Our story, it turns out, is simple. Simple and painful and so incredibly common as we learned from our visit to Parker’s Play Yard. How many kids grow up in the deserted light of a distant streetlamp? How many adolescents collapse under the pressure of external forces compounding internal forces already dragging them under?
We lived those stories, fought, lost, won, and lost again, before finally capturing a glimpse of what waits on the other side. The light and freedom that comes when you embrace the dark and remove its power.
Matty is seven again as he screams into the mic in the basement, crying out against all the things that tried to bury him. I’m twelve as I smash my drums, reminding myself as much as the cameras of the pain in those sickeningly sweet lyrics. There’s no pretty model in this story. No glossy mirage of a different life, and we’d have it no other way. The script Lydia wrote for us is brutal and beautiful. Entirely perfect because it’s ours.
When the final shot wraps and the cameras shut down, I find Lydia staring out a cracked window on the other side of the warehouse. Moving behind her, I slip my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her head. She sighs into me as we watch our distorted reflections in the ugly glass.
“You okay?” I ask.
“No,” she says, her voice trembling. I study her face in the window and notice what could be a glisten in her eyes. “I hated seeing this. I couldn’t watch anymore.”
My chest tightens. “I told you from the beginning it’s not a pretty story.”
“It’s ugly, and it’s gorgeous.”
Somehow I know what she means. “Do you regret it? Encouraging us to tell it like this?”
“How could I?” she says quietly. “You’re going to touch a lot of lives, Xander. Most of all your own.” She sighs out a silent but. “Just because it’s the right call doesn’t mean it’s easy to watch the hell your boyfriend went through.”
A smile creeps over my lips as I press a kiss to her hair. “Boyfriend, huh?”
She stiffens. “Oh, shit. It kind of slipped out.”
I laugh, pulling her closer. “Yeah? Well, I kind of like it. A lot.”
She relaxes, and I see just enough of her smile to wish I wasn’t watching through the filter of dirty glass.
“How do you say boyfriend in Portuguese?” she asks.
“Namorado.”
“Namorado. I’m learning Portuguese, you know. I found this app that teaches it to you.”
“Really? Huh,” I say, amused by the excitement in my charming over-achiever.
“Yes. I want to experience our world together in two languages.”
Wow. I turn her around so I can see her face without obstacles.
“Plus, being bilingual is good for my profession,” she adds.
I laugh and slip my hands in the back pockets of her jeans. She grins and presses her hips into mine.
“Good for your profession? What, all those Brazilian clients you have?”
She shrugs. “Just the one so far. But what if we move to Brazil one day?”
“Oh now we’re moving to Brazil?” This girl.
Her eyes shine with mischief. “I don’t know. How far do Arctic terns migrate?”
Laughing, I land a kiss on those perfect lips. She threads her hands in my hair to pull me in for a deeper one.
“It feels so good to do this in public now,” she breathes. “I love not having you as a client.”
“Pretty sure we’re still clients. We’re just finished with the tour part.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know I want you to be my namorada. Minha mulher.”
“Your what?”
“Mulher is woman. Minha is my.”
She lifts a brow, taunting me with the same challenge I got at a hotel bar a couple of months ago. “You want me to be your woman? Seriously, that’s all you got?”
“What do you expect when you date a badass rocker?”
She grins and drags me in for another kiss. “I prefer puppy-dog poets.”
This club is most definitely not B.Y.O.B. but that didn’t stop us from sneaking in enough cachaça for the five of us. We down a round of purchased shots to clear some glasses and gather close to the table. Matty pours the second round from our secret stash, also tossing a few drops behind him para os santos. We lift our drinks, and everyone turns to me for a speech. Speeches… right. Not sure this is a journey that can be summed up in a few shouted words over a deafening house beat. I glance around the small circle of expectant faces, people who not only made this moment possible but make me want to live a lifetime more of them.
“The future seems unattainable when you have a past like ours,” I begin. As if knowing this moment is important, the music descends into a low rumble that cages my voice in a strange mystique instead of swallowing it. “To truly move forward, you have to change some things, forget some things, accept some things, and want some things. I used to think that was impossible. That dreams were foolish and even dangerous with their false promises.” My gaze settles on Matty, and then Lydia. “But today we moved forward. We dreamed. We did something I never believed could be done. So, yeah.” I lift my glass. “Fuck the impossible.”
Four grins flash back at me as we empty our glasses and slam them on the table.
Matty leans in and punches my arm. “Dude. Fuck the impossible. Let’s start dreaming.” We exchange a warm look before he shoves away from the table. “And first on my list is that chick in the red dress. Damn. Catch you later, bro.”
I smirk as Matty takes off on the hunt, Elliot and Liam right behind him on their own missions. Lydia closes in beside me, shifting until my arm finds its natural place around her shoulders.
“He looks like he’s having fun,” she says, studying Matty’s expert woo of his prey in three seconds flat.
“Yeah, he’s back in his native habitat. Trust me, it won’t take him long to return to a punk-ass rock god you want to smack upside the head.”
She laughs and runs her fingers along my side beneath my shirt. It’s a possessive move, probably a signal for the women who’d been eyeing our table all night. Also, I love her bold claim and kiss the top of her head to leave no doubt. My girlfriend. My rebellious siren who led me to the safety of land.
We stand in silence as I watch my brother grind against a stranger with confident abandon. She’s clearly enamored, like everyone else who falls under Matty’s charismatic spell. It’s almost eerie how quickly he adapts to each encounter, each new person or circumstance. But that’s my brother, the magnetic chameleon. So open to the good and the bad life loves to throw at him.
“You’re still worried about him,” Lydia muses, her arm tightening around me.
The woman in the red dress is pressed against him in almost desperate pursuit now. She’ll probably go home with him if he wants. So would her friends who practically drool from their perch nearby. Matheus Silva is a force he doesn’t even understand yet. I shudder at what’s to come when he discovers his power. I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me.
“I’ll always worry about him, Lydia. Always.”
She sighs and straightens just enough to turn me toward her. Sliding her arms around my waist, she tugs me close and stares into my eyes. “Well, then I guess it will be my job to agonize over you. You got room in that tortured brain for another neurotic worrier?”
I laugh and kiss her slowly, deeply. Maybe one day I’ll tell her about the empty prison that’s now available.
“Valentine” releases two days after our “Jonas” collaboration. Talk about a whirlwind of marketing. Lydia has us all over social media doing live broadcasts, posting photos, and even sharing a video of us reflecting on each scene in the “Valentine” music video. Our narrative is everywhere, along with our music and the outpouring of support from other artists and fans. Matty and I soak in the messages, cringing, laughing, and choking up at story after story strangers now share with us. That’s the part that thrills us and validates everything we�
�ve done. The label is ecstatic about the rampant streaming of our new releases, along with a resurgence of “Heaven Help Us.”
My favorite of Lydia’s marketing tricks is the back-and-forth she orchestrated with Limelight. Their fans and ours have been rabidly reacting to our hilarious banter that crosses multiple social platforms. A post from them, a response from us. A video from us, a video response from them. We’re as excited as the masses to see what they throw at us next, and the hype has blown “Jonas” into a viral phenomenon. It’s no surprise that our camp has been buzzing with the possibility that we may have made a chart or two. With the numbers releasing today, we’ll find out any minute.
The guys and I have just taken our seats in the Turner Artist conference room when Sam breezes in with Lydia at her side. Flashbacks to our first meeting have me grinning instead of shaking this time, and I study our marketing director with a mixture of heat and pride. She’s the badass responsible for all of this. I’m just the puppy-dog poet who enjoys her shadow.
“Thank you for joining us today,” Sam says. “I think it’s safe to say, we’ve come a long way since the last time we met together at this table. I hope that no matter what happens next, you all are as proud of how far you’ve come as I am.” She beams a smile around the room that we all return. Her gaze lingers on me, and I swallow a knot of emotion at the silent message in her eyes. I threw the Hail Mary, but you’re the one who caught it. I did. We did.
Clearing her throat, she continues. “I’ve asked Lydia to debrief us on where we stand with the existing campaign, as well as outline the next steps moving forward. Before we begin, though, Stocker Carmichael has asked to speak with you.”
Surprised, Matty and I exchange a look before focusing on a phone in the center of the table—a phone that never rings. Instead, a distinguished man I vaguely recognize stalks through the conference room door. A reverent stillness settles over the room.
“Mr. Carmichael, thank you for joining us,” Sam says.
He nods, first to her, then to Lydia who gets an extra smile. Something in me warms at their subtle exchange, despite my sudden nerves. Maybe I’ll get to know him as more than my boss one day? I glance back at Lydia who might be thinking the same thing the way her gaze keeps passing between the older man and me.
“Gentlemen, so good to finally get in the same room with you.”
Stocker shakes our hands, holding mine for longer than the others. “Xander,” he says firmly, his other hand coming up to clasp mine in both of his.
“Mr. Carmichael.”
We exchange a knowing nod before he lets go.
“You may be wondering why I’m here,” he says, returning to the front of the room. “I happened to be in L.A. for another meeting, and thought I’d stop in to deliver the news personally.”
My heartrate picks up, my gaze colliding with Matty’s again.
“The official numbers will be released later today, but my sources have confirmed some news I think you’ll be interested to hear.” He clears his throat. “I would like to inform you that ‘Valentine’ is officially debuting at number eight on the Ravelist Hot 100.”
A chorus of cheers erupts around the room.
“It’s the highest debut of any new White Flame artist without an album. It’s also the highest debut of any alternative rock single from one of ours,” he shouts over the commotion.
The celebration continues with Turner staffers clapping and cheering as if they’ve never had a client hit a chart before. Lydia is beaming. Elliot and Liam are on their feet, dancing to some strange song in their heads. But Matty and I only exchange a look of numb shock. Eight? We hit fucking eight?
I’m full-on shaking when Stocker lifts his hands to quiet the room. “Hang on, I’m not done. You’ll also be interested to know that ‘Heaven Help Us’ hit the chart at number twenty-three.”
Air rushes from my lungs. I stare at him in disbelief. This is a joke. Has to be. No way we have two singles on the charts. No. Just...
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is not the alternative rock chart. This is the Hot 100! You should be tremendously proud of yourselves,” he roars over the din of celebration.
The room is a circus of shouts and high-fives, but I still can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything as I stare at my brother across the table, remembering every single thing that brought us here. Every trial. Every doubt. Every no that seemed so final. There are so many reasons we shouldn’t be sitting here. So many reasons we should have given up. Fucking years of obstacles there’s no way in hell we should have overcome.
Tears glisten in Matty’s eyes, triggering a burn in mine. The hurricane surrounding us is muted in our exclusive universe of two. We are the survivors. Pillars standing strong in the eye of the storm. We made it. We did more than survive. We thrived.
Stocker holds up his hands. “I’m not finished.”
A hush falls over the room as we wait. What else could he possibly have to say?
“That is all very exciting news, but not the reason I’m here. Our artists litter the charts. It’s one of the things we pride ourselves on at White Flame, and why we expect so much from you. What we didn’t expect was this.” He folds his hands in front him, staring at each of us for a beat. “I’m here to inform you that Falling Back North is White Flame’s first ever alternative rock artist to debut a record at number one on the Hot 100. Gentlemen, you’ve just made history.”
He grins as the wall behind him lights up with an image.
A chart.
A list of songs with one highlighted in red above all the others:
“Jonas” Limelight (featuring Falling Back North)
CHAPTER 26
XANDER
I glance around the room, still in wonder at the guests who came out for our official album listening party. Sam and Marlon are here, obviously, but also Elliot’s parents, our aunt and uncle. It’s amazing to see what this moment means for them, how one act of kindness in turning over their basement to a few troubled kids led to this miracle. Jesse is here too, and I’m not the only one who keeps watching his reactions as our music blasts over the impressive sound system in Stocker Carmichael’s Beverly Hills mansion. His other residence, Lydia had informed me, since he spends most of his time in a luxury apartment in Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Must be nice. He flew across the country for this, and I can’t shake the nerves over my exclusive dinner to “meet the parent” later tonight. As if I didn’t have enough to be anxious about right now.
But the anxiety fades as the music takes over and reminds us why we’re here. Like our story, the new songs are bold and unapologetic. They’re brutal and stunning. Sometimes so raw you feel the twist of a knife in your gut until it’s soothed by the shocking beauty of a new melody. The music is innovative, exciting, and most importantly, uniquely ours. It’s the universal truth that brought all of these disparate characters into the same story. We did that. Our vision. Our dream. Our story that tried to break us but instead created something so fucking beautiful all these lives have been irrevocably touched.
Matty’s gaze finds me across the room, and his smile tells me he’s thinking the same. I see the hope in his face, the excitement for a future we never thought we’d have. Is he finally starting to believe too? Our journey is ending and starting all at once.
A soft arm slips around my waist, interrupting my thoughts with a wave of jasmine. “The album sounds amazing, Xander,” Lydia says softly. “So different than the original.”
I nod, dropping a quick kiss on her hair. “It sounds like us now.”
She looks up, eyes bright with everything she wants for us. I love that she’s finally finding herself through all of this as well. “My dad is really happy with how it turned out. He also can’t wait to meet you later.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” I am, too. Looking forward. Who does that? People who dream. People who hope.
She releases a thoughtful sigh, scanning the room like I’d just done. “It’s ha
ppening, Xander.” Her tone is wistful, like it’s coming from a place high above us. “You’ve finally landed.”
A smile creeps over my lips. “Kind of feels that way, yeah.”
“So, how’s the view?”
“Pretty damn spectacular.”
My stare finds Matty again who’s closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. There’s a peace on his face I’ve been fighting his entire life to give him. A joy as he absorbs our present. No past, no future. Just the all-consuming power of now.
Yeah. Fuck the fall. Now we fly.
MORE FROM ALYSON
Alyson Santos is a writer, musician, and cat lover. You will find evidence of her obsession with music in most of her books. Have you faced the music in these emotional and powerful stories about finding the light in the darkness? Explore love in a new way by checking out these other titles by Alyson. Happy reading!
THE TUNRER ARTIST ROCKER SERIES
Available on Kindle Unlimited
RISING WEST
FALLING NORTH
THE NSB ROCKER SERIES
Available on Kindle Unlimited and audiobook.
NIGHT SHIFTS BLACK (NSB #1)
TRACING HOLLAND (NSB #2)
VIPER (NSB #3)
LIMELIGHT (NSB #4)
AN NSB WEDDING (NSB #5)
STANDALONES
Falling North: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 2) Page 22
