Falling North: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 2)

by Alyson Santos

  I freeze, clenching my fist to remain calm. Everything in me wants to run. To hide. To go back to pretending she doesn’t exist and the past never happened. That our narrative is a void that doesn’t matter. Turning slowly to face her again, I fight the panic as she scrolls through her phone. Mine buzzes a second later.

  “You should check that.”

  “What did you do?” Matty asks, his tone less controlled than mine.

  Stacy ignores him, gaze still locked on me. “Call off your dogs, Alex. They can’t sue me for the truth.”

  I try to keep my hand steady as I pull out my phone. My throat closes, my vision blurring for a second as I stare at the image.

  “What are you doing in that photo?” she asks coldly. “I mean, something illegal, obviously, but what? Drugs? A weapon? Maybe you’re paying a hooker? Or a bribe? How did you get that sweet record deal anyway?”

  I blink at the photo, my blood chilling in my veins. It’s definitely me from a few days ago, holding an incriminating slip of paper in an abandoned parking lot. The other person could be anyone. We could be anywhere. Doing anything—except something good. Would anyone believe this was a setup by my own mother while she was blackmailing me?

  I can’t breathe as my brain explodes with doubts, my heart shattering from such a gross betrayal by the one person who’s supposed to be your shelter.

  “You bitch,” Matty snaps, surprising both of us. “This is from when he paid you, isn’t it? That’s you in the photo!”

  She shrugs. “Prove it.”

  “Come on, Xander,” he says, grabbing my arm. “I’ve had enough. She’s insane.”

  “I didn’t want to have to use this, Alex!” she calls after us. “You started the war when you broke our deal.”

  “No, you started this war. You are the war!” I shout back, shoving through the door.

  “Call them off, Alex! This is your only warning!”

  I storm through the hall, forgetting about security, about Matty. All I see is red. Maybe some black framing the edges of my vision. I want to jam my fist into something—anything. Shatter bones and cartilage until I’m forced into a different life than the gutter I have now. I could sell phone cases in a kiosk somewhere. Disappear into the arctic and do glacier tours. God, anything but this hell-hole I’m in.

  Matty calls out behind me, and yeah, I feel like a dick for ignoring him, but I can’t carry his load right now. He will have to handle his half of what just happened. He wanted to play the game. Welcome to the freak show.

  I slam my palms into a set of double doors and descend into the underbelly of the venue. I don’t even know where the hell I am anymore; I just hope no one is following. There are no more shouts or footsteps clamoring behind me when I stumble into the corner of a secluded utility room.

  I grab a folding chair propped behind the door and slam it into the wall. I’ve never been violent, except when it came to self-defense, but watching that chair bend from the force of my rage sends a wave of relief through me. I swing it again, crying out as it smashes into the concrete wall. God, it feels good. To hurt something. To absorb pain I can measure—understand and control. Again, and again, and again I swing, smashing metal into stone until I’m shaking so hard I can’t even hold the mangled object anymore. It falls from my hands, clattering on the floor in an explosive death. I step back, breathing hard.

  Horror rushes through me as I stare at what I’ve done. The twisted skeleton of the chair lies in a pool of concrete blood. Only a monster could do this. Carnage, that’s what I’ve achieved. What I am. The tingling in my arms spreads to my legs, catching fire in a sudden wave that has nothing to do with reverberating metal.

  This pain burns, fusing with shallow breaths that suddenly aren’t enough for my lungs. Images start to flash through my head. Old terrors and new threats compound into a sickening strobe of riots that my prison can no longer contain. I stagger back to the wall, fighting for air. What little light streamed in through the small slit of a window has dimmed into blackness. Another migraine? It can’t be. I just had one. They don’t come so close. Maybe I really am dying this time. Matty and I always joked that the biggest problem with my migraines is that we’ll never know when the death-stroke is real.

  At least I’m alone for it. There’s a comfort in fading alone and not carrying the guilt of your collapse crushing another person.

  Twenty-seven. I made it longer than I ever thought after those first few nights alone at age twelve. Matty will be okay. I fought and survived and gave him a future where he can thrive. I saw it today in that flash of determination when he faced our mother. He’s going to make it, and that’s all that ever mattered. Our parents may have started the war, but I won.

  I can finally give up.

  CHAPTER 20

  LYDIA

  Xander is missing again. After the report back from Matty about their disastrous meeting, I’m not surprised, but I do experience a twinge of irritation. After all, I warned him not to confront her, and he promised not to miss the show over it. As the opening act gets further into their set with no sign of our drummer, my irritation transforms into concern. It’s been fourteen minutes since he supposedly stormed away from their meeting.

  “He’s not answering his phone or texts,” Kate mutters, glancing around the back of the stage as if he’s hiding nearby and will magically appear now that we’ve called his bluff. Xander Silva doesn’t bluff.

  “Where’d you last see him?” I ask Matty, fighting the real question on the tip of my tongue. Why the hell did you come back here instead of following him? Thing is, I’ve never seen Matty look so troubled either. This whole thing has to be hard for him as well.

  “He was really upset. You know how he gets. I thought he just had to blow off steam. He wouldn’t miss a show, though. Something’s wrong.”

  His eyes search mine and confirm what I already decided. After working out a search plan with the others, Matty and I take off together. Fourteen minutes of Xander in pain alone is fourteen minutes too long.

  Matty leads with determination, and I get more uncomfortable the further we journey from the stage. I hate the thought of Xander down here by himself after everything that’s happened. Too many times I’ve seen him crushed, struggling to pick himself back up. I know one day he won’t. One day it’ll be too much and the weight will break him once and for all. Please, God, don’t let it be now.

  “What exactly happened with your mother?” I ask as we rush through the back hallways of the old building.

  I catch the open hatred on his face before he re-centers his focus on the path ahead. “I don’t know. Something about the label sending her a threatening letter. She came down to confront Xander and threaten him back, I guess. If he doesn’t tell the lawyers to leave her alone, she’s going to publish the photos she took when he gave her the money.”

  The label sent a letter? I hadn’t even mentioned the mother in my meeting with Dad, let alone requested intervention. I add that to my long list of red flags to investigate from Matty’s story. “She’s referring to the picture he’s been worried about?”

  Matty nods, his face contorted in distress. “I didn’t see it, but it must be bad. Xander just… snapped. Stormed off. I went after him for a little but he clearly wanted to be alone. I gave up and found you guys instead.” He clenches his fist. “Dammit, I should have followed him. I shouldn’t have given up.”

  I squeeze his arm as we push through a set of double doors. “We’ll find him.”

  His expression is pure, raw pain now. “He would have gone after me.”

  Without hesitation. I swallow the truth we both know.

  “We’ll find him,” I repeat instead.

  An open door marked “Caution” looms ahead, and that anomaly alone puts me on guard. Who leaves access points to dangerous rooms wide open? I point to it, and we’re almost running now.

  “Xander?” I call out, pushing into the room.

  I see the violated wall first. Divots
litter the surface in a small radius at waist height. If this is the state of the room then…

  My heart stops. Time stops. My entire universe completely stops.

  The CT scan came back negative for a stroke. Blood tests were normal. After explaining Xander’s history of hemiplegic migraines to the emergency personnel, the official diagnosis is a severe one of those—with the added bonus of a panic attack. The blackout could have come from either, or both, or… just another day in the tortured brain of Xander Silva.

  “There’s nothing they can do for him, so they’re not going to admit him,” Matty says, meeting me in the waiting room of the ER. Kate and the other guys headed back to the venue to sort through that mess when they learned Xander would be okay. “They’re giving him something for the pain, but they’re also working up the discharge paperwork.”

  “Really? That’s it? Just, sorry for the blackout, good luck?”

  Matty shrugs. “Apparently. They said he needs to follow up with his neurologist who will probably order an MRI to check for any permanent damage these things may be causing. At the very least, they’ll want a baseline so he has a reference for later in life.”

  My leg that hasn’t stopped bouncing since we found Xander passed out in the basement takes on a new rhythm. Twenty-seven years old and being tested for brain damage. How does that happen?

  Matty smirks, drawing my attention again. “They asked him if he’d been under a lot of stress lately. I’ll blame the drugs for the fact that he said ‘No, not really.’”

  Of course he did. I roll my eyes, wondering if that was an intentional lie or the instinctive reaction of a groggy mind. It only makes me more desperate to be at his side. “Can I see him?”

  Matty shakes his head. “It’s pretty tight in there. He knows you’re here.”

  I bite my lip, nodding. I’m not family. I’m not a significant other. I’m… what to Xander? The marketing director. The woman with the secret crush that’s no longer a secret.

  “He’s going to be okay.” Matty’s tone is soft, his eyes too when I dare a look. Something about the tenderness of his expression mixed with the violence of this situation chips at the professional wall I’ve tried to maintain. Tears burn behind my eyes; emotion boils in my chest. Crisis-mode provides a damn good barrier, but does nothing once the emergency passes into waiting.

  “He needs help, Matty,” I say. The tremble in my voice clearly affects him as well. “Real help. This isn’t sustainable.”

  “I know. We’ll figure out what to do about my mom and the pressure from the label and—”

  “No, not the triggers. I mean, the deep-seeded cracks inside him from trying to hold up the universe for so long.”

  Troubled, Matty looks away.

  “You know what I’m talking about, Matty. You know he can’t keep living like this.”

  “He’s always been that way. It’s who he is.”

  “Is it? Or is it who he had to be? I get that you guys don’t like talking about the past, but at some point you’re going to have to deal with it. He’ll be stuck in this until you do.”

  His gaze snaps back to mine, hardening the longer I challenge it. “I should see how they’re doing with the paperwork. We’ll need to call for a ride back to the buses.”

  I swallow my protests and nod. “Let me know what they say.”

  Kate books us a hotel and we postpone our travel day so Xander can rest comfortably for a couple of nights before we face the road again. She also brought Marlon into the loop, and they’re working on rescheduling the missed show. With a three-day break before the next one, we’re hoping that will be the only cancellation.

  It’s after midnight when Xander is released from the hospital. He says almost nothing on the ride to the hotel, and even less during the climb in the elevator. It’s impossible to tell if his pain-induced silence is physical or mental. Even the permanent scowl on his face could be either. Matty and I help him to his room—a single this time so he can recover in peace.

  “I’m sorry again. I don’t know what happened,” he mumbles as he lowers himself gingerly to the bed. Matty and I exchange a look. Yeah, that’s part of the problem. He’s the only one who doesn’t see what’s happening to him.

  “You hungry?” Matty asks. “There’s an all-night gas station nearby. I can grab something from the convenience store.”

  Xander hesitates. I see the no on his tongue before he says, “A little.” I understand Xander’s response when Matty relaxes into relief. I’m almost jealous he gets to do something while I continue to watch helplessly. Is Xander even hungry or did he lie to give his brother a problem to fix?

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Can you stay with him?” he asks me.

  His eyes search mine, adding a hidden message I can’t read.

  “Of course,” I say. They’d have to call security to get me out of the room right now.

  Matty nods, some secret still evident on his face before he turns and leaves us alone.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Xander says quietly. “It’s late.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  A weak smile spreads over his lips as he slowly reaches for his shoe.

  “Here. I got it.”

  I bend down to help him, and he straightens with a grateful expression as I untie his shoes so he can toe them off. Each movement is clearly agony for him. I finish and push myself back up to a view of cut muscle and taut skin as he pulls his shirt along his chest in a slow, unintentional strip-tease. I takeover that effort too, tugging the fabric from his grip to slide it over his head as gently as possible. But stripping this man turns out to be less of a medical procedure than I intended, so yeah, I let him undo the button on his jeans himself. Clearing my throat, I force my gaze to the floor as he drags off his pants with an audible intake of breath.

  “How are the meds they gave you?” I ask. Any conversation will work right now. Hell, I’d start reciting the alphabet to keep my brain from inappropriate and unsavory thoughts he’s in no condition to entertain.

  “Pretty good. They said I should get at least four to six hours before the pain comes back, then I have to switch to my regular stuff. Just need to rest.”

  “Oh, what about the ice thing? I’ll call…” I stop when I see the table of supplies Kate must have arranged when she booked the room. “Wow. She’s good.”

  “The best,” Xander says with a smile. He lowers himself back to the bed and slides between the sheets.

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll…” I glance around and find a chair tucked under the table. “I’ll wait over here. You rest and let me know if you need anything.” I pat myself on the back for remembering not to jostle the bed this time.

  “You’re probably tired. If you want to lie down too, it’s fine.”

  My gaze rushes to him in surprise, my pulse hammering at the thought. “Won’t the movement bother you?”

  “Not as much as being alone right now,” he says quietly.

  Is there a universe where I don’t accept the offer to cuddle with Xander naked in bed? I’m already moving when my eyes land on the door. “What about Matty? He’s coming back with food, right?”

  “We’ll hear him.”

  Good point.

  “Just for a few minutes?” he asks. There’s a waver in his voice, a brokenness that has my heart leaping from my chest to his. I sink onto the empty spot beside him, ignoring the lingering doubts. He’s on his side, facing away when I stretch out and rest my head on the spare pillow. He’s too close not to touch, and I brush my fingers through his hair.

  “This okay?” I whisper.

  “Very,” he sighs out. I hear the relief in his response. His shoulders relax too, the tense muscle easing as I trace my fingers over his skin. Everywhere I touch seems to be a salve, and I love these mysterious drugs that allow me to connect with him this time. “Lydia?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m
scared.”

  My breath stutters in my throat, my hand stalling on the dragon along his spine. “About your mother?”

  “About everything. What if I can’t handle all of this? My brain is—”

  “—fighting you.”

  He stiffens, and I know I’ve surprised him. “I was going to say breaking down.”

  I close the distance between us until I’m pressed against his back. Tucking my arm around him, I hold on as tight as I can. When he tugs my arm closer to his chest, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in days.

  “Your brain is breaking down because it’s the only way it knows to save you from yourself,” I whisper. “It has to slow you down.”

  “I can’t slow down. There’s no slowing down.”

  “You have to, Xander. You need to let go. Let others step in and help you carry the load. Can’t you see how many people are lining up for the privilege?”

  I don’t expect a response. I certainly don’t expect to feel his hot breath and the brush of his lips on my fingers. I nestle into his back, breathing him in as everything inside me melts.

  “The label is going to be pissed we bailed on a show,” he says after a long silence. He’s serious, another trigger firing through his checklist of crises, so I try not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

  “The label will be fine. I know people there.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “Oh my gosh, Xander, will you just shut up and rest?”

  He shifts to face me, and it’s everything I can do not to lean in and taste the grin on his face.

  “So bossy,” he murmurs. It’s even funnier since his voice is cloudy from the meds.

  “You’re lucky I don’t tie you to this bed and force you to rest,” I return. His smile grows, and I roll my eyes. “Not what I meant.”

  “I’m not against it.”

  I clench my fingers at my side, resisting the urge to trace his rare smile, to beg him to accept the consequences of being with me. To remind him of the ache spreading through my body every time I think about him and how much it hurts to pretend I’m not deeply, painfully in love with him in this moment. I said he needed to let others help. This is one burden I have to carry alone.