Rising West: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 1)

by Alyson Santos

  Her hand cups my cheek; her eyes search deep. I grip the edge of the chair as my blood pumps with the fury of every pen that’s ever been thrown at a boy by a girl, and freaking hell I’m not strong enough to sit still—

  “Um, Ms. Lie-berry, you’re a-pposed to use your words, not your hands.”

  We stiffen and glance over to find Brooklyn studying our strange position with clear indignation. The spoon hangs from her mouth as she cocks a hand on her hip, her expression telling us she’s positive adults are super weird and quite possibly poorly-behaved as well.

  I clear my throat and straighten in my chair, finally releasing the pen that started it all. Liberty is fighting to keep a straight face as she scoops it off the table and returns to her seat like nothing happened. Just two coworkers working. No big deal.

  “She’s right. I’m sorry, Mason,” she says, her voice trembling from the effort of sincerity.

  Brooklyn nods in approval before settling her stare on me. “Your turn, Daddy.”

  I clear my throat, clench a fist to hold steady. “I’m sorry as well.”

  “And?”

  She darts her critical gaze between the two of us.

  “And… what?” I ask. Wrong question, judging by the laser that shoots back at me.

  “Annnnd… now you sing the friendship song!” She throws up her hands in disbelief at our stupidity. “You know… ‘you say sorry, I say sorry, friends we are again.’” She even directs our symphony with an impatient wave for each beat. It takes us three times through before she’s satisfied with our performance and returns to her show after another huff of frustration.

  “Do you think ‘The Friendship Song’ is copyrighted?” Liberty asks, glancing up from her notebook.

  I smirk and reposition the guitar in my lap. “I hope not. We could totally sample that for the bridge.”

  CHAPTER 16

  I’m still having nightmares about that night. I know Rob is out of our lives, and really, nothing happened. The others intervened in time. I don’t know why I’m still so shaken up, but no matter what I do I can’t erase the feeling of his hands on me. Maybe it’s because I also keep seeing the look on Mason’s face when he ran over to us. That utter hatred for Rob and the sense of betrayal. It was like a little piece of him died that night too.

  LIBERTY

  This was a huge mistake. One we will have to grow accustomed to making, I suppose. There’s no way around industry parties, especially when your cousin Eli and his iconic band come to town. Sam strongly encouraged us to start making public appearances after a recent conference with White Flame, and this invitation certainly qualifies. Two birds with one stone is my jam, so alas… Hello, Public! At your service. We’d hoped the elite level of the guestlist for this particular event would shelter Mason from some of the predatory attention, but let’s be honest, it’s the A-list who turned gossip into an artform—and man do we have a mansion full of artists tonight.

  We’ve just arrived, and already the ogling has me on edge: the whispers, the stares, the overtly flirtatious gawking of every freaking woman—and several men—in this place. I’m trying to convince myself that my concern is solely professional. It’s my job to guide our new band member into our world and protect this transition, right? My bared claws have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he looks like Apollo himself tonight in a distressed sea-green tee that makes his eyes smolder and etches his torso into a flawless muse for every Greek god sculpture ever made. Plus his ass in those jeans… Okay, so maybe I haven’t recovered from that flash of fireworks at his apartment the other night. Maybe I’m still simmering over the memory of what it felt like to touch his warm skin and run my hands over the hard ridges of his arm, his lips when I… Ahh! Another vulture is swooping in, and I’m practically an extra appendage at his side by the time she lands in our path.

  “Hey. Mason, right?” Brunette Bikini Barbie asks. Damn, why does every woman in this place have to look like a model? Um, probably because they are, Lib. Observe the majestic cougar stalking her prey. These beautiful creatures are known for their voracious appetite for talented musicians.

  “Yeah, hey.” His smile is friendly and calm, almost easy, actually. I don’t like it.

  “I’m Monica.” She leans in with an expert presentation of her cheek for the European kiss thing I could never pull off. Mason, though, he’s smooth as jazz in the exchange, and I swear Monica comes away with an even more gluttonous look. Probably because he smells amazing too. Did I mention that? Yeah, certain guys should be banned from certain fragrances.

  “I’m Liberty,” I interrupt, shooting out my hand before she can even think about the kiss thing with me. She’s about a foot taller than I am, so the logistics on that would’ve been rough anyway.

  “Yes, hi. So nice to meet you,” she breezes out, barely grazing me with a glance and totally ignoring the handshake. It might be possible for a person to display more indifference than this woman does, but it’d be a challenge. She leans forward and whispers something to Mason that makes him chuckle, and before I know what’s happening, she’s looped her arm through his and is dragging him toward whatever debauchery she has planned.

  He shoots back an apologetic look that does nothing to make me feel better.

  “Dude, is that Monica Jacoby who just grabbed your boy? Lucky man.”

  I spin around at the familiar voice, my sour mood lifting slightly.

  “Um, what are you doing in my city, turd?” I say, throwing my arms around my cousin.

  Eli laughs and squeezes back. “Just thought I’d drop in to annoy you. How am I doing?”

  “Rockin’ it as always. How was the show?”

  “Rockin’. As always.” Eli adds a random 19th century bow that only a goofball like him can pull off. I laugh and shove him.

  “Where’re the rest of the guys?” I ask, searching the crowd for signs of the other Night Shifts Black band members. Okay, so by “guys” I might be referring to Luke Craven, specifically, and it might be because I’ve had a harmless crush on him since Eli first introduced me to his bandmates years ago. So what if I was a teenager at the time and Luke treated me like I treat Mason’s daughter? He was super sweet and totally made it seem like he thought I played with boxed noodles and made pony puzzles like Brooklyn does. Yep, it was just the right amount of humiliating and infuriating to cement a teenage crush into a forever bond that still makes me a little butterfly-y in a nostalgic way when our paths cross.

  “You know he has a kid now, right?” Eli snorts, and I return a glare.

  “Shut up. I’m over that.”

  “Yeah?”

  I shove him again. Have I mentioned how fun it is to shove Eli Blake? He grabs my wrist to stop me when I go in for another one.

  “Hey, loser. What are you doing to my sister?” Aaron barks behind me. With a grin, Eli drops my arm and goes in for a massive bro-hug that my brother returns. They immediately launch into an animated conversation, freeing me to resume my search for Mason.

  By now he could be anywhere. This place is a freaking castle owned by one of the top execs at NSB’s record label, and right now it’s packed with beautiful clones who are making my search impossible. I scan face after drunk, grinning face, but none belong to Mason. My stomach drops with each failed ID the further I descend into the chaos.

  Up ahead, just past a long wall of glass, looms a vast pool area that rivals a resort. I can already smell the sex from here, and I hate that I’ll have to brave the pool deck crowd. I glance down at my phone again, hoping for a message I missed, but my screen is still blank. He’s fine. You’re being ridiculous. I am. I’m not worried. I’m just… He’s my friend. I’m just looking for a friend.

  After shooting off another text to Mason, I pull in a deep breath and step through the sliding glass doors to the patio. My feet have barely hit the pool deck when my heart stops. Rob Patrick is here? Of course he is. Shit, shit, shit! Now I really need to find Mason.

  I pull out my phon
e and dial his number, but the music is blaring at deafening levels out here. I can’t hear myself think, let alone have a phone conversation, so I’m not surprised when he doesn’t answer. Unless he has it on vibrate, he probably didn’t even hear it ring. I scan the crowds of almost-naked grinding bodies and realize with a sick feeling it’s unlikely he’d feel a phone vibrate either. Not when he probably has several women already vibrating against him with predatory precision. There was a time when I tried to be one of these people. Chris lived for this shit, so to be his other half meant I did too. There wasn’t a party in southern California we didn’t know about. Even on the road, Sam’s poor agency interns’ first order of business was to find us a place to “unwind,” as he called it. I hadn’t realized until this moment how much of that life was his and how much I don’t want it back.

  “Yo, West!”

  The shout must be close for me to discern it so clearly, and I spin around in alarm to find Rob Patrick just a few yards away, stumbling toward a cluster of guests near the edge of the pool.

  “I knew you’d show up… event-eventual… ly… Watch out for that one…” He staggers a few more steps, clearly losing his train of thought. The hatred remains, though, and I’ve never seen a person ooze loathing like Rob does in this moment. My heart slams against my ribs as he approaches Mason who’s stepped out of the circle. I almost feel guilty at my petty relief that he’s still fully clothed and shows no signs of inebriation himself.

  “This isn’t the place, man,” Mason says, just as I push through the crowd. His startled gaze lands on me before it morphs into a familiar flash of shame. Is that for me? That I’m here to witness this exchange with his past? I hate that he still thinks he needs to shelter me from his demons.

  “Not the place? Not the place,” Rob mutters in a deceptively calm voice. “It’s never the place with you, is it?”

  “Mason, let’s go,” I say, stepping between them.

  “Let’s go,” Rob mocks in a high-pitched voice. Did he learn his confrontation skills from Brooklyn’s preschool? He’s so close now that I can smell the stench of old alcohol on his breath. “You dating him… sweetheart? You know what he duh… does… to his bitches?”

  “Don’t you ever fucking speak to her like that,” Mason hisses, guiding me behind him.

  Rob laughs in his face, spewing his putrid breath all over the scene.

  Mason glares coldly, muscles rigid beneath his shirt. “You’re right, Liberty. Let’s go,” he says to me. He presses his hand to my back, and I glance up at Rob with a mixture of disgust and fear as we pass. Something about the way he’s looking at me has every siren in my head blaring on full alert. He makes an obscene gesture in response, and I feel Mason tense beside me.

  “Don’t,” I warn, taking his fist in my hands. “Not worth it.” I sooth my fingers over his, trying to stay strong as his eyes lock on mine. He’s just surrendered to my plea when my body is jerked back against my will.

  I stiffen in terror at the arm that fastens around my front, holding me in place while disgusting, hot air wafts over my right cheek. “Oh, I’m worth it, princess.”

  I nearly gag, but never have a chance to struggle before I’m being wrenched free and shoved out of harm’s way. Mason is on Rob so fast, the inebriated slime-ball has no chance to defend himself. With one punch, Rob is on the ground, blood dripping from his nose and a bitter laugh erupting from his throat. He looks up at Mason, his lips spreading into a macabre grin of bloody teeth. Mason seethes over him, his fist tight and cocked for a second blow as Rob picks himself off the ground.

  “Mason, don’t!” I call out, and immediately regret it when his surprised glance in my direction gives Rob the advantage. Within seconds, both men are in the pool.

  In what seems like slow motion, Rob drags Mason under, slamming his fist into his face while Mason fights for the surface. I drop to the edge, screaming as the crowd gathers to watch with a mix of horror and fascination. Phones come out to film, not call for help, and even though I’m not a strong swimmer, I have no intention of standing by while Rob drowns Mason. I’ll probably do more harm than good, but I’m already pulling off my jacket to jump in when two other guests dive past. Tears of relief cloud my eyes when I realize they read the situation correctly, and both go after Rob. I can’t see clear details in all the thrashing and hysteria, but they manage to get him off Mason, and I immediately refocus my attention on my friend. I reach for his shirt, pulling with all my strength until I can grasp the waist of his jeans. Other guests finally come to his aid as well, and together we’re able to haul him back to safety. He pushes himself up on his forearms, coughing and choking in painful gasps.

  “Breathe, Mason. Just breathe,” I coach, rubbing his back as he fights the liquid in his lungs. A welt is already forming near his eye from one of Rob’s sucker-punches, and I’ve never wanted to murder one person and wrap another in my arms so much in my life.

  I can’t read the glisten in his eyes when he finally turns his haunted stare on me. Am I witnessing tears of anger or lingering drops from his wet hair? Both make me shiver, especially when the pain descends into hatred after he lifts his gaze to lock it on something behind me. I turn and see Rob several feet away, twisting against the grips of the two men who intervened. It’s then that I notice Eli’s bandmates, Luke and Casey, soaked and airlocked around the monster.

  “You okay, Lib?” Luke calls over, holding onto their prisoner.

  I nod, suddenly numb. Adrenaline is a funny thing when it wears off and leaves a vacuum in its wake.

  Luke shoots me a wink and nods toward the house. “Okay, then we’ll take care of this asshole. You concentrate on your guy, sound good?”

  Mason. His name is Mason.

  But I just nod again, also suddenly aware of every stare and whisper around us.

  Mason is shaking when I return my attention to him. Somehow his distress eases mine, and I slide my arms around him to help him into a sitting position. He crosses his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his arms, still pulling in labored breaths that make my own chest ache. Or maybe it’s this entire scenario. The bloody scrapes on his elbows. The bruise on his face. The picture of devastation he is now as he forces himself back from a different kind of drowning abyss. But there are too many witnesses here. Too many useless bystanders who did nothing when it mattered yet are ready to do everything now that it doesn’t.

  “We’re fine,” I say, shooing them away. I’m relieved to see Aaron and Eli rushing through the crowd, and wave them over. Together, the three of us get Mason to his feet and lead him to the house.

  “I know a place we can take him. Follow me,” Eli says. “Also Rob Patrick is a special kind of dumpster-sludge.”

  Yeah, he is. And I want to puke when I realize this scene is probably exactly what that dumpster-sludge wanted.

  Eli and Aaron finally leave us alone in the secluded guest suite after I’ve sworn on my unborn children that we’re fine. I read the lie in Mason’s face when he assures them it’s nothing, but I need my well-meaning relatives gone as well. Once we’re alone, however, all bets are off.

  I lock the door and storm back to the bed where Mason is perched on the edge.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask. Ten minutes ago, I was horrified, then terrified, then heartbroken, but now? Pissed, apparently. Okay, yeah. I’m pissed. “Mason, what just happened down there? I mean, I get that there’s bad blood between you two but…”

  I point toward the window as if he might not be sure what I’m referring to. Also, I have zero sense of direction, so I’m probably pointing toward the street or an industrial park, not the pool area, but whatever. He gets my point. He’s also not interested in acknowledging it, I see.

  “I’m going to shower.” He pushes up from the bed and crosses toward the adjacent bathroom.

  “That’s it? You’re going to shower?”

  “I’m freezing,” he calls back.

  Right. He’s drenched. Forgot about tha
t, and when he reminds me—well shit.

  I watch every muscle in his shoulders and back flex against the wet fabric molded to his skin. Heavy with water, his jeans hang low as well, revealing a good portion of the soaked boxer-briefs he’s wearing. He’s a freaking romance cover, and it’s not fair because I’m supposed to be angry right now, not middle-school tongue-tied. But I’m sorry, the image before me shouldn’t even be legal, and when he rips his saturated shirt over his head, I’m done. I don’t even remember what I’m supposed to be grilling him about. It’s like he completely forgets about me as he unbuttons his jeans and slides those off too. Part of me thinks I should remind him of the bathroom door. The other part would murder that part in its sleep if it did that.

  Naked, except for his underwear, he faces the vanity and braces his arms on the sink. For several seconds he stands in silence, staring at something in the mirror. By his stance the vision is dark and ugly, and I hate that I can’t see it, that I can’t be part of whatever is happening in that bathroom. No, I’m just a voyeur out here, witnessing a private battle, and suddenly the integrity part of my brain wins out.

  I approach slowly, still not sure if he even remembers I’m here. My only intention is to close the door and give him privacy. I swear that’s all, but when the floor creaks under my feet just inches from the door, his gaze snaps to me in surprise. Maybe he really did forget about my presence.

  “Sorry. Um… I was just going to close the door… because it was open… and you’re… um…” I wave my hand up and down the length of his body in case he didn’t realize.

  He flinches, maybe even flushes a bit when he clues into my less-than-eloquent speech. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” He reaches for the door at the same time I do, and our hands collide near the handle. We both pull away as if burned, and oh my god. Please tell me this isn’t happening.