onto the stage. To my horror, my mouth is already moving before I have a clue what it’s plotting. “Do you want to go with us maybe? To the beach?” Oh shit. What the hell are you doing, Mason?

  Her brow crinkles in confusion, triggering every alarm in my head. “I mean, all of you,” I stumble out in the worst recovery of all time. “Or just you. Whoever’s around. Uh, so Brooklyn can meet my new bosses.” Are you insane? I groan inwardly at the look on her face. Please, please let there be a time machine to rewind the time-space continuum about twenty seconds.

  “Um…”

  “Shit, never mind.” I press a fist against my forehead and back toward my guitar case on the floor. “That was stupid. Sorry. But I do want to write with you. A lot. I mean, another time. I think we could make some epic music together.”

  Her lips creep up as she crouches to my eyelevel. “Wait, did you just say we could make beautiful music together?”

  What? Ah shit, I kind of did. “Damn. You know what I mean. Actual music, not the clichéd metaphorical kind. And I said epic not beautiful.”

  She lifts a brow, smirking as she straightens. “Huh. Now I’m really intrigued. That’s quite the brag, Mason West.”

  By the time I return home after surviving a day of interviews and suits, I’m too drained for creative endeavors as intense as songwriting anyway. I’m not even sure why they needed me for the show. Guess it’s a journalist integrity thing to actually have the subject present when you script the exchange to tell the story you already wrote. It was clear from the first question that I was irrelevant. The queries were designed to get the answers they wanted, and if I didn’t give it, the restructured follow-up guaranteed I did.

  By the end of the day, the narrative was clear: I’m a small-town diamond in the rough, plucked from obscurity and crowned king overnight. Yep, I’m fucking Cinderella. Never mind that I’ve worked my ass off for my craft my entire life. Never mind that renowned industry powerhouse Eastern Crush wouldn’t even exist without me. For the record, we’re downplaying my history with them. Apparently, it doesn’t fit the preferred narrative that I’ve been messing around with a recorder in my parents’ basement until mega-label White Flame Records stumbled upon me. Oh, and forget that it was actually Samantha Turner who discovered me, not White Flame who actually had nothing to do with any of this.

  “And here we have the playground area for outside play.” The preschool director’s bright smile hasn’t budged this entire tour. Her cheeks must hurt from all that fake grinning. I would know because mine are killing me after today.

  “It looks great,” I say, cringing through another one. Can you ice your cheeks? I might have to find out.

  “Daddy, look! A slide!”

  Brooklyn is off to investigate before I can stop her, and the director waves with an even brighter chuckle-smile to assure me it’s fine.

  “She seems like a very sweet girl.”

  “She is. She’s been through a lot, so I’m looking for a program with plenty of support.”

  “Well, I can assure you, Mr. West, that she will receive the highest level of care here at Lighthouse Academy. Our comprehensive program includes activities to promote mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical development. The tuition also includes organic, well-balanced lunches and snacks that can be customized to gluten free and/or vegan for a slight up charge.”

  That smile again. Should I tell her my kid would eat the cheese powder straight out of the packet if I let her? Man, I want this for Brooklyn. She deserves it after spending the first four and a half years of her life with nothing. Nothing gets old really fucking quick.

  Brooklyn shrieks as she plunges down the slide and immediately loops around to the stairs for a second run. You’d think she’d never been on a slide before. Pretty sure I’ve managed to provide that luxury for her, at least.

  “What is it you do again, Mr. West?” the woman asks.

  I glance over before focusing back on Brooklyn’s manic excitement over an inclined piece of plastic. Have I ever been that excited about anything?

  “I’m a musician.”

  “Oh?”

  The band, Mason. She wants to know what level of musician. That shit matters here. I grin through a wince at Brooklyn’s next shriek. She’s going to have this. She’s getting this school. The announcement about me goes out tomorrow anyway.

  “Yeah, I’m with Burn Card. And you can call me Mason.”

  By her reaction, I answered correctly.

  “Burn Card. I see. Well, your daughter will love it here, I assure you. We have a number of other celebrity children so we understand the special concerns and considerations for those circumstances.”

  Celebrity children? Brooklyn? Somehow I manage not to laugh. What fucking twilight dimension am I in?

  “In fact, there are several Lighthouse families in the music industry. I’d be happy to talk to them and set up…”

  She has plenty more to say about people I don’t know, but my phone has been buzzing nonstop in my pocket since we toured the indoor gym—sorry, physical recreation center—and now, it’s erupting in another round. What emergency is exploding my phone? The director is still listing names, only some of which I’ve heard of, when I offer an apologetic smile.

  “Actually, I’m so sorry to cut you off, but I think there might be a problem. Family or work issue,” I clarify when her face falls. “Not with this place. Lighthouse seems great. Can you give us the enrollment paperwork, and we’ll take a look?”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, Mr. West! Of course. I will give you some information on our way out, and if you’re interested, the actual enrollment is all electronic. Modern technology, you know!”

  “Great.” I pull out my phone and glance at the screen for a hint at the emergency. A flood of texts from Liberty has my heart pounding in alarm. “Brooklyn!” I call over. She freezes mid-run to the ladder and looks back, her brow already crinkled in protest over what’s coming. “Time to go, bug.”

  “Nooooo! Daddy, I want to play!”

  “I know, and we will another time, I promise. One more slide and then we have to go.”

  “Six more.”

  “One.”

  “Ten.”

  I bite my cheek to keep from smiling. A man’s gotta keep a poker face in these negotiations.

  “Two.”

  “Okaaaay….” She immediately forgets she’
s mad and rushes up the stairs for her finale runs.

  CHAPTER 12

  We told my parents about the baby today. Mason was afraid to share the news, but I promised my family wasn’t like his. He was literally shaking when we sat down with them. He thought for sure they were going to freak out on him and call the police or something. Report him for what, I’m not sure, but he went through with it and refused to let me tell them alone, even though I offered. Mom and Dad were shocked, of course. We’re only eighteen, and this kind of thing doesn’t happen much in our circles. But once they processed it all, they seemed okay. They even asked about our plans and if we needed help. Thing is, I’m actually glad Mason got the chance to witness unconditional love. I’m not sure he’s ever seen it before. I already love our baby like that, and I’m pretty sure he does too.

  LIBERTY

  No, no, no. What did you do?!

  I stare at the massive wall of text in horror. It was just an idea, then another, then an explanation, then a clarification, and before I knew what happened I blew up Mason’s phone with an entire ocean of word vomit. I bite my nail, fighting the urge to follow it up with more texts apologizing for all the texts. What is wrong with you?

  “Have you heard from Mason yet?” Aaron asks, dropping to the couch beside me with a bowl of cereal. “We on for the beach thing with his kid?”

  How can he be so casual about this? He shoves a spoonful of fruity circles in his mouth and grabs the remote.

  “He hasn’t responded yet. He said something about a meeting with a preschool so he might not have seen my message yet.” Message—singular. Ha.

  Aaron shrugs. “I mean, if he goes on his own, it’s not a big deal. His kid might like the tourist shit.”