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

by Alyson Santos

  “We’re letting her tell our story, man.”

  “And she’s a fucking liar.”

  Matty adjusts in his seat beside me, and when I glance over his attention is fixed on some distant object through the window. I can’t see it, but I can feel it.

  “So we’re in agreement?” I ask.

  “I want a future, Lex. We need control of our past.”

  I suck in a breath. “Me too, Matty. Maybe it’s time we stop falling.”

  CHAPTER 24

  LYDIA

  There’s only one thing I don’t like about the report back from Xander and Matty about their trip to Philadelphia: the fact that I wasn’t there. But, to be fair, I wouldn’t have gone even if they’d insisted. That was an experience they had to have together and alone. And really, watching their childlike excitement as they relate their encounter with Jesse is enough to wipe away my disappointment. When they inform me that they want to tell their story as part of the “Valentine” release, I realize this trip was even more important than I initially thought. Thank god we didn’t destroy it with press releases and strategic planning. We come up with a plan to bring the others into the loop now that we have the ball rolling in the direction we wanted. I feel like a grand magician who’s orchestrated some Oz-like reality, and the guys make it clear they credit me with these developments. It’s empowering and inspiring, and I realize it’s more than a job for me. I get to make people’s dreams come true. I’m a person who thrives on helping others thrive. The flash of self-awareness warms my insides.

  When we finish talking, Matty stretches and studies us with a glint in his eyes. “Well, I guess I’ll go see what Elliot and Liam are up to. I’m sure you two have more planning to do.”

  Xander rolls his eyes, but I notice the slight smile on his lips. “Whatever.”

  “I mean, I can stay and help if you want,” Matty teases, starting back toward a chair. Xander grunts and practically shoves him toward the door.

  “We’ll be good. You go have fun with the guys. I’ll send you the meeting minutes.”

  “I want them in size twelve font!” he calls on his way outside.

  Xander returns to me and slips his arms around my waist. “I see you rented your own room so you don’t have to share with Kate.”

  “She snores,” I fake-lie.

  He laughs. “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Fine,” I shrug, now fake-busted. “Well, I know you’re broke and couldn’t afford one.”

  “True.”

  “And I’m kind of obsessed with being alone with you.”

  His lips twitch in a half-smile that sends my body into all kinds of hot chaos. Stormy need gathers in those deep hazel eyes. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a chance to be alone.”

  “Four days, fourteen hours, and…” I look at my watch-less wrist. “Some minutes.”

  He chuckles and cinches me tighter. Ah, not good and so, so good. Touching Xander Silva’s body is a transformative experience. One minute you’re a level-headed, sensible marketing professional and the next some primitive drive has your hands clawing over hard muscle and smooth skin. Mine skim his chest, fingers sinking in to shoot streaks of flames to the burning ember in my core. You want things when you touch him, dirty things you could never say in a meeting, images you could never flash on a screen.

  “Everything okay?” he asks, hazel eyes probing and fierce. Hands that were roaming my back now push in a deliberate path down. He palms my ass and presses me into beautiful friction with his hardness.

  “Not really.” My voice is whiny, pained, and his eyes darken further.

  “I’m not either.”

  “I don’t think my obsession is entirely healthy,” I breathe out.

  “No?”

  I shake my head, grasping the hem of the shirt I need off his body. “No. You make me want to break rules. Actually, you make me forget there are rules.” I yank off his shirt, my mouth watering at the sight. True art never gets old. It’s always changing, drawing you in with new insight and perspective. I run my fingers over his skin, tracing each tattoo, both fascinated and struggling to stall. I want more tonight. I want everything. To take it slow, to savor; I already know that my body is incapable of either when it comes to him.

  “Matty seems to be doing okay with us being together,” I say. Does he hear the tremble of restraint in my voice? My fingers have moved to an intricate design on his ribs. Do tattoos hurt? What if I’m a tattoo person? He makes me want one. He makes me want to try lots of things and see if they’re for me.

  “You want to talk about Matty right now?” he asks with a hint of humor. I shudder as he runs his fingertips along the side of my neck.

  “I kind of feel bad for him. He’s a great guy. I hope he finds someone.”

  “Have you seen my brother? I don’t think he’ll have any problems finding love.”

  My gaze locks on Xander’s lips. I want them on my skin. The anticipation is killing me, so sweet and painful. I press closer, tilting my head to give him access in a quiet plea.

  “Honestly, it’s hard to see Matty when you’re standing right next to him. Maybe now that you’re off the market, other guys have a chance.” My words are breathless now. His body, tense and charged, stiffens when I close my grip around the waist of his jeans to lock his hips against me. And yet, still he only releases the slightest smirk, a careful inhale that makes me think he’s enjoying how much I want him. Two can play at that game.

  I slide off my top, loving the way his hungry eyes absorb each of my movements.

  “Oh, I’m off the market?” he says, his gaze locked on my chest. I feel its heat tracing my sensitive skin as I unhook my bra and step back to give him a full view. His fingers flex into a fist at his side.

  “You better be. I’m not a violent person, and I’m all about girl power, so I really don’t wanna be droppin’ bitches over you.” Also, maybe that’s a lie. I must have somewhat of a cruel streak when I unbutton my jeans and step back even further.

  “I promise the only person you have to drop is me, and I’d prefer if that was right now.” His voice is almost a growl, and my body is in full-on rebellion against this game my brain is playing. Restraint? Hilarious.

  “I know a few moves,” I tease back, lowering myself to the bed. “But I’d rather see yours right now.”

  His grin is totally worth it as he reaches for my jeans. I buck my hips to help him slide them off. He unbuttons his own, and my breath stalls in my chest at the sight of him. I still can’t believe he’s mine. That he’s just as obsessed. That I make him feel like his blood is on fire and his lungs are exploding. I see it in him now, and shiver when the bed adjusts to his weight. He balances over me, our bodies touching in the barest friction that makes me crazy.

  “I always saw you as my siren,” he says, searching my eyes. His hair tickles my cheek, and I thread my fingers into the soft strands to shove it back for a better view. I don’t let go, locking him in place. “I thought you’d be my weakness, probably end up destroying me. When I found out who you were that night at the bar, it was like getting punched. You were going to lead me out into the water to drown and crash against the rocks.”

  My heart hurts at his words, but his expression isn’t sad or resentful. Instead, it’s almost wistful, back to the introspective poet that first captured my fascination.

  “I never wanted to hurt you, Xander. I just wanted you.”

  “I know.” His eyes soften. They study my face. “What I never would have guessed is that you’d be my lighthouse instead. The beacon that brought me to shore. I didn’t even know I was drowning until you insisted on saving me.”

  Heat blossoms in my chest, a warmth so intense, I wonder if he can feel the change in my skin.

  “Xander, I…”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  I shake my head. “No, I want to because you’ve done the same for me. I always thought I had to be perfect. The pressure would crush me. Define
me in ways I couldn’t control. I’ve always been confined by other people’s expectations. I don’t even know who I really am, but you make me want to find out.”

  His brow creases in pain for me. A flash of anger skims across his eyes before he tucks me closer. “Your imperfections are beautiful, Lydia. They’re what make you who you are and make others want to discover you.”

  I pull his head down. There’s no way not to kiss him right now. It’s a soft kiss, a postlude to his beautiful words and a prelude to the intense connection to come. I crave both, every dimension of what we have together and what we’ve discovered in ourselves through each other. I pull away, just enough to see his beautiful eyes and free the truth burning on my tongue.

  “Xander, you make me brave and willing to explore. For the first time in my life, I feel free, like I’m flying.”

  His smile takes my breath way, etching into my mind in a forever-image I will lock away and cherish. “That’s funny. Because for the first time in my life, I feel grounded.”

  I’m a creeper. It’s official. Fine, I accept the label, but I love watching Xander sleep. I wake before him the following morning, paralyzed by the innocence beside me. To say Xander’s an old soul is an understatement. He’s a world-weary, beaten, ancient soul that makes it impossible to imagine he was ever a child. Except when he sleeps. When the layers of past trauma and present struggles are stripped away, we get to see how young he really is. I forget that sometimes. That he’s only a year older than I am because he seems to have lived a lifetime I haven’t.

  I reach over and gently trace the contours of his face. It’s a risk. I don’t want to wake him but I also have to touch him when he’s this close. My fingers move over his lips where I feel the heat of his breath. His jaw is rough from the stubble, but still strangely soft now that it’s not clenched. His chest rises and falls in a gentle rhythm, so different than the typical violence with which he breathes. The bird over his heart seems to flap it’s wings with each inhale and exhale. I trace that too.

  “It’s an Arctic tern.” Xander’s voice is groggy, and selfishly, maybe I’m glad he’s awake. Turns out his sleep voice is just as cute and sexy.

  “What the heck is an Arctic tern?” I ask, still running my finger over the intricate detail of the majestic-looking bird. “It looks like some kind of sea bird.”

  “It is. They migrate the equivalent of the circumference of the Earth every year. All the way from the Arctic shores to South America. Thousands and thousands of miles.”

  “That’s amazing.” I’m pretty sure I’m talking about the bird, but it’s hard to tell when your staring at Xander Silva’s bare chest.

  My phone buzzes again from my purse, and I try to ignore it. The annoying alerts are what woke me up in the first place. I should have turned it off.

  “Do you need to get that?” he asks.

  “No.” I turn away from him so he can draw me into his arms. Shifting back, I nestle my soft body into the contours of his hard one. Perfect fit, like everything else about us. His arm slips around me, tightening my back to his chest, and I lace my fingers with his at my front. It’s like no part of me can stand not touching him. We’re still not close enough.

  I’ve just started to drift back to sleep when a pound on the door jars us back to reality. Xander pulls away, startled too. It can’t be housekeeping already—checkout isn’t for another couple of hours. A second knock makes it clear the intruder isn’t going to take the hint, so I groan as I force myself up. Technically, it’s my room after all. I pull on my shirt and jeans from last night on the way to the door.

  Matty’s concerned face is the last thing I expect to see, and a wave of guilt washes over me in an instinctive reaction to him “catching” Xander and me together. Then I remember he’s the only one who knows about us. The one who put us here.

  “What’s wrong?” Xander asks. I step back so our guest can enter and close the door behind him. Xander has pulled on his jeans as well and eyes his brother with concern. Interestingly, it’s Matty who wears the ferocious protectiveness I’m used to seeing on Xander.

  “I’m going to fucking kill her,” Matty hisses, charging into the room.

  “Whoa, hang on. What?” Xander asks, paling.

  Matty stiffens, his anger mixing with fear. “You didn’t see it? We’ve been messaging you both all morning.”

  Xander lifts his gaze to his brother, his expression crumbling. “The photo,” he breathes out, dropping to the edge of the bed.

  Matty’s fists clench as Xander buries his head in his hands. He rubs at his face, his fingers gripping his hair in violent handfuls.

  “She’s not getting away with this. We’re going to take her down.”

  Xander nods without looking up, even though I know it’s only an assurance for his brother. He doesn’t believe any of that. He doesn’t believe things ultimately work out in his favor.

  I sit beside him on the edge of the mattress, sliding my arms around his chest. I can remind him of one good thing that’s certain in his life. My lips rest on his shoulder in a soft kiss, and I feel his tense muscles start to relax.

  “What did she say?” he asks quietly. “About the picture. How did she explain it?”

  We look to Matty who averts his gaze. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all bullshit and lies, and she’s fucking going to prison for this.”

  If he’s trying to mitigate his brother’s torment, it’s not helping.

  “What did she say, Matty?”

  He clears his throat, still not looking at us. “That you’re a dealer and this was a trade.”

  A laugh snorts out of me. Both brothers stare over in surprise, but I can’t help it. The snort becomes a full on belly-laugh, and soon they’re studying me like I’m insane.

  “Sorry, just… one sec.” I wipe my eyes, trying to settle my breathing.

  “This is funny?” Matty asks, clearly not sure what to make of my reaction.

  “She’s claiming the photo is a trafficking transaction? Oh my god.” I pull in a shaky breath, still working to control myself. This woman is amazing. “Can I see the picture again?”

  Matty looks confused as he pulls out his phone and hands it to me.

  I study the image, squinting in disbelief at that woman’s stupidity. I zoom in on Xander’s hand in the photo and tilt the phone toward him. “Let me ask you something. How many drug lords do you know that accept personal checks?”

  The slightest smile flickers over his lips. Matty snickers beside us. I shake my head and sigh. “I got this one. You two worry about your show tonight.”

  While the guys are in soundcheck, I conference in Turner and White Flame to bring them up to speed with the Limelight developments, in addition to, dealing with this latest crisis. After presenting the facts of both situations, I pause to allow them time to process my words. I’m not surprised when my father speaks first.

  “Well, I think we can agree you all have had a very busy week,” he says to a chorus of polite chuckles. That one line defuses a very intense atmosphere, and I realize how skilled my father is at managing difficult situations. I look forward to learning more from him. “Okay, so let’s break this down. First off, Stacy Rogers. I already have legal on that. As you pointed out, Lydia, the photo is clearly not what Ms. Rogers is presenting. That woman is obviously fishing for a payout.”

  “She already got one,” I blurt. Stunned silence meets my confession, but it’s time they know. Xander and Matty want to own their story. The first step is sharing the truth. “That’s what the photo is. Stacy had been blackmailing Xander. That’s him giving her everything he has to keep her from ruining their careers. It’s because of the threats from White Flame’s legal department that she released this photo. She’s been threatening him for a while.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about this sooner?” Marlon asks.

  I pull in a deep breath. “It’s complicated, but the answer is another reason I wanted to have this conversation. The guys are read
y to go public. They want to share their story, and I think the release of these singles can be a big part of that. We can use the negative events with their mother as a catalyst to tell a story that could touch a lot of people’s lives.”

  “They’ve been so guarded about their past,” Marlon says. “What made them finally change their minds?”

  “I think their visit with Jesse Everett and seeing an example of a dark past that’s given hope to so many others. If we tie Xander and Matty’s journey in ‘Valentine’ to Jesse’s story with the release of ‘Jonas,’ we’d have an explosive narrative that will finally free them from this woman and anyone else who comes crawling out of the woodwork to try to take them down. Not to mention, the viral potential of a story like this. So many people will be able to relate and connect with them and their music.”

  I quiet again, my heart pounding as I consider what I just said. I sounded confident. Insightful. And yet compassionate toward the individuals we’re discussing. Damn, I sound like a badass. I can’t stop the smile that slips over my lips.

  “I love it,” Stocker Carmichael, C.E.O. of one of the biggest record labels in the country says. To me. To the world that now knows how amazing I am. Imperfectly perfect. Powerfully soft. Playfully driven. Uniquely complex, and thanks to a puppy-dog poet drummer, I see how incredible that makes me. I can’t wait to discover what else I am.

  “I love it, too,” his minions echo.

  “Me too,” Marlon says.

  “Definitely. We’ll do whatever we need to make it happen,” Samantha Turner adds.

  After another thoughtful pause, my father continues. “What are you thinking, Lydia? How do we tell this story?”

  CHAPTER 25

  XANDER

  Filming for the ‘Valentine’ music video has us on edge in a mix of new excitement and old trauma. Thanks to Lydia, the label trashed the script for a derivative love story featuring a random model, and instead shoved us back into our shitty past as neglected children. An authentic chill runs throughout the abandoned warehouse of our set, and everything about the moment just feels right. It makes no sense, given the devastation of what each scene forces us to relive, but as we navigate our story in the structure of a song, something lifts in the air around us. Guided by our memories, the set-designers recreated our bedroom growing up, the living room where we’d suffered so much abuse, and most importantly the basement of Elliot’s house where we finally found escape in the music.