His smile—shy and cocky at the same time. Not sure how he does it, but I just want to grip his cheeks and swallow him whole. Instead, I settle for bringing his fingers to my lips. He sighs and studies me quietly for a bit. “Thank you for telling me that, but like I said, you didn’t have to. I don’t care what they say. I don’t care about any of that bullshit. You know that.”
“Yes, but you’ve seen that stupid chart going around. I just needed you to know the story behind it and that you never, ever have to worry about any of that crap.”
His brows scrunch together. “The chart?”
Oh no. “Come on. You must have seen it. It’s everywhere.”
He shakes his head, and holy crap. He really doesn’t care about any of this stuff. Has he even read the articles about him or did he just skim them for basic information when necessary… like my hospital location.
“No, I have no clue what chart you’re talking about.” He pulls out his phone, and I stiffen.
“Okay, then don’t,” I say, lunging for the phone.
He lifts it out of my reach, still typing a search. “No way. Now I have to know.”
“Oliver! Don’t. Seriously.”
He turns toward the driver’s window so I’d have to scale his entire back to challenge him. I probably wouldn’t succeed healthy, let alone with a sprained ankle and concussion. “Oliver!”
“Found it,” he says. I hear the smirk in his voice.
Groaning, I settle back in my seat, kicking myself for bringing it up. Once I’ve resigned, he faces forward again, and I cover my eyes with my fingers, peeking through a hole to read his reaction. My fear fades when his lips lift in another smirk, then a chuckle, then a laugh.
“This is literally comparing Darryn and me in every category imaginable. Best eyes?”
“You.”
“Best body?”
“You.”
“Best hair?”
“You.”
He shakes his head. “Darryn, actually.” The phone screen flips toward me, and I snort a laugh at his expression. Gosh, I love him.
“Well, they’re wrong. It’s you.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Oh here. Most likely to win in a fight. At least I win that one.”
“Duh, you’re a hockey player.”
“People have way too much time on their hands,” he mutters, still chuckling to himself. His amusement fades as he spots something through the windshield, and I follow his gaze. “Get down, Gen.”
“What?”
“Three guys are approaching our car. Get down!” He fumbles for the keys and curses when he drops them. “They’re pulling something out of their pockets!”
I grab his hand to stop him before he runs those poor kids over. “Oliver, they’re just pens. They probably want autographs.”
He freezes, staring at the kids again. “What?”
I’d laugh, but he’s obviously upset—and not used to this. “It’s fine. Look. They have paper and a pen. They just want autographs.”
He relaxes slightly, but still seems poised to attack if necessary. It’s kind of sweet, really. Brett and Walt would be proud. To our surprise, though, the young men round the hood of the SUV to Oliver’s side instead of mine. We exchange a quick glance as he lowers the window just enough to hear them.
“Sorry to bother you,” one of them says. “You’re Oliver Levesque, right?” He squints past Oliver to land a quick glance on me but doesn’t react. His starry eyes return to Oliver who looks dumbstruck.
“Um… yeah?”
“Oh shit. I knew it!” He turns and fist bumps his buddies who hover closer at the confirmation. “Will you sign this? I’m sorry to bother you, but you’re, like, a fucking god. Oh, and hi,” he says, ducking further to toss a greeting at me.
I lift my hand in a wave, suppressing a grin. Oliver lowers the window more to accept what appears to be a piece of junk mail and a pen.
“Sorry, it’s my car registration. It’s the only thing we had in our car. Dude, that save you made on Burke in that game against Boston last year? Money, right?” he asks his friends who wholeheartedly agree. It’s then that I notice the Trojans ball cap. And the Trojans t-shirt. One even has a Trojans jacket. “Yo, we just about lost our shit when you got knocked out in preseason. Sal over here cried like my baby cousin.”
“I did not!” Sal retorts.
“Dude, you were sobbing like my grandma when she watches her stories,” the other guy snorts out, smacking him. Sal glares at them both and shakes his head.
“Anyway, again, sorry to bother you. And thanks for this,” the original guy says, shaking the paper after Oliver hands it back to him. “When you coming back? This season you think? Playoffs at least, right? Although, not looking so hot for the playoffs right now.”
“Dude!” Sal says, shoving his friend from behind. “He didn’t mean that! You guys rock!”
Oliver still looks dazed as he shrugs. “Doing my best to come back as soon as possible,” he says in the same tone he’d use for the press. It’s everything I can do to hold in my laughter at the entire scene.
“Sweet. Yeah, we’re pulling for you, man. Randall, damn. That dude couldn’t stop an exercise ball.”
“Dude!” Sal says, smacking his friend again.
“What? You know I’m right. They might as well pull him and put an extra guy on the ice for the whole game.”
Now, I see the dimple in Oliver’s cheek as he holds back a smile. “Well, thanks, guys. We have to get going.”
“Oh, right! Of course. Sorry, man. Thanks again. Oh, and nice to meet you too…” He pauses, fishing for a name.
“Genevieve,” I respond.
“Genevieve,” he echoes, waving.
They straighten and take off, high-fiving each other and talking in animated tones the entire walk back to their car.
Oliver raises his window again. Adjusts his mirror. Latches his seatbelt.
“Can’t believe I’m dating the Oliver Levesque.”
We grab Hadley, and Oliver helps me down the stairs to my studio when we arrive back at the house. I’ve been bursting with excitement to listen to the final cut of the song since Joel sent it over, along with a note that nearly stopped my heart. It was so hard to resist the temptation to listen right away, but I wanted the first experience to be in its best form, shared with the most important people in my life.
Oliver must guess what’s about to go down when his smile grows into a grin as I position us by the console and fire up the studio monitors.
“New song?” Hadley asks, and I draw in a deep breath to face her. “Yes, but not just any new song. This is Viv Hastings’ first single.”
“Who?”
Oliver points to me with a smug look, and Hadley’s eyes widen. “Wait… all that time you’ve been spending down here with Joel was for a new artist?”
I nod, squeezing her arm. “It’s top secret. No one knows except Oliver, Joel, and now, you. We’re going to release it on the down low and see what happens.”
“But… wait… what… hold on…”
“It’s a long story,” I say with a laugh. “I’ll give you the long version later, just trust me. You’ll understand when you hear it.”
I click the link Joel sent me, my hand shaking as I press play when it loads. Gosh, I’ve never been so excited in my life. If there was any doubt that this new journey is the right one, it’s erased by one look at my expression in the mirror. Oliver sees it too and reaches over for my hand as the song starts.
“Unremarkable.” Goosebumps breakout over my skin. A whisper echo and reverb has been added to the breathy vocal, giving it an edgy depth.
Boom-boom.
“Unsustainable.”
Boom-boom.
“Unreliable, deniable, holy hell, I’m shakable, replaceable, untamable. I’ve heard it all.
Heard heard heard it all.”
Hadley’s mouth hangs open, her gaze swinging to me in disbelief. I nod back, my lips curving
into a grin.
“Oh my goodness,” she mouths.
When the electric guitar and drums hit, all three of us are on the edge of our seats.
“Such a shame your endgames
Don’t concern me anymore
Yeah, see, I’ve heard heard heard it all before”
“Oh, she’s a one-trick pony
Though no one knows she
Rides beyond the phony
Tracks they only see”
The tight drone harmony we recorded fills out my lead vocal on the second verse, sending chills throughout my body. Gosh, I love this so much, and we haven’t even gotten to the good part.
“Cuz I’m no princess
And if you think I’ll miss this
Better get the message
I won’t”
I literally screech when I hear the strong male harmony come in on the chorus. Joel told me who he tapped to feature on this song, but I didn’t want to let myself believe it. Now, there’s no denying it. Twisted in intricate perfection around my lead vocal is the distinctive voice of Mason West from Burn Card. How Joel got him for this low-profile project is anyone’s guess, but it warms my heart to know Joel believes in it enough to cash in so many favors.
“You can keep me on the guestlist
Cuz I’m about to mess with
The secrets you’ve been left with
Just broke”
“Such a shame your endgames
Don’t concern me anymore
Yeah, see, I’ve heard heard heard it all before”
“Wait, who’s that? Sounds familiar,” Oliver shouts over the music.
“Mason West!” I shout back, bouncing in my chair.
“No way!” Hadley cries, clapping her hands. We exchange an excited look as Oliver shrugs.
“Who?”
“Burn Card,” Hadley explains to him, and his eyes widen.
“Oh yeah. Now I hear it.”
“No, this damsel doesn’t need your confession
These cries aren’t desperate
Just more leverage
Against the broken ties
Of sheltered minds
Hypnotized eyes
Bleeding lies
That no longer shake me”
There’s no more conversation during the manic end to the song. Joel went over-the-top on the production, adding strings, synth, and other effects to the violence of the bridge and final chorus.
“Make me sing while
This castle wall is coming down
Around old fears
These tears are just the fucking years spent getting here.”
Despite my ankle, I’m on my feet. How can I stay seated with this masterpiece echoing around us? I want to run to a stage. Grab a mic. Pour out my soul for an audience and introduce the world to the girl in the mirror. I want everything for her, and it’s then I notice how my fists are already clenched for a fight.
“Yeah, I’ll sing through the sting
Because nothing’s worth the time I’ve lost
In the thought
I can’t live without a throne.”
I’m exhausted when the song ends. The sudden silence rings in our ears. Neither Hadley nor Oliver says a word, both as stunned as I am. I collapse onto Oliver’s lap, and he tugs me to his chest. His heart is beating so hard, his lips curled in a smile I want to capture and hold onto forever.
“Fucking brilliant, Viv,” he whispers finally. “You are so fucking brilliant.”
I blink back emotion, believing that for the first time in my life.
CHAPTER 19
I could run… and do.
I could cry… and do.
I could scream… and do.
I could try… and do.
I could search… and do.
I could laugh… and do.
I could love… and do.
Because of you, I don’t hide—I do.
OLIVER
Four days. It’s been four long days since I’ve seen Genevieve, so to say I’m excited as I climb the stairs to her door would be a massive understatement. With the announcement of her retirement, her already crazy schedule has exploded into chaos. We’re doing our best to manage the separation, filling in long gaps with unsatisfying video calls and text messages, but damn, it’s not the same as having the woman you love in your arms. And every time I see some bullshit post or critique of her, it’s everything I can do not to duck out of the weight room and find her, wherever she is. I’m ready to break heads, but she always tells me to fight the elliptical instead. According to her, the best thing we can do right now is keep a low profile, focus on all the positive attention, and let Sam and her new publicist Lydia handle things. Not the same, but oh well. My rehab is nothing compared to what she’s facing, and hers has just begun.
Still, my girl battles on. I’m so damn proud of her and the woman she’s becoming. Instead of letting the adversity get to her, she channels Viv and pours any frustrations into her music. She’s already working on her next track now that “The Girl in the Mirror” is about to be released into the world. In fact, supposedly that’s what tonight is about. She told me to come over straight after training to celebrate the premiere of the song on her brand-new social media accounts for “Viv Hastings.” Zero followers. Zero visibility. She even told Joel to stay quiet until after everything was live, which I’m sure he wasn’t happy about. She wanted us to be the only ones viewing its premiere tonight. It goes completely against all social marketing rules and nearly led to a fist fight with Hadley, but I thought it was hilarious—especially now that I get to go to a “launch party” of one person. Well, two, since I’m sure Hadley and Gen have patched things up by now.
I don’t even knock anymore, just push through the door and call out so they know I’m here.
“In the kitchen!” Genevieve calls back, and yeah, maybe I’m a little disappointed she didn’t greet me at the door. Has she not been missing me as much as I seem to be desperate for her? I try not to let it get to me as I make my way through the now familiar corridors to the kitchen. I turn the corner—and freeze.
What?
No.
What?!
“Holy…” I can’t even speak as seven giant grins shine back at me from around the island. Genevieve giggles, launching forward as much as her ankle allows to throw herself in my arms. Guess that’s looking better too.
“Surprise,” she says softly, glancing up into my stunned face. “Merry Christmas.”
A knot forms in my throat. It can’t be. It just can’t. God… it’s… I shake my head, unable to form words. If this is my Christmas gift, there’s not an object on the planet I could give her to match it.
“Hey, big brother,” Camille says, moving forward, arms outstretched. Gen releases me to make room for my sister who wraps me in a tight embrace. I bury my face in her hair, still breathless at the fact that she’s here.
“I can’t believe it,” I whisper. “All of you are here,” I add, looking up at my entire family—Maman, Lea, Zoe, Eric, and Emma. And of course Camille.
“I was right as usual,” Camille says in French, pulling back to meet my gaze. “She’s amazing.”
You would think traveling across the continent after not seeing her son in months would reset my mother’s priorities, but the first thing she does after greetings and hugs is carjack Devin to drive her and my pouty sister Zoe to the store. Apparently, she was appalled by the lack of provisions in Genevieve’s pantry, and no amount of debate about the merits of private chefs would convince her otherwise. No, those amateurs could have the week off as far as she was concerned, and Camille and I exchanged amused looks as she fussed about the lack of ingredients for her Cipâte, Tourtière, and Bûche de Noël. Not to mention every other comfort food her host’s (and her son’s) dietician would absolutely forbid. I’d love to see them try to throw down against my mother on this.
While they’re gone, my remaining siblings take over the mansion, running from room
to room like explorers, reacting with excitement at each new find. The twins’ shrieking can be heard from a wing away. Camille squeals when she finds the library. Lea pretty much passes out when she discovers anything related to music, which in this house, is everywhere. Genevieve follows behind at a distance, absorbing it all with keen fascination and wonder. My concern over the impending disruption that’s about to descend on her estate fades when I see how much she’s enjoying her full house. Her raw intrigue over my loud, hurricane of a family both warms my heart and breaks it.
And then the twins find the pool.
“On veut aller nager!! S'il-vous-plaît, Oli!” They cry in unison, jumping up and down.
“Il fait froid dehors,” I point out, sighing at their skeptical look. Cold? For L.A. maybe. For natives of northern Quebec, it’s downright tropical.
“What are they saying?” Genevieve asks.
“They want to swim, but Oliver is being a jerk about it. He says it’s too cold,” Camille translates, grinning when I shoot her an annoyed look.
“The pool is heated,” Genevieve says quickly. “They’d be fine. Plus, the hot tub is beautiful in this weather.”
Breaking South: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 3) Page 21