He shakes his head. “Anyway, she never mentioned it again, but she must have regretted what happened. At the very least, her response to it. Two weeks later on Valentine’s day, she gave us a card that said, ‘Be my valentine.’ Nothing else, just that stupid card. I was so pissed at that. Her fucking olive branch that meant nothing after what she’d done. Even worse, though? We accepted it. Displayed that worthless piece of shit in our room like a fucking trophy. We were so desperate for anything from our parents that we’d accept any scrap of affection they’d give us.”
He stops when he sees my face, and I swat at my blurry eyes.
“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat.
He returns a weak smile. “I know. Not a pretty story. We don’t have a lot of those.”
“You have one.”
His gaze raises to mine, and I direct it toward the small stage. His expression lifts, a peace settling over his features that makes me want to crawl into his arms.
“The music exists in another place,” he says softly, studying the lone mic stand, the solitary drum kit. “You can go there at any time, under any circumstances. Your eyes can be swollen shut, your stomach empty. It doesn’t matter. You can drown out even the loudest screams, external and internal. And when you get to go to that place with the only other person who matters to you—” His eyes rest on Matty who’s returning from the restroom.
“—you create a bond strong enough for others to feel too,” I finish for him.
His gaze snaps to mine, a smile spreading over his lips. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Not maybe. That’s the magic of your music, Xander. That’s what makes it so special.”
His jaw tightens, and I’d give anything to brush my fingers over his hand resting between us right now. It would be so easy to touch. Warm, strong. The hand of an artist and a protector. I settle for resting my shoe against his again as Matty approaches and slides back into the booth.
“What’d I miss?” he asks, grabbing my glass to finish off my water.
Xander smiles as he studies him, his eyes warm with affection. “Nothing, loser. Here come your fries.”
Everyone else is in their bunks, Elliot’s snores reminding us what should be happening right now. Too bad I’m addicted to the gaze holding mine across the aisle. Xander stares back at me from his bed, his curtain half open, his left arm tucked under his head as he watches me watch him. Man, it’s hard to breathe when that man looks at you like this. I run my index finger over my lips, imagining I’m touching his. Is he picturing the same? Is he moving to my bunk, shifting down my yoga pants so I can feel every inch of him as he presses into me? Straining as I curve my arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. He’d be worrying about crushing me. I’d be worried he’s still too far away.
Or am I crossing to him? Running my hands over his bare chest as I stretch along his hard body, tracing muscle and ink like an explorer on a mission I’ll die just to experience once. I’d slide my leg between his, scissoring our hips, rocking until I’d have to kiss him to suppress my moans.
My pulse pounds, a flood of heat snaking through my body. I hadn’t even realized my fingers are now clenched around the V-neck of my shirt. Xander’s gaze is fixed on the movement, studying the newly exposed swell of my breast. His hand that had been bent around his head tightens into his hair. His blanket is pushed low, far enough that I can see the enticing tattoo on his hip. I’ve wanted to taste it from the second I discovered it. He can’t be naked, and yet… Damn, he’s a work of art right now. It’s not even fair.
My gaze drifts lower, right below the seam of the blanket. Is he hard for me like I’m aching for him? Wondering if the heat inside can be felt on the other person’s skin? I’m on fire to find out. Just a few feet and I’d know. My fingers blister with the memory of what it feels like to touch him. To close my fist around hard, hot flesh. He shuts his eyes, but I can tell by the rapid rise and fall of his chest that he’s not sleepy. No, he’s in pain like me. Craving like me.
He shifts to his back, and I’m disappointed until he pulls out his phone. Mine flickers to life a second later.
I want you so badly.
Desire rushes to my belly. My heart slams in my chest.
I’m in pain for you. I type back, forcing air into my heavy lungs.
Yeah? Where does it hurt? Show me.
My breath catches in my throat, my pulse hammering. I press my hand down my body, tensing into its grip with each triggered nerve ending. I don’t have to see his gaze to know I own it. To know that when I dare a look back, his hand will be buried in heat below a precarious blanket as well. And when I finally allow myself the luxury of a peek…
Leave your curtain open tonight? he responds.
My teeth sink into my lip as I confront him again, melting at the plea in his eyes. How am I still in my own bunk? Pain isn’t strong enough for the longing hammering through me right now.
I could dream about him tonight. But dreaming requires sleep, and sleep… Has anyone ever slept through a hurricane?
Xander looks as tired as I feel at breakfast the following morning. But his sly smile when I set my plate across from him awakens any slumbering brain cells. I return it, struggling against a reprise of last night’s torture. Yeah, virtually impossible when he leans back on the chair, hazel stare all kinds of smoldering. He crosses his arms in a way that makes it seem like he’s trying to force my attention to his biceps. And pecs, and that adorable almost dimple that peeks through the scruff on his cheek whenever he’s tormenting me.
I practically glare back, which only forces his smile to unsafe levels.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks, loud enough for others to hear, but not enough that I think he’s trying to get their attention.
“Fine. You?” I stab at a grape with my fork. Yes, I’m eating grapes with a fork. Apparently, that’s what I do when I need a distraction.
“Fine. It was hot last night, though,” he says.
I almost choke on the stupid grape and glance up to meet a mischievous grin that sends my hormones into all kinds of chaos.
“Yeah, well, you could have taken off the blanket.”
“I did.”
You were still too covered up. I don’t say that part with my lips, just my eyes.
So were you, he replies.
Right. This isn’t going to work.
“I never got to tell you about the meeting with my father. I went to see him in Newark, remember?”
His knowing smile lingers for another second before he releases me by accepting the subject change.
“Stocker Carmichael, the big man himself. Glad you got to see him while we were in the area. I thought you said you weren’t close.”
I soften. “We weren’t. But maybe that can change.”
“It went well then?”
I smile, warming at the memory of the visit. “Very well. I realized I may have constructed a lot of the walls between us. I’m not sure yet which of them can be knocked down, but after this past meeting, I want to try. We’ve been texting and stuff since.”
“That’s great.”
“Thanks to you.”
His brow scrunches. “Thanks to me? What did I have to do with this? Did he even know who we were?”
I shrug with a crooked smile. “He does now. Anyway, that’s not what I mean. It’s just…” I stop, the reality of what I was about to say crashing in at once. For someone who prides herself on reading situations and manipulating conversations, I can be really dense when it comes to Xander.
The corner of his mouth lifts as he reads what I just botched. “Ah. You mean, my dysfunctional parental nightmare inspired you to mend your own?”
I cringe but relax when his smile breaks. “Something like that. Sorry, I didn’t think that through before it started coming out of my mouth.”
“It’s fine. Stacy can be very… inspirational.”
I swallow, and we both cast a glance at the others to make sure no one’s paying attention. At
least Matty isn’t here. Otherwise I’m sure things would have been even more awkward.
“Anyway, back to White Flame. Dad was very interested in your story and listened to everything I had to say. He doesn’t oversee any of the issues we discussed directly when it comes to new artists like you, but he promised to investigate and keep an eye on your progress.”
Xander’s expression transitions into a mix of surprise and skepticism. “Really.” It’s not even a question. More of a yeah, right.
I shrug, attempting a “dude smirk” of my own. “Really. Maybe I’m even better at my job than you thought.”
“Nah. I don’t think that’s possible.”
I stiffen, shooting him a mock glare. “Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
A masterclass in the “dude smirk” settles over his lips, and I can’t even be pretend-mad anymore. “It means I think you’re pretty much the best damn marketing director out there, so there is no better.”
Oh. Well. Okay, then.
He finishes his mic drop with a shove back from the table. His smug look tells me he knows I’m painfully aware of every muscle and movement of his body. “I’m gonna try to get in a workout. Enjoy your day, Ms. Carmichael. Maybe grab a nap?”
The guys are doing their soundcheck when my phone rings with an unknown number. I sneak outside to the take the call, hoping it’s not another junk call.
“Lydia speaking,” I say. The wail of guitars and drums blurs in the background but at least I’ll be able to hear the person on the other end.
“Lydia Carmichael? Representing Falling Back North?” a crisp English accent returns.
My heart lurches in my chest, skipping at least three beats. No way. No freaking way! I force my voice calm.
“Yes, this is she.”
“Lovely. This is Mila Taylor. I’m ringing on behalf of Limelight. The band was really impressed with what they saw. Thanks for contacting us.”
“Of course! Xander and Matty are huge fans. They were blown away by the support.”
“Xander and Matty are brothers, aren’t they? I tried to learn more about them, but couldn’t find much.”
“Yes, they’re brothers. And we’re working on that information gap.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, well, I don’t want to keep you. The boys are holed up in the studio at the moment, but Jesse asked me to get in touch and arrange a chat with… Matty is it?”
“Matty is the lead singer and younger brother. But Xander is the songwriter and band leader. He’s also the drummer.”
“Ah, right. Can we arrange a meeting with both of them then?”
“That would be incredible.”
“Brill. I’ll send you some dates and then you let me know what’s best for you.”
“I will. They’ll be so excited. Thank you, Mila.”
“Anytime, love. Talk in a bit.”
I stare at my phone long after the call disconnects, still in disbelief. Every piece of me wants to run in and interrupt soundcheck with the news, but bursting in mid-test-one-two in front of the entire crew doesn’t feel right. After tonight’s show, maybe, when things are quiet and we can have an intimate conversation. I also know I should be calling Marlon to take over the logistics on this development. After all, he’s the band manager, but I’m the one who worked my ass off to get them this interview. I want to be the one to reap the benefit of their expressions when I break the news. Marlon can steal my thunder afterwards.
I shove the phone in my pocket, grinning as I re-enter the building.
CHAPTER 19
XANDER
I see her first. Matty is still absently bobbing to the house music before the opening act, so he hasn’t. My limbs go numb as I study the ghost from my vantage point just offstage. We always try to get a read of the crowd before we go out so we know how to work it. This is the first time I’ve regretted that preparation.
“You okay?” he asks, glancing at me.
“She’s here,” I say without moving. Every instinct in me wanted to hide that fact, to send Matty on some false errand so I could deal with this nightmare on my own. But after our breakthrough yesterday, I’m done with the lies.
I sense his confusion, and wait while he follows my sharp focus to the end of the third row.
“Is that…”
I finally tear my gaze away to find my brother’s pale face. The pain in his eyes makes me wish I’d kept up with the secrets.
“What’s she doing here?”
I shake my head, shock melting into anger. We had a deal. Part of me always knew she’d break it. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon. It kills me that she probably used my money to get herself here to stalk us. Lydia’s radar for Silva drama must go off, because she comes sauntering over a second later.
“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping between us. “What are you looking at?”
I don’t miss the flash of emotion on Matty’s face before he focuses back on the older woman in the audience. I can’t interpret his expression or posture. Guess that’s what happens when you have as many skeletons as we do. We may have dusted off a few yesterday, but the Lydia issue still remains unresolved. He hasn’t brought it up since he found out about my feelings for her, and I certainly won’t now that we’ve pieced together a truce.
“See that middle-aged blonde woman in the third row beside the girl with the pink hair?” Matty says to her.
She squints, shaking her head. “Wait. The lady with the ripped tee and fingerless gloves?”
“Yeah. That’s Stacy,” he mutters.
“Our mom,” I remind her, as if she could ever forget.
“What?!” Lydia snaps, her eyes narrowing in anger. “I’m calling security.”
“Wait.” I touch her wrist to stop her. “Have them escort her somewhere private. I need to talk to her first.”
“Uh-uh. No way.” Her head jerks in firm arcs as she raises her phone again.
I lock my hand around hers. “Lydia, please. I have to do this.”
Her gaze lifts to mine. The hardness there melts into concern as she studies me. “Fine. Then I’m coming with you.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, releasing her wrist.
“You’re not facing her alone, Xander,” she says. “Not this time.”
“He won’t be,” Matty interrupts.
Lydia and I turn to him in surprise. He shrugs. “She’s my problem too. She needs to know she can’t use us against each other.”
I rest my hand on Matty’s shoulder, and his weak smile somehow makes him look stronger than I’ve ever seen him. He nods to me, and I squeeze in response.
“We’ll be back in time for our set,” I assure Lydia who still doesn’t look convinced. She’s probably right. We’re probably making a huge mistake that’s going to blow up in our faces. A smile slips out as I study my brother. At least we’re making it together.
“Make the call,” Matty says to Lydia on his way toward the exit.
We pause outside the door where security told us to meet them, exchanging a silent conversation I’ve waited a lifetime to have with my brother. Strangely, it’s his hand reaching for my arm this time in a gesture of reassurance. His head nods, We got this.
I push open the door before we lose our nerve.
“Thanks, guys,” I say, focusing on the safer target of the burly men hovering near the door.
“You sure you’re okay? We can stay,” one of them says. Rick, I think.
I force a calm smile. “We’ll be fine. We’ll call if we need anything.”
The door clicks closed behind them with sobering force.
“Matty?” Our mother’s tone is almost maternal in her shock. “Oh, my baby. It’s so good to see you.”
Matty stares back at her with a hard expression, probably masking a cocktail of emotions I know well. Disbelief, confusion, resentment… every counterpoint to how a child should feel when standing before their mother.
“Why are you here?” he asks, sur
prising me again with his resolve.
“We had a deal,” I add, crossing my arms as I glare at her.
She flinches a bit at Matty’s rejection, but settles back into a sneer when she faces me.
“I thought we did also, Alexandre.”
“So did you use my money to come here and break it?” I spit back.
“You tell me. You know what? Don’t, since your word is shit.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, straightening.
She shrugs, her gaze cold as it bores into me. “You told me your label didn’t care about you and was a no-go for funds. They certainly seemed to give a shit when they stuck their lawyers on me.”
I swallow, shifting my weight to buy time. I have no clue what she’s talking about. I also have zero intention of telling her that.
“The letter?” I guess, managing a stern tone. When her gaze darkens, I know I’m right and adapt to the revelation. “You blackmailed someone. What did you think was going to happen?”
“I didn’t blackmail you,” she hisses. “I asked for your help, and you gave it to me.”
Damn she’s good at capsizing a situation. Worst part? I can’t tell if she actually believes that twisted lie or not. I’m not surprised when all I can manage is a bitter laugh.
“Helped you? Sure, whatever,” I huff dryly. I shake my head, ready to walk out. Lydia was right; this was a waste of time. Should’ve just had security kick her to the curb like she’d done to me so many times.
“I think we’re finished here. You’d be wise to stick to the agreement. Be happy with what you stole from me and move on with your life.”
I start toward the door, and Matty hesitates just a second before following behind.
“You might want to rethink your threats, Alex.”
Falling North: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 2) Page 16