On my way, comes the reply about ten minutes later, and my stomach becomes a full-on circus during the wait. I see him the second he rounds the corner, as if my brain has a dedicated radar for Alexandre Silva. Even worse, his wet hair indicates he just showered, and now I’m picturing that as well. Okay, fine. So maybe it’s not the first time I’ve imagined that scene. And maybe I picture it so often, it surprises me every time I see him not wet.
I offer a weak smile and move over to make room on the couch beside me.
“Hey,” I say. Yeah, the intoxicating scent of his bodywash is going to be a problem during this meeting. Can you hold your breath for twenty minutes?
“Hey.” He lowers himself beside me, careful to leave as much space as possible between us. “Sorry, I’d just finished a workout and wanted to shower first.”
I swallow and nod. “No problem. I’m sorry to bother you on your day off.”
“It’s fine. What’s going on?”
I suck in a breath, forcing my brain cells back to functional. “First off, I wanted to show you these numbers. Check out the activity since last night.” I position my laptop toward him so he can see the graphs and screenshots I’ve been compiling all morning. “Oh, and look at your streams. Not just on the ‘Heaven Help Us’ video but on all platforms. Downloads are way up too. I already contacted Marlon to make sure White Flame is in the loop. This is good news and should help alleviate some of their concerns for now.”
His gaze drifts to mine, searching for a second. Does he hear the forced enthusiasm in my voice? I feel like a freaking cheerleader at half-time with this grin of fake sunshine on my face. Of course he sees through it.
“That all sounds great,” he says finally, but his tone is more tired than excited.
“Yeah, it’s fantastic. You guys were incredible last night, and I’m so glad the world is finally noticing. I’d like to record your cover of ‘Jonas’ at tomorrow’s show and get that out there as well. I’ve met Jesse Everett of Limelight a few times. He’s pretty cool, so I’m sure he’ll respond well and maybe even give you guys a shout-out or something. It’s a great cover.”
“It’s a great song.” A polite smile skims over his lips.
I nod and clear my throat.
He shifts in his seat. “What’s really going on, Lydia?”
The circus in my stomach has become a stampede. “FIRE! SAVE YOURSELVES!” the MC is screaming as the elephants and crowd rush to the exits.
“Xander…”
RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! But every door is blocked by a sea of frantic bodies. The elephants whine, swinging their trunks into heads and torsos.
He releases a heavy sigh. “It’s her again, isn’t it. Did she post something?”
“Not exactly. I mean, yes, but…” I clench my eyes shut as I hand him my phone so he can read the message. I force my eyes open just in time to see his jaw tighten and every muscle in his arm tense at his grip on my phone. “I’m sorry, Xander. I don’t even know what to say right now.”
He doesn’t move as he stares at the display for several more seconds before handing it back in silence. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he shoves his hands in his hair and studies the floor.
“We should call Turner and see if they want to get White Flame’s legal involved. There must be options, and we can—” I stop when his head ducks further, his fingers tightening against his scalp. And then in the silence I hear another interpretation of what I just said: maybe we should give your exploitative mother the spotlight she wants and derail everything you’ve worked for, while forcing you to relive everything you escaped.
Shit.
What happens next isn’t a bad decision because it’s not a choice when I close the gap between us to slip my arm around Xander Silva. There’s no way for me not to rest my chin on his shoulder and breathe in the smell of his hair. So yes, I also feel the hard muscle of his arms as I tighten my hold around him. It’s like holding a marble statue, except this one has hazel windows to a soul I desperately want to explore. When he doesn’t react, I tilt my head to rest my cheek on his shoulder and search the hotel carpet for the same invisible monster he sees. Several long seconds pass like this, neither of us daring to ignite, nor withdraw, the connection.
It’s my mischievous fingers that break the truce. With no license from my brain, they begin to trace small, repetitive arcs over his arm. Can’t be more than two inches in either direction. Two inches is safe. Two inches is still friend-zone. Two inches could be an arguable crisis-reaction for a professional and her client.
What crosses the line are my lungs. Those inefficient organs now inflate in shallow, useless breaths that betray a deeper longing. My pulse pounds, joining the rebellion. Two inches. Just two. Heat radiates through my fingertips, up my arm, and straight to my heart. Soon traitorous fingers start drifting to discover more dense muscle of his upper arm. He feels like… a volcano, beautiful and simmering on the verge of explosion. Or maybe that’s me and the lava suddenly thrashing through my veins. My fingers itch to slip under the sleeve of his t-shirt and smooth into a full, gluttonous grip. Just… I ball those rebels into a fist before they do more damage.
“I look like him,” he says quietly. “My father. Matty takes after her side, but I look like him. His eyes, his hair—everything, according to her. She couldn’t stand it. Sometimes when she was really bad she’d lock me out of the house so she wouldn’t have to see me.”
“Oh Xander.”
He shakes his head, tensing in my arms. “You know the worst part about it? It wasn’t the cold, or the hunger, or the fear of not knowing where I’d sleep that night. It was the fact that I was separated from Matty. That I couldn’t protect him and he’d be alone with them. Because it wasn’t just her, Lydia. She needed someone, anyone, to fill her blackhole, and she’d accept any loser who’d look her way. Some of them were…”
He scrubs at his face and straightens, forcing me to let go.
It’s for the best, I tell myself, as I tuck back into my bubble beside him. So why is the circus crowd still stampeding inside me?
“She wanted no reminders of my father, which meant no references to Brazil and our life before. She’d go crazy if we spoke Portuguese. Scream, smack us if we slipped. It was harder for Matty because he was too young to understand the triggers. It fucking broke me when she’d freak out on him. He’d shatter, totally confused.”
He presses his palms into his eyes, pulling in a steadying inhale. After a few seconds, he lets go and stares down at his lap.
“I have no idea if our father ever tried to contact us, because she wouldn’t have let him. He probably didn’t, though.” He scratches at an imperfection in his jeans. “We reconnected with him as adults, and it wasn’t exactly a Hallmark reunion. Guess we weren’t really surprised. He’s the one who sent us away in the first place when he got his new family.”
“New family?”
Xander blinks over to me, and I’m not sure how you can regret a question and be relieved you asked it at the same time. Maybe it’s better to rip off the bandage. “Our dad cheated on our mom and divorced her to marry his mistress when she got pregnant. Maria never liked the idea of having a pre-made family mixing with her own, so Pai thought it best we live with our mother who moved back to New Jersey. Obviously, Mom never adjusted to life without my father.”
Everything hurts as I try to process his story. My parents are divorced as well, but I suffer under the pull of two separate worlds that both want me. I can’t imagine being rejected by both.
“You must have felt so alone. Like you and Matty only had each other,” I say softly.
He nods. “We never fit in. There. Here. Home. School. We were always the outcasts. Always fending for ourselves and fighting to survive. We’re almost five years apart, so I took care of him as best I could. I guess I practically raised him.”
“Then you did a good job, because he’s pretty great.” It was meant as a compliment to Xander, but his tight smile makes me thi
nk he read my observation differently.
“He is, isn’t he. He’s… been through a lot.”
“So have you. Maybe more?”
His fists squeeze into white knuckles on his knees. “Things weren’t exactly rosy in Brazil. Our parents fought all the time and never had much interest in us. But it didn’t get unbearable until the split and we were shipped north.”
Shipped north. A cold rush rips through me. I snap my gaze to his. “You fell north,” I breathe out.
He offers a weak smile before looking away again. “Yes, exactly. Falling Back North. Ironic, huh? You thought our band lacked narrative when our entire story is in the name.”
“Xander…”
He holds up a hand. “Don’t say anything. I’m not telling you all of this for sympathy. You can’t do your job without this information. If you’re going to handle my mother you need to know the nightmare you’re dealing with. The woman is—” He shakes his head, and I think I’m starting to get how her dysfunction is beyond words. “Anyway, I trust you. I know you’ll use discretion.”
“I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“I know.” Xander stares at his hands. Then he releases a sharp breath. “Guess I should get this over with, huh?”
I glance at him. “Get what over with?”
“The call. To Stacy.”
My stomach knots at the expression on his face. Is that how old-time convicts looked as the noose was being fitted around their necks?
“Xander, you don’t have to—”
“We both know I do. Just promise me you won’t tell Matty? He doesn’t need to know about this.”
I tense and stare at him. “Seriously? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Lydia, please. You don’t understand what we’re dealing with. I gave you the highlights, but you’ll never understand the journey. Promise me.”
As if I could deny him anything when he looks at me like that.
“Ugh, fine,” I grunt. “But I want it on record that I think this is a bad idea.”
“The phone call or the secret?”
“Both, probably,” I mutter.
“Maybe,” he says with a smirk, then scans the small alcove. “I’m going to call her from my room, though. It could get ugly.”
“Of course.” I swallow the panic rising in my chest as I stand. “Alright, well, let’s get this over with.”
He looks down in surprise, and I straighten to my full five feet, seven inches. “You’re not doing this alone, Alexandre Silva.” I cross my arms, daring him to argue.
He studies me for another moment, the slightest smile flickering over his lips. “Don’t forget your laptop, Captain Marvel.”
CHAPTER 11
XANDER
Lydia is in my room, positioned on my bed as I stand by the window waiting for my mother to pick up. There’s nothing about this situation that bodes well. I blame the trauma of this phone call for the ridiculous awareness that Lydia chose my bed for a seat. She had a 50-50 shot, which means Logic is less impressed by this development. Fantasy, though? That dude is recording every detail for later torture. For now: present torture.
“Alex? Is that you?” a strange, yet familiar voice says on the other end of the line.
I close my eyes and turn toward the window, suddenly regretting the presence of a witness to this confrontation. At least I didn’t use Lydia’s phone like she wanted. She was worried about my mother having my number, but I can’t stand the thought of adding another casualty to this mess. Besides, better she keep her drama directed at me than posted for public consumption.
“Got your message,” I respond, doing nothing to hide my disdain.
“I’m sorry for contacting you like that.”
“Save it. No, you’re not. What do you want?”
“Alex… please don’t be upset.”
“Upset? That you’re trying to extort us? Why would I be upset?”
“Extort?” she scoffs. I can picture her indignant expression as clear as when I was a seventeen-year-old waste of a perfectly good spare room.
“What would you call it?”
“Alex. Baby. It’s been almost ten years. How else was I supposed to get your attention?”
“Well, you got it. What do you want?”
“I miss you. Can’t I just want to see my boys?”
A bitter laugh rushes past my lips. Is she for real? I rest my forehead against the cool glass of the window. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
“Kevin left me.” Kevin? Don is the last one I remember. Don with the handlebar moustache that would tickle your cheek when he shoved his forearm into your neck against the wall.
I close my eyes, imagining the current chill of the window seeping into my brain and coating every hot, angry neuron. “We don’t have money. You’re wasting your time.”
She doesn’t respond, and I straighten from the ledge.
“Just because we’re signed and touring now doesn’t mean we’re rolling in it,” I continue. “It’s our first headlining tour. We’re playing clubs and fucking town halls. Our opening act is a dude who came in fifth on a reality show contest two years ago. Everything we make goes to the promoters, our label, managers, and expenses. If you’re looking for a new meal ticket, you need to replace Kevin, not bank on a payout from us.”
After another silence, I’m wondering if maybe she finally gave up and ended the call. Could I be so lucky?
“What about the label?”
Air sieves from my lungs as if I’d just been punched. Her tone is cold now, closer to what I remember.
“You want me to ask my label to pay my mother not to publish embarrassing content about us?”
“You make it sound like blackmail.”
“It is blackmail!”
“Don’t be dramatic, Alexandre. I know those fancy corporations have entire departments and funding dedicated to dealing with this kind of stuff.”
“Parental extortion of their artists? I don’t think so. Besides, our label is already looking for an excuse to drop us. All you’d be doing is giving them Exhibit A.”
“Fine! Then what about your father? God knows he has plenty more than he and that bitch need. He stopped paying when you moved out, you know.”
“So? It’s not like you ever used any of that money on us.”
“Excuse me?!” she shrieks.
Yeah, here we go—the self-righteous, incredulous outrage. It used to result in my ass on a curb for a weekend. Now, I just hold the phone away from my ear as she rants.
Ungrateful!
Spoiled!
Waste of!
Little brat!
I only hear the highlights from my position a foot away as I rest my elbows on the window sill. Nothing I haven’t heard before, but also words I swore I’d never hear again when we left. Staring over the busy street below, I scout the storefronts for possible dinner destinations. That Italian place looks decent. Then again, so does the sandwich shop. Is that a coffee bar in the window?
When the line quiets, I put the phone back to my ear.
“You done?” I ask, forcing my voice to bored.
“Still a smart-mouthed little bitch, aren’t you, Alex.”
“Is that a yes? Can we officially declare this reunion a wild success?”
“You haven’t answered my question yet. Are you going to ask your father for help?”
“I don’t want his help.”
“I don’t see what choice you have if you don’t have the money I need.”
“What makes you think he’d give me money anyway? You know how much he values his sons? He sent Matty fucking fifty bucks for his birthday a month late, and then expected us to do cartwheels over his generosity. That sound like a guy who’s gonna dish out serious funds? You want fifty bucks? Fine. Give me your banking info. I’ll wire it over. Then we’re done.”
“You’re making a poor choice, Alex.”
“I don’t have a choice. It is what i
t is.”
“Then I guess I don’t have one either.”
“Faz o que quiser. Não faz a menor diferença,” I spit back, and hang up. “Fuck!” I grip the phone in my hands and bring my fists to my forehead. Could that have gone worse? No. Could it have gone better? No. Not with that delusional parasite on the other end. Still… fuck!
Shadows dance across my vision. New nightmares triggering old memories in a brutal highlight reel, and I hate that I’m suddenly back there again. A rough stucco wall tearing into my skin. Fists plunging into my stomach and face. Matty sobbing. Her hiding in another room where she can preserve the lie. Always pretending. Always denying the truth and her role in her own horror show, her reign over ours.
I flinch at a touch on my shoulder. Shit. Totally forgot about Lydia. Fucking hell. Air I’d been hoarding in my lungs rushes out when her hand slides down my back. I don’t move as it loops to my front, her other arm coming around my right side. I close my eyes, trying to ignore how amazing it feels to be touched by this woman. In this moment when everything else has gone black.
Don’t, I want to say to her. I’m not strong enough to resist you right now. More words I can’t say.
My pulse hammers, then blazes hot when she circles to my front. Just a hug. Just… friends hug. She presses her cheek into my chest, settling in. I hesitate only a second before locking my arms around her back. Hers slide up and curve over my shoulders, forcing me into the embrace. Forcing… as if I don’t want this more than anything else right now. Because in this moment, it’s all I want. So much that soon my face is buried in her shoulder. My eyes close as I breathe in her fresh, floral scent. Yes, I’m the one being comforted when the shit rains down. I’m the one clinging while someone else holds up the sky. It’s completely foreign and necessary and wildly dangerous.
Falling North: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 2) Page 9