This novel is a work of fiction and intended for mature readers. Events and persons depicted are of a fictional nature and use language, make choices, and face situations inappropriate for younger readers.
Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Design: Maria @ Steamy Designs
Cover Image: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Kaz
FALLING NORTH: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel
Copyright © 2020 Alyson Santos
All Rights Reserved
Para Elis
Obrigada por sua amizade e inspiração.
PROLOGUE
XANDER
Fifteen years before
“Lex? Are you awake?”
I blink against the shadows on the wall before shifting in the sleeping bag to face my brother. I heard it in his voice, and in the broken light of a distant streetlamp, I see it in his wide eyes. The fear. The uncertainty. The stab of rejection that spans two continents, two parents. It’s the same whirlwind twisting through me, but he’s seven so he gets to show it.
I swallow my own storm. “What’s up, Matty?”
Tears reflect the ghastly light I’ve come to hate in the two nights we’ve spent in our new home.
“Does Mommy hate us?”
My stomach jerks at the pain in my little brother’s huge brown eyes. The truth? I don’t know. The lie: “Of course not.”
“No one told me about the English.” His whisper is wet with sobs. “Am I stupid like she said?”
“No! You didn’t do anything wrong, Matty.” I wrestle my arm out of the bag so I can wrap it around him. “She shouldn’t have said that. Just don’t speak Portuguese around her, okay? Only English.”
“But English is harder.”
“Yes, but Portuguese makes her sad. Don’t talk about Brazil.”
“I miss Pai.” His small body shivers beneath my arm, and I know he’s crying again. “Why doesn’t he want us?”
I pull him against my chest, trying to absorb his pain. It’s what big brothers do, and I’ve been one since I was five. Now, seven years later, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t protecting another person.
“It’s not that Pai doesn’t want us. It’s complicated.”
“He just likes his new family better?”
There’s no way for me to answer that without betraying my own bitterness. “Just sleep now, Matty. It’s late, and we start school tomorrow.”
“Lex?”
“Yeah?”
“Good night,” he says in English.
“Good night, little man. Eu amo você, meu irmão. Irmãos para sempre.”
I sense him relax beside me. “Irmãos para sempre.”
CHAPTER 1
XANDER
Now
Crash! Clatter! Crunch!
I cringe at the commotion coming from the hotel bathroom.
“Ah, shit.”
“You okay, bro?” I call out from my nest on the bed. Laptop, guitar, phone, bag of gummy worms—I’d be good for a week like this. Too bad my writing session will be interrupted by some lame-ass label party in a few minutes. Sooner, if we count all the distractions in the other part of this room.
“I’m fine. It’s this stupid— Ahh!”
I close my laptop with a grunt and slide off the mattress. Crossing to the bathroom, I brace myself for a visual of the primadonna’s progress. I swear, I’ve never seen the dude try so hard on anything. If he put half this effort into our music we’d already be doing stadium tours.
Kind of wish I hadn’t investigated when I find my brother half-naked and leaning into the mirror at an ungodly angle.
“What the hell are you doing? And why aren’t you dressed? You were a minute ago.”
He glares over at me and— Is he wearing eyeliner?
“The tux looks stupid. I’m not wearing it.”
“You have to, Matty. Look, I am.” I wave up and down my penguin suit and, gotta say, his smirk is not a confidence booster.
“Yeah ya are,” he says with a snicker.
“Shut up,” I mutter. “What is all this anyway? You expecting some model agencies to be recruiting tonight? Should I be looking for a new lead singer?”
“Fuck. A. You,” he says with all the eloquence of a 19th century oil baron. Oh look, I even get a fancy twirl of a middle finger. He focuses back on whatever masterpiece his hair is supposed to be, and I relax my critique at the flash of uncertainty on his face. “Lydia will be there tonight.”
Ahh, now it makes sense. Maybe I feel badly for giving him a hard time—and then I notice he not only has his entire toiletry bag scattered over the bathroom surfaces, but mine as well. Yeah, no.
“Lydia is that girl from the party you’ve been hung up on?”
He rolls his eyes at my feigned ignorance. As if I don’t know he’s been checking his phone constantly since they met a week ago. Maybe I’m evil, but to see my brother—the quintessential playboy—whipped to his phone like a teenager has been pretty damn hilarious.
“You got her number right?”
“Kind of. Not from her.”
“But you messaged her?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
There’s the atomic glare reserved for the love of a brother. “She said ‘Thanks for the text. It was nice to meet you too.’ Then, nothing.”
Ouch. At least she’s polite? I keep that feedback to myself. “Hmm. Well, she’s probably been busy.”
He shrugs and turns back to the mirror. Why is he insisting on making himself look like a totally different person? An ember of anger flares to life, an ancient protectiveness I haven’t felt in a while. Watching him like this is giving me flashbacks of an insecure middle school kid who believed the taunts of his classmates, a high school kid who almost lost his life because of them.
“Matty, if this girl doesn’t see how amazing you are, then she’s not worth your time.”
He flinches, and that little boy returns in the mirror for a split second before being replaced by a confident, badass rocker.
“Whatever. I’ll talk to her again tonight, and if she’s not into me, screw her. I’ll move on.”
I crack a half-smile and lean against the doorframe. Not sure that’s the attitude I was going for, but I guess it beats watching him fold under the weight of approval-seeking like old times. He used to be willing to do anything for a shred of acceptance. Can’t exactly blame the guy for soaking it in now that it’s dumped on him in a deluge. My baby brother was just named number fourteen on Songset Magazine’s list of the hottest up-and-coming rockers under twenty-three. Fourteen. In all of the music industry. Dude didn’t wear a shirt for five days after his now-famous torso went viral. For the record, it took all my willpower not to message F-U article links to every member of his high school class. “FYI: this is the kid you bullied to the point of implosion.”
Should I be surprised he’s shirtless now? Maybe he’s planning on showing up to the party like that. If anyone would dare something so brash, it’s my unapologetically transformed love-me-or-hate-me-I-don’t-give-a-shit brother. It’s easy not to care when people are lining up to love you.
“How are you so sure she’s going to be here?” I ask, crossing my arms.
He squints into the mirror, still messing with the structure of his dirty blond hair. “Her name i
s Lydia Carmichael.”
I straighten against the door, staring at him in disbelief. “Carmichael? As in Stocker Carmichael, C.E.O. of White Flame Records?”
He shrugs a nonchalant affirmation like only my idiot brother could. “Yeah, I guess her dad’s our boss, huh?”
Well, shit.
“Matty…”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “Don’t. That’s why I didn’t tell you who she is. I know, okay? It’s just… I really like this girl, Lex. She’s… different.”
His deep brown eyes search mine, almost pleading in the silence. Fuck, what am I supposed to do with that?
“Fine. Just be careful, man. We’ve been working our entire lives for this. We sold our souls to get here, and we’re this close to the prize. We can’t afford a mistake right now.”
Yeah, the mischievous smile on his face isn’t a good sign. “Dude. I love you, bro, but do me a favor? Find a girl for yourself tonight. Your uptight ass is in desperate need of some action.”
If this were a wedding instead of a label party, we’d be at the equivalent of the singles table. Matty and I exchange amused looks as we approach, trying not to laugh at the obvious snub. Hey, to even be invited was a big deal. Our manager said it was unheard of for new artists like us to get a ticket to such a high-profile event, and we probably have Matty’s recent Songset hot-ranking to thank for this. Hell, they left half the band off the list. Elliot and Liam were pissed, but Marlon assured them it wasn’t personal, and one day we’d be big enough to earn lobster for all of us. I promised to try to sneak out a doggie bag for our excluded bandmates.
Solo artist Chris Lundstedt is already lounging beside his date at our table, and I feel Matty bristle beside me.
“Isn’t that the Burn Card dude who split to sing about birds and shit?” he mutters. “Fucking figures we’d be at his table.”
I swallow my snicker and toss a warning look at my brother. “Careful. That Burn Card dude is a bigger name than we’ll ever be. We are nobody to these people. Remember that tonight.”
“Whatever.”
He quickly loses interest, scanning the room in an obvious search for his crush. Hilarious. He must not find her because there’s a scowl on his face when we’re forced to take our seats.
“Yo, sup?” Chris says, nodding toward us. “I’m Chris. This is Apollonia.”
“Hey. I’m Xander. That’s Matheus.”
Chris lifts a glass, I guess in a toast, and studies us the same way we did him a moment ago.
“Falling Back North,” I explain, since there’s no way in hell he’ll ever figure that out.
“Ohhh, right,” he says with a pretend flash of recognition. Like I said, no way in hell he’d ever figure that out.
“We just signed with White Flame about a month ago,” I add.
“Really. Huh.” Maybe he does look impressed now. Marlon must have been right to be amazed at our surprise invite. “I’ve heard good things about you.”
Well, I know that’s a lie. “Yeah? Cool. We heard great things about your new record, too,” I lie right back. I can’t even look at Matty as I say it. Hopefully, he’s missing all of this in his pouting over his no-show girlfriend.
“Righteous. Yeah, we’re expecting some big numbers. I’ll be performing my new single tonight, actually.”
“That right?”
“It’s so, so, so good,” Apollonia interjects with overzealous head bobbing and eyes the size of the gold-rimmed bread plate. I’ve heard the song—it’s not. Is she trying to convince herself of that as well? Or maybe this is the first time she’s ever imbibed alcohol… I vote for that as I study the champagne flute in her hand. Are they not carding tonight? I’ll definitely be hitting the bar later to find out because this event already blows. I’m about to investigate right now, when my phone buzzes with a text. I shoot a surprised look at Matty after seeing his name.
He widens his eyes and shifts his gaze down to my phone in an obvious command. I scan the text, nearly choking on the sip of water I just took.
Three tables over. That’s Burn Card!!!! Dude…
I follow the directions, and sure enough, Liberty Blake and her band are right there, clearly ignoring our table. Well, she is anyway. The others… Damn, may those glares never be blistered at me. If our tablemate notices, he doesn’t react. In fact, he seems totally oblivious to anything except checking his own reflection in the polished water pitcher.
Personal opinion from the five minutes I’ve known this guy: Burn Card dodged a bullet when this one left. Two hours later, my opinion is cemented as fact after their respective performances. Matty and I manage to keep a straight face when Chris and his date storm off during Burn Card’s extravagant cover of their own song, “No Friend of Mine.” Guess that’s what happens when your replacement slays your song in front of you.
“Dude, that was epic,” Matty whispers to me. He leans over and eyes Apollonia’s untouched dessert. “She’s probably not eating that, right?”
The evening couldn’t end soon enough. Other than Burn Card’s electric performance, the night was drier than our great uncle’s funeral. How can a company formed on the principle of entertainment not know how to throw a party? Probably explains why this event is actually known for its afterparties.
“There’s a big thing at Firestorm 7. Wanna go?” Matty asks, returning to our table after disappearing for ten minutes. I spent the time catching up on messages and pretending not to notice his distracted mingling while really searching for his girl.
“Yeah? I don’t know. I hate that place.”
“You hate any place that has lights and crowds unless you’re the one playing it.”
I shrug. He’s not wrong. “You go. I’ll probably just grab a drink here at the hotel bar and then head back to the room.”
“Why are you so lame?” he groans.
“That’s my role as the responsible one, right? Feel free to join me.”
By his look, he’s not impressed with my invitation. “Pass. But hey, let me know how it goes with the crossword puzzle and docuseries on cats you’ll be rockin’ tonight.”
“Cats?” I ask with a smirk. “Not even a serial killer or something?”
“No serial killer shows after nine, right?”
He grins, and I shove him toward the door. “Shut up, loser. Go be a rock star. But not too rock star,” I add. “We have an early flight tomorrow.”
Matty’s smile ignites about a hundred watts. “You got it, Grandpa. I’m sure the hotel bar serves prune juice and chamomile tea, so you should be all set.”
I shake my head, struggling not to reward him with a smile as we part ways. My phone makes things easier when it erupts, and I answer on the second ring.
“Hey, Marlon. What’s up?”
“Xander! How’d it go tonight?”
I start walking toward the bar as I consider the complex question. “I mean, it was cool to be invited. We were definitely the bottom of the pecking order, though.”
“It’ll come, man. You know that,” our manager says.
“I do. Just saying, I get it. Everything good on your end? Why do I suspect you’re not calling for party gossip?”
The bar looms ahead, surprisingly empty considering the major event that just wrapped yards away. Probably because everyone went to the real party at Firestorm 7. At least Matty will have a good time. Maybe his girl will show up to that. I’m sure that’s most of his motivation for going. It’s been ages since I’ve cared about shit like dating, and I’m glad Matty seems to be enjoying his twenties enough for the both of us.
“Well, that’s why I’m calling, Xander. We’re having an issue with the tour, so we’ll be making some changes.”
“Wait, what?” My heart pounds as I sink to a stool at the bar. “What do you mean? Moving dates?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I just had a meeting with Sam, and she’s on it too. You’re still scheduled to roll out on Thursday. It’s just...”
He brought
in his boss? Samantha Turner is one of the top managers in this business. She spends her time floating around the world with iconic artists like Dream Filter and Burn Card. For Marlon to bother the agency head with our little problem means it’s not a little problem.
“Be straight with me, dude. What’s going on?”
“Okay, look. All the dates are still a go for the east coast tour, but ticket sales haven’t been stellar. With the single not doing well either, the label is nervous. You’re a new artist. Short leash, ya know? We need the next single to kill it when it drops in a couple months.”
Fuck. “Marlon! I said, be straight. Real talk, dude.”
He breathes in a heavy sigh. “Sam believes in you guys. It’s why she let me bring you on as clients and has been following our progress so closely. So don’t view this as a negative. This is evidence of how much she cares and wants all of her Turner Artists to be successful.”
“View what? Marlon, holy hell, will you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Xander, we need to do a lot of work on the band’s branding and positioning. She’s sending a marketing team on tour with you to build your profile.”
Hang on. “A marketing team?”
“Well, not so much a team. Just one or two point people who will head up the campaign. You know, direct things from the road in real time and get you guys on track.”
“Direct things? What do you mean direct things?”
His silence is not a good sign. “How badly do you want this, Xander? I need to know right now. Do you fucking want this?”
I clench my eyes shut. How bad? Twenty-seven years of fighting through trial after trial flashes behind my lids. Getting abandoned and tossed all over the planet. Being told no, hell no, and absolutely fucking no, over and over and over until it was the lullaby that put us to sleep when no one else did. How badly do I want this?
“It’s the only thing I want.”
I can feel his relief through the phone. “Then we’re going to make it happen, Xander. I swear to you. But you need to let Sam and me do our jobs, okay? You’re going to have to trust us. You have the talent. Let us find a way to get you noticed and share it with the world.”
Falling North: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 2) Page 1
