“Mila Taylor called me this afternoon,” I blurt out. I know, not what I’d planned for this announcement, but right now I can’t think of a better distraction.
“Hang on. Mila Taylor with Limelight?”
He starts to push up, and I pull him back down.
“Stay calm, cowboy. Yes. She called while you were in soundcheck.”
“What… Why didn’t you tell us?!”
“When? While you were going to war with your mom or passed out in the ER?”
A slight smile flickers over his lips. “Okay, fine. What did she say?”
“Jesse Everett wants to meet with you and Matty. We’re working on dates.”
His face… I thought I’d seen every expression that could wreck me, but wonder mixed with disbelief and excitement is my new favorite. He shakes his head, speechless. The smile spreads into such a huge grin, I fear for his beautiful lips.
“Wow. I mean… just… are you joking? You’re playing a joke on me, right?”
“Is there a worse time for me to do that to you?” I say with a laugh.
“No, but— Who else knows about this?”
“No one. I wanted to tell you and Matty after the show tonight and then everything happened and… sorry for not informing Marlon. I will. I just wanted to have this moment first.”
“Which moment?”
“This.” I reach over and touch his radiant smile. God, I’d do anything to keep it there. He closes his eyes, and I pull away while I still can.
“Don’t tell him,” he says, meeting my gaze again. “Just keep it between you, me, and Matty for now.” He turns to his back and stares up at the ceiling.
“Are you sure? This is huge, Xander. Your manager will want to be involved. Plus, White Flame and—”
“Exactly. I don’t want it to be a thing. I just want to enjoy it for what it is. No strategies or preparation or expectations. Keep it as ours, you know? Just a conversation between some dudes at a bar. Can we have that for once?”
An uncomplicated moment to experience something good.
I pull his hand to my lips and rest it there. He squeezes back, and I continue holding on as I slide my other arm onto his chest. The silence is beautiful this time, warm and healing. We both close our eyes to enjoy it, and soon I’m drifting away in the darkness.
When we wake the following morning, there’s a bag of snacks on the table.
CHAPTER 21
XANDER
“Shit,” I mutter for the fifth time, tugging at my hair. Lydia doesn’t look much better as she paces near the window, her typical smooth, confident expression furrowed into concern.
“Xander, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just closed my eyes for a second. This is all my fault.”
I look up, a smile creeping out despite the panic simmering in my gut. “That was the fucking best sleep of my life.” My hangover should be debilitating after an attack that bad, but I’m actually bordering on functional. Sleep, man. Who knew?
Her gaze lands on mine, her features relaxing into a return smile. “Me too.” She sighs and lowers herself beside me. “What do we do? He saw us literally sleeping together.”
“Just sleeping.”
“Together.”
I groan and study the floor again, pulling even harder at my hair.
“Will you stop that?” She drags my arm from my head. “You should be taking pain meds right now, not causing more damage.”
I send her a wry smile and release my grip. “Pretty sure the damage is already done.”
She doesn’t respond, probably envisioning the disaster that the rest of this tour will be with the lead singer at odds with the drummer. Guess we’ll be adding that to our long list of PR messes to sort through. One step forward, ten steps back.
“We should reach out to him. Reopen the lines of communication, at least,” she says.
“Already did. He read my message but didn’t respond.”
I stare at the collection of snacks on the table that started it all, swallowing the urge for some weird manic laughter. As if I’ll be able to eat any of it now. The humor fades quickly as reality sets in. This is it. My worst nightmare. I’d face a hundred copies of my mother in place of a rift with Matty.
Over a woman?
The rot in my stomach spreads into my chest. Lydia is more than a woman. She’s more of everything to me, and even though I’ve spent my life trying to avoid this situation, I’m not sure how I could have.
I did everything in my power to stay away from her. Everything, but she’s also the warmth that helped me sleep for the first time in years. My angel south of love who soothed a shadow of my worst pain. Even now, despite the unfolding nightmare, there’s a shared craving in the air turning cold blood hot.
I see how her gaze keeps climbing over my body. I see the hunger in her eyes. And I should be pulling on a shirt—at the very least, pants—but I like her lust too much. The way she keeps wetting her lips and subconsciously twirling the ends of her hair.
I push up from the bed, aware of her quick inhale as I straighten to give her a full view. She’s right. I need another dose of meds, especially if she’s going to make the blood pound through my head like this. Instead of grabbing a shirt, I swipe the pill bottle from my suitcase.
“Can you toss me a water?” I ask, twisting back to address her. Her focus was definitely on my ass, and I don’t even try to keep my smirk to myself. She skims my profile, scanning up and down as my body works to hold its strained position. Her gaze never leaves me while she grabs the bottle and lobs it toward me. I capture it against my chest, pausing at the look in her eyes. Damn, if things weren’t shit with Matty… Then again, the damage is already done, right? I push away the temptation and yank out a change of clothes.
“Let’s get breakfast and see if we can track him down,” I say, popping a couple of pills.
She nods, both of us disappointed as I get dressed.
It’s after three before I finally hear from Matty. I’m back at the bus, gathering supplies and my guitar when a text comes in to meet him at his room in 307 around five o’clock. Oddly specific, but whatever. He’s probably going out with the others to blow off steam. Lydia and I avoid each other as well, both of us clearly overwhelmed with last night’s intimacy and this morning’s repercussions. We’re going to have to stay away from each other permanently. It’s the only way. I fluctuate every minute between thinking maybe I can live with that and being certain there’s no way in hell.
I watch the clock change slowly for the next couple of hours, resisting the urge to pound on his door and demand a meeting right now. The sane part of my brain knows he won’t even be there. I’m only desperate because, for the first time in forever, I’m actually lonely. Being alone has always been my thing, an unchosen lot that’s become a preference. Now, when it’s the result of fractured relationships, it’s a vacuum. A blackhole instead of a sanctuary.
I sit in my room with my guitar, strumming through song after song, hoping to fill old cracks and new voids. When playing the existing stuff doesn’t work, I switch to the distraction of creation. I fool around with progressions that can’t possibly work, tempos that make no sense. My experiments become a mishmash of time and sound, a cacophony that’s disturbing and strangely beautiful. There are rules to songwriting, rules I’m ignoring and intentionally breaking with each second that ticks closer to the confrontation with my brother. And yet, with each discordant note, the lyric forming in my mind is always the same.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I need you.
Will I give Lydia up to save my relationship with Matty? It’s not even a question. The question is, can I? My will has been there since the beginning.
I’m sorry. G chord, B-flat. Two chords that have no business together. God, it sounds like hell. Burns my ears and every musical cell in my brain. I strum harder.
Strings are crushed in my fingers. I start play
ing bar chords, scaling up and down the frets with no direction or discernable progression, just landing my fingers in chaotic formations along the neck of the guitar. My instrument will never forgive me for this abuse.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
F-sharp minor, C, E.
I shudder at the anomaly.
I need you.
Wish Matty could hear it. He’d know everything he’d need to know about my state right now.
The D-string snaps with a violent twang, flying up to sting my cheek in a fitting finale. I start to laugh. First a chuckle, then hysterically until the laughter becomes tears and my crouch over a guitar becomes a sprawl on my back. I sink into the mattress, shoving my guitar beside me as I stare at the ceiling. My cheek throbs from the slap, and I start snorting again at the thought of that little beast taking a swing at me. Hilarious. Also, I’m clearly losing my mind.
I groan into the darkness, covering my face with my hands. The crushing weight of my existence put me in the hospital last night. I’m supposed to let go and allow others to carry the weight. What the hell does that even mean? What life is there besides this one where I’m responsible for everyone else’s happiness? Especially when I’m such an obvious failure at all of it. Here I am, freshly hospitalized, and my burdens are even heavier than the ones that put me there. No wonder that stupid string hates me. Bet it’s laughing too right now. I peer at the guitar, half-expecting the wiry shard to be undulating in a chuckle.
My phone interrupts my brain ramblings, and I pick it off the nightstand. A text from Lydia. My heart pounds as I open it.
Matty wants to meet with me at five.
Shit. That can’t be good. I stare at her message, wondering if I should tell her the truth or let her enjoy the remaining fifteen minutes in peace. Peace. Ha.
Uh-oh. He said the same to me. Guess he wants to ream us out together.
Lydia: Crap. Really? Room 307?
Me: Yes. 5 pm.
Lydia: At least we’ll get it out in the open.
At least.
I rub the sore spot on my cheek, wondering if it left a mark. My fingers feel wet, and when I turn on the reading light by the bed, I see a tiny red streak on my finger. That fucker actually drew blood. I glare back at my guitar and shake my head.
Well played, my friend.
Breathing. There’s a thing I’m not great at as I exit the elevator on the third floor and work my way toward room 307. My pulse pounds, and my heart is tight in my chest. As impatient as I was for five o’clock, now that the battle is here, I realize how terrified I am. I almost never fight with my brother, not like this. I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever questioned our relationship, even when we exchanged harsh words. And yet, as I draw closer and closer to the confrontation, I realize my terror is in the unknown. What is the message waiting for me in that room? Will he even give me a chance to explain? What is the explanation anyway?
I’m surprised to find the door propped open when I arrive. I still knock, peeking around it without waiting for a response. My heart stops cold when I see her here alone.
Lydia is seated on a chair in the corner when I enter. Her eyes are wet with tears, a piece of paper folded in her hands. It’s then that I see our other guests: a bouquet of flowers by the television, a tray of fruits and candies on the table. Is that a bottle of champagne? What the hell?
Fear rushes through me, a panic so wild I start shaking as I approach.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice betraying the terror inside. “Where’s Matty?”
She tries to speak. Instead, she hands me the paper in her hands.
I stare at the folded message, unable to breathe. I can’t open it. I have to open it. It has the answers. I know it does—even if I’d rather die than know them right now. Life without Matty. I’ve never considered it. Never even entertained the possibility of such an existence.
“Read it,” she whispers finally.
I shake my head, tears forming in my eyes. “I can’t.”
A sob breaks from her lips, cementing my resistance. “You have to. Xander, read it.”
I blink back at the page, a salty drop slipping from my chin and landing in a distorted wrinkle on the page.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Matty. Don’t do this. Eu preciso de você. My feverish song from earlier starts clanging through my head. I’d do anything for my brother. Anything. And I have, haven’t I? What else could I have done to save him from the life he had?
“Read it,” Lydia says, firmer this time. She swats at her eyes, and I finally start to unfold the page.
The first thing I notice is Matty’s handwriting. The second is the crease in the paper caused by my tight grip. I loosen my fingers. What if this is the last thing I ever hold from my brother? My last memory? My last link to the one person, the one thing, I can’t live without.
It takes every bit of strength I have left to force my focus to his words.
Lex,
No matter what I say, I can’t seem to convince you of how much I love you. If you won’t listen, I’ll just have to show you.
I’ve never felt about a girl the way you feel about Lydia. Now that I know it’s possible, I want to find it. She’s not mine to give you, but I can give her up. Please let me do for you what you’ve done for me our entire lives. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a fraction of the man you are. Let me be who you taught me to be. Enjoy a night with her on me.
Eu amo você, meu irmão. Irmãos para sempre.
Matty
P.S. This isn’t actually my room, just one I rented for you, so I expect lots of nakedness and shit.
“Xander?”
I don’t know how much time passes before Lydia pulls me back to the present. I can’t stop staring at the note. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Love, gratitude, pride, every feeling I could ever want from family comes swelling through me at once. My baby brother, the boy who cried, is now the man who draws tears from me. I swipe at my eyes, still in disbelief, and yet, feeling like an entire lifetime has spiraled into focus on this one moment. Matty, the saint, a superhero I somehow helped to form through the ashes of a shattered childhood.
“He’s amazing,” she says, approaching me. “You’re amazing. You did this.”
I shake my head, numb.
“You did. You,” she says, firmer. She pulls the letter from my hand and places it gently on the table as if she knows it’s now the most valuable thing I own. She returns and takes my hands in hers. “Do you believe it now?”
I blink down at her. “Believe what?”
“How incredible you are?”
I don’t know how to answer that, so I let my gaze filter back to the letter that’s just uprooted my world. “I’m…”
Speechless?
Astounded?
Dazed?
“…so, so loved,” she finishes for me. “So loved.” Her voice softens as she stares into my eyes, her fingers forcing my cheek toward her. She traces the fresh cut, a frown flickering over her lips before she pulls my head down and kisses it.
“I want all of it,” she whispers.
“All of what?”
“You. Your pain. Your past. Your future. Everything.”
I smile, gazing into the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. “I want all of you, too… except maybe the Instagram aesthetic. I still don’t understand what that even is.”
She laughs and tugs my mouth to hers.
Our kiss is teasing at first, as if we still don’t believe it’s possible. Like we’re testing the waters of uninhibited passion. What’s indulgence without the guilt? Lust without the regret? It’s sweeter. Slower and deliberate without the looming threat. It’s paradise.
I slide my tongue over her lips, tasting the fine wine before gulping it down. She moans and hooks her body further into mine. Our kiss intensifies from exploration to need. Memories flash through my head, fantasies I locked away to survive. A thin silver bra strap begging
to be plucked. A smoldering gaze across a table, across a stage, across an aisle on the bus. Every time I wanted to taste and couldn’t, to touch and didn’t, to explore and wouldn’t, comes rushing back in a maddening flood of desire. She must feel it too, because soon she’s ripping at my shirt. I stop my battle with hers only to let her win against mine.
Her eyes tear over me with a hunger I’ve seen so many times, but never without a filter. Never roaming free over my will. I reach for the button on my jeans, just as she covers my hands to take control, and I sense my presence in her long held fantasies as well. Two warring dreamworlds converging in one reality? This should be an interesting night.
She palms me slowly, then harder, her grip becoming more possessive with each stroke. Hissing in a breath, I grab her wrist to stop her because I want things too. I want to see her buckle and writhe and drain every breath in her lungs. I want to hear my name rupture from her lips in an uncontrollable surge of sweet agony. After tonight, I don’t want her to ever be satisfied with a fantasy again.
I flip us around so she’s on her back when we fall to the bed, careful to catch my weight with my arms. Her hands move over my chest in reverent perusal, the same way my lips test the bare skin of her neck, her collarbone, and finally the swell of her breasts beside the silver bra that’s taunted me for days. She gasps when I rip down the cups with almost savage force. Her eyes ignite with surprise, and then heat when I tilt my head up with a smirk. A puppy-dog poet, huh?
I discard the vanquished bra to the growing pile of clothing on the floor while focusing back on her body. Her moans become an anthem I want on a permanent loop in my head. She yanks me back up to find her mouth again, and our kiss deepens into desperation.
Her leg pushes between mine, weaving our bodies into one and forcing our hips together. My blood surges hot at the explosive new contact, and she starts to move in what seems like involuntary spasms. A magnetic reaction. Chemical. Her breathing accelerates with each pleading jerk of her hips.
Falling North: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 2) Page 18
