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

by Alyson Santos

  Rushing down the aisle, I land on the pavement in time to see my brother rounding the building to a back lot. Two lifetimes crash down around me as I sprint to catch up. The past, the future, a sky full of stars that’s suddenly gone dark. I’ve broken it all. My prison explodes into razor-like shards that slice along every part of me. Only adrenaline keeps me moving forward, an animalistic instinct that’s ready to throw itself on the fire to fix this.

  Matty is resting on a step, elbows on his knees, hands shoved into his hair. He looks up when I approach, stiffening as if poised to run again.

  “Wait. Please… let me explain.”

  Some of the rage is gone when I see his face, but the raw agony that replaces it is worse. I can bear violent fists, bitter cold, cramped stomachs, broken hearts… anything else. I clench my eyes shut, fighting back a wave of nausea. Tears burn. I feel the heaviness of their threat.

  “Is it true?” he says, his voice trembling.

  I can’t answer.

  “Is it true, Lex? Is what Lydia said true?!”

  I swallow, fighting the shadows behind my eyelids.

  “The money, the migraine, Mom, Lydia. Answer me, dammit!”

  I blink back the tears as I finally open my eyes.

  His face shatters. “Oh my god, it is,” he whispers. “Oh my god.” He drops his face into his palms, his shoulders shaking. My heart splinters in my chest. There’s no pain like his pain.

  “Matty, please, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t touch me!” He jerks away from my attempt to comfort him.

  I flinch when he fires another glare, trembling so hard I have to grip the railing for support. “I know. I’m sorry. I know you hate me—”

  “Hate you?! You think I hate you?” His eyes take on a violence I’ve never seen in him before. “I fucking love you more than life itself.”

  My limbs go numb. “What?”

  His fingers tug at his hair, pulling at a pain too deep for him to reach. And I want it. Every drop. To claim it and bury it so he never has to hurt. It’s killing me that I can’t. That for once I’m the cause.

  “Matty, listen—”

  “No! It’s your turn to fucking listen,” he hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “You are the only important thing in my life, Lex. The. Only. Thing. There is nothing in this universe I care about more than you. Why can’t you see how much your suffering hurts me?”

  Speechless, I can only stare at the tears streaming down his face.

  “God, you think this is about some girl. Or our crazy-ass mom? These,”—he points to his wet cheeks—“are for you. For the fact that you won’t ever let me love you!”

  “Matty…” I have nothing else as I close the distance and pull him into my arms.

  His sobs hurt like hell when they explode out. How long has he been holding onto this? At least as long as I’ve calcified into stone to block it? His grip tightens around me, and I breathe through my own grief as we hold on. It’s as if time stops, resetting itself into a reality that didn’t exist a minute ago. It’s ugly and brutal, and so fucking pure that the ache starts to fill a crack inside me.

  “Irmãos para sempre. Pra sempre,” he says, his tone harsh against my shirt.

  I clench my eyes shut. “Pra sempre.”

  “I love you so much, Lex. Just let me.”

  I shoot a text to Lydia on our way to the bar. I assure her we’re fine and I’ll fill her in later. For now, my brother and I have a ton of shit to sort out.

  We walk the five blocks in silence, find a table, and slide into a worn booth. A live band plays generic covers of classic rock songs, and we pretend to listen intently so we don’t have to talk. We even order our beers and food in a strange, altered quiet that acknowledges the server but not each other. When she leaves, the renewed standoff seems particularly absurd. We exchange a clumsy look before releasing our pent-up grins.

  “Can we skip the awkward shit and get right to the conversation?” Matty asks.

  I smirk and lean back in my seat. “Absolutely.”

  “Good,” he says, relaxing. He studies me for a second before leaning forward again. “Okay. So what’s the deal with Mom. No more lies or bullshit. Be straight with me.”

  I sigh, my stomach clenching as I pull out my phone. Flipping through my photos, I open the screenshot of her original message. We’d deleted the actual one so no one else who had access to our account would see it.

  “She sent this a few days ago,” I say, handing him the phone.

  A shadow passes over his face as he reads it, and I swear he’s muttering to himself in Portuguese. I love that we both use our first language as a subconscious F-U to our mother.

  “Shit, is she for real?” He hands the phone back to me, and I swallow the familiar panic starting to build. We haven’t even begun this discussion.

  “She sent this to our band account after the ‘Heaven Help Us’ video took off. Lydia found it first. She’s the one who showed it to me.”

  He winces, and I hate that I don’t know which of that shrapnel spray caused it. He clears his throat. “So what did you do?”

  “I didn’t think I had a choice. I called her.”

  “Fuck, really?” His face contorts in a grimace.

  I shrug, tracing a scratch in the table. “I know. But things were just picking up for us. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “And Lydia was okay with that?”

  “She was there when I did it.”

  He stiffens. “Wait… is that why she was in the room when your migraine hit?”

  I nod, and he looks almost guilty as he averts his gaze back to the table. “Okay. What did Mom say?”

  I grunt, unable to look at him as I continue. “Stupid shit. She was after money, of course. First she wanted me to extort some from the label. When I said there’s no way that would work, she wanted me to get it from Dad.”

  “What?!”

  “I know. Anyway, I got pissed at her, told her off, and hung up.”

  I look up, and the relief on his face gnaws at me.

  “So that’s it?” he asks, hopeful. “From what Lydia said on the bus, I thought… I don’t know.”

  My fist clenches in my lap. “No. That was the first time.”

  He pales, and I glance away again.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I’m grateful when the server approaches with our drinks. Time. I could use a lot of that right now.

  We stare into our glasses, both of us fearing the rest of this conversation. The bar band is now playing “Greetings from the Inside” by Night Shifts Black, and I have to resist the urge to plug my ears at their butchering of such a great song. Maybe there are worse sounds than conversations about Stacy Rogers.

  “She contacted me again when we were in Newark. She threatened to come to the show and go after you if I didn’t give her what she wanted.”

  He shudders. “Damn.”

  I nod, lifting my glass to soothe my dry throat and buy another second. “I begged her not to do it, but you know how well that works.”

  His eyes soften with an understanding I didn’t know he had until this moment. How long have I been underestimating my brother? “You gave her the money, didn’t you. How much?”

  I swallow, wishing there were beer in my mouth again. “Five thousand. Pretty much everything I had.”

  “Damn, Lex,” he breathes out. He scrubs his hands over his face, and I give him time to adjust to the news. Heaven knows I’m still working on it. He swirls his glass, watching the movement of the amber liquid before meeting my gaze again. “Guess I’m buying today?”

  I snort a laugh, welcoming his wry smile. “Yeah, probably for a while.”

  “Fuck,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Yeah.”

  Another silence follows as we stare into our beers. Out-of-tune guitars compete with more off-key vocals in the atmosphere around us. Is this even the same song?

  I wish there wasn’t more.

  “Thing is,
I don’t think she’s done, Matty,” I say finally.

  He glances up, and I rest my gaze on his. “She had some dude taking pictures during the exchange. Why the hell would she do that unless she was planning something else?”

  “Like what?”

  “I have no idea.”

  His brow scrunches while he considers. “So what do we do?”

  I shrug again.

  “Does Lydia know about the rest of it? What happened after the first phone call she saw?”

  Guilt rushes in. Memories of forbidden heat in a cold storage room. “She knows.”

  He looks away, and again I don’t know which is the painful part for him. Maybe my betrayals are only competing for rank right now.

  “What does she think we should do?” His tone isn’t dark or bitter when he finally speaks, his eyes searching mine with an earnestness that tugs at me.

  “She didn’t say anything about that. For the record, she insisted since the beginning that I shouldn’t have kept it from you.”

  “She’s right.”

  “I know that now.” I pull in another long breath. “I’m sorry, Matty. I should have told you. You’re right, I need to stop assuming you can’t handle shit. You’ve survived way worse.”

  “Because of you.”

  “Because we had each other.”

  He smiles, then winces at a drawn-out bum chord to end the band’s latest song. “What the hell is this anyway?”

  I return a pained look and shrug. “No idea. Thank god they seem to be going on break.”

  “Remember when that was us? Just you and me and a seedy bar?”

  My smile stretches into a grin at his expression. “A place like this wouldn’t even know what to do with us.”

  His eyes turn mischievous. “Want to find out?”

  CHAPTER 18

  LYDIA

  Everything’s fine. Grabbing a drink at Dekker’s.

  I love and hate the text from Xander.

  Love that they’re okay. That their relationship is surviving whatever explosion just occurred on the bus.

  Hate the ambiguity. The vague response adds more questions to the tornado in my head. I especially hate being the one left behind as I worry over both of them.

  After allowing what feels like eternity for them to work things out alone, I finally can’t take it anymore and set off toward Dekker’s. Is this my lot in life? Half my waking hours seem to be spent in search of Alexandre Silva. At least this one only lasts a few blocks.

  I freeze when I enter the dim building, surprised to hear Matty’s signature vocal echoing through the space. When I recognize the song as “Valentine,” I’m really confused. This song hasn’t been released as a single yet. How can it be streaming in some random bar in Dover? Then I realize something is off. The music sounds thin, acoustic. The percussion overpowers the song even more than usual.

  I scan the room to find a pair of gorgeous brothers rocking the house in a clearing at the back of the bar. The area is set up to be a stage, but I don’t recognize the equipment they’re using. A smile leaks out as I gravitate toward them, ignoring everything else around me. I take a seat in an obstructed booth, so my presence can go undetected. The last thing I want to do is disrupt their chemistry.

  The two of them are mesmerizing right now. Matty owns the mic, like always, but it’s his mastery of the acoustic guitar that catches my attention. He’s usually jumping around the stage too much to be weighed down by an instrument. When he does join in, it’s to hammer power chords on the electric. His skill at the guitar startles me and sends my imagination to a younger version of them. Two boys escaping the prison of their reality to find something beautiful.

  Xander is right there with him—at a drum kit, of course. It’s smaller than usual, one less drum and cymbal, from what I can tell. But in Xander Silva’s hands, you wouldn’t know anything was missing.

  “Sealed it with a kiss

  Ain’t it pretty?

  You like the way I spelled your name?

  Not sure how I missed the last one

  But you’ll forgive me

  I’ve made you the star for today.”

  There’s a noticeable vacuum in the room. I thought the bar was empty when I entered, but now I see everyone has gathered near the stage. Several patrons are on their feet, leaning against walls, rocking and swaying to the hypnotic groove of the music. Matty doesn’t seem to notice he’s performing for thirty people instead of a thousand. Xander looks like he’s jamming in his own basement, carefree and facing a lifetime of promise.

  I resist the urge to pull out my camera.

  “Be my valentine, valentine.

  Forget that half the time, half the time I’m wrong.

  Don’t read every sign, every sign that leads us.

  Remember how it feels when I’m gone.”

  I only have to wait a second to learn if this stripped back version will be the radio mix or the boys’ explosive samba translation. A thrill rushes through me when Xander breaks into an electrified beat that gets the entire crowd moving. Matty slings the guitar over his shoulder and rests it on a stand. Extending his hand to a young woman by the stage, he grins as she shrieks and joins him for a sultry dance that has my muscles straining to move.

  I can’t take it anymore.

  They both see me as I step out of the shadows, watching them with a longing that goes beyond love and sex. Their bond is magnetic, saturating the stage and infusing into the room to suck us all into their warmth. I want to touch it. To bathe in their effortless comfort with music and each other. It makes me want to search my world for anything that can bring that kind of joy.

  Xander continues playing his seductive drum solo as Matty bows to his partner and returns her to her seat. But instead of turning back to the stage, he continues on toward me. His smile is bright, genuine, as he holds out his hand. My heart flutters in my chest, my gaze snapping to Xander before I can stop it. Matty follows my look, but doesn’t withdraw his offer.

  “Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the stage. The crowd cheers when I give in. I can’t stop the laughter as he guides our movements, utilizing every centimeter of the small space. I’ve never been much of a dancer, but Xander’s rhythm makes it easy. I peek at him, relaxing further at the smile on his face. I have no idea how something so broken an hour ago could have left such perfection in its wake.

  Only the love of a brother.

  Matty squeezes my waist to draw my attention. “I’m going to finish the song,” he says. “Thanks for the dance.” He winks, and I smile as he lets me go.

  He takes the stage again, but doesn’t pick up the guitar. Instead, he signals Xander and leans into the mic. “Thanks for hanging with us,” he shouts over Xander’s dramatic fill. “I’m Matty, and that’s my brother Xander on drums. Have a great night, Dekker’s!”

  Xander ends with a wash on the cymbal.

  I hang back after they finish, loving the sight of them mobbed by new fans. Everyone in this place is hooked, and the marketer in me hopes the guys are telling them who they really are, where they can stream their music, and possibly buy tickets that might still be available for tomorrow’s show. I clench my fist and force myself back to my table to keep from invading their moment.

  It’s another twenty minutes before they finally join me at my table. Xander slides in across from me, Matty beside me. I still don’t know where I stand with either of them, but the performance high on their faces tells me it doesn’t matter right now. We’re all united in the place where the music reigns.

  “That was… incredible,” I say. Xander smiles back, his eyes resting on mine. My stomach tickles from a renewed rhythm, a sudden heat firing up my leg when his foot finds mine under the table. My imagination takes off, dragging him from his seat and shoving him into the seedy restroom at the back of the bar. My eyes bore into him across the table, ripping off his shirt and tracing every detail of his body. He responds with a blistering look that doe
s the same to me.

  “You order any fries?” Matty asks, seemingly unaware of his presence in an active volcano.

  Xander finally tears his gaze from me and lands it on his brother with a smirk. “How can you be hungry? You just ate a burger and a full order of nachos.”

  Matty shrugs and signals the server. Xander shakes his head as his brother puts in an order anyway. I don’t miss the way the server bats her eyes and leans closer than necessary to take it.

  “Wow,” I say when she leaves. “Someone is very interested in being your valentine, Matty.”

  He releases a slight smile and glides my water glass toward him.

  “Cute, but not my type,” he says.

  I swallow, hoping that wasn’t an innuendo. I relax a bit when he winks at Xander who rolls his eyes.

  “Help yourself,” I mutter as Matty sucks down my drink.

  “Sorry,” he says, grinning. “I was thirsty.”

  “Clearly.” I bump his shoulder with mine to show him I’m joking. “So, tell me about ‘Valentine.’ Which one of you is the heartbreaker in the story of that song?”

  They exchange a look that has me tensing a little.

  “Neither of us,” Xander says finally, settling his gaze on me. “It’s not about love. The opposite, really.”

  Surprised, I study his face for more clues. He glances back at Matty who clears his throat.

  “I’m gonna hit the men’s room,” Matty says, pushing up from the bench. I watch him go, concerned by the strange reaction.

  “It’s about them,” Xander says quietly after a pause. “Our parents. About how they’d ignore us and then insert themselves into our lives whenever it was convenient for them. On whatever terms they chose.” He stares at the table, going back to another time and place. His fingertips tap a rhythm in the space between us, and I shudder at what’s coming.

  “I was sixteen, Matty eleven, this one time when our mom’s boyfriend attacked us. Don. He was the worst of them. I don’t even remember what set him off. There wasn’t always a reason with that dude. I took as much of it as I could, and instead of calling the police or coming to our defense, she kicked me onto the street until things cooled down. Said it was better if I wasn’t there to provoke things.” He blows out a harsh breath. “Hell, in some ways maybe it was my fault. I did fight back. I did refuse to let us be victims of that asshole.”