Breaking South: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 3)

by Alyson Santos

“I…” Finally, a word. Thank god! It sounds so broken, but I keep fighting through the pain. Fighting through the pressure in my chest to get to him. “I need…”

  “What? I’m here. What can I do?” His voice is the opposite of mine. Strong. Gentle. Confident.

  “I…”

  “Genevieve, I’m here. What do you need?”

  A sob rushes out, breaking the boundary between us.

  “A friend. I need you.”

  Oliver talks me down and promises to be waiting for me at my house when I get back. With his soothing voice in my head, I manage to pull myself together enough to reattempt the meeting. After splashing cold water on my face, I practice several smiles and expressions in the mirror that will explain my lengthy absence. Mild food poisoning. No big deal.

  I reenter the meeting poised and confident. Assure them I’m fine. Stocker doesn’t know me well enough to read differently. My parents will believe any lie that preserves their narrative. Only Sam gives a more intense appraisal that concerns me, and when she calls me aside after we wrap, I brace myself for her unapologetic honesty and keen insight. There’s a reason she’s the best in the biz and we hired her. Right now? Kind of wish we hadn’t.

  “What’s going on, Gen?” Sam asks, pulling me into an alcove just outside of the conference room. She follows my gaze through the neighboring glass wall to where my parents still chat with Stocker and some of the other meeting attendees. “Do you want to schedule a time to talk privately?” Her voice softens with concern.

  “I’m fine. The tour news just caught me off guard.” It’s not even a lie, really. Well, maybe the fine part, but not the tour part. “A new song from Julie Sanchez, wow. I bet it’s great. Can’t wait to hear it.”

  Her eyes probe me with careful intensity. She’s not buying it.

  “You’re on edge,” she says. “I noticed it the other day at the Chicago show when we saw each other. Talk to me, Genevieve. It’s my job to manage your problems but you have to give them to me to fix for you.” She adds a smile that I instinctively return. Her eyes, so sincere and worried, search my face in the tense silence. Would she understand? How could she when I don’t even understand what’s going on with me? How can she fix the girl who doesn’t exist?

  My parents must have finished their conversation, and I glance up just in time to catch my mother’s look through the window. She lifts a thumbs-up and adds a giant grin. Good news, apparently. My heart is already pounding in dread.

  “I’m sure it’s just stress,” I say, forcing another smile. “Thanks for looking out for me. Send over the new song as soon as you get it, and I’ll start learning it!”

  My parents aren’t happy that I turn down their invitation to “celebrate” in favor of heading home. Hadley is concerned as well and tries to pry on the drive back to the house, but I’m not interested in talking as my knee picks up more and more speed in its aggressive bounce against the leather seat. Hadley switches to a monologue of recapping the meeting and my upcoming schedule, which only sends my knee into a more furious rhythm. My fingers wring in tight knots on my lap, my chest constricting with each word from her mouth.

  “I’ll schedule a consultation with Jordan Isaacson to work on your looks for the tour so we have time for fittings.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, and Sam will contact Songset to see if they’ll run your feature in mid-January to coincide with the release and tour.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you want to see the final photo edits before they run?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll make a note to insist on that. Also, I got the list of the latest interview requests from Sam for us to review. Do you want to go through that now?”

  I shake my head, but she’s staring at her screen.

  “WZRL in Jacksonville wants to know if you’ll stop in while you’re there for that golf thing.”

  “I thought we cancelled that.”

  “No, that was the one in Myrtle Beach. The Jacksonville date is still on.”

  Breathe. I stare out the window. “I hate golf.”

  “I know but your parents and the label said this one is important because it’s sponsored by JRV Promotions. Plus, Burn Card and some of Sam’s other clients will be there. Oh! Fleur Noir finally called after that meeting with your mother—”

  She stops, and I swat at my eyes, angling as far from view as possible.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head and pull in a ragged breath. Not now. Not yet. Not in front of Hadley. We’re almost home.

  “Nothing. Sorry. I think I might be getting sick.” My voice is corrupted by emotion, and I clear my throat.

  “You know what? Let’s do this another time,” she says softly.

  I nod and blink back the rest of the threatening tears.

  We finish the drive in silence, and my blood pounds with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation as we climb the hill to my neighborhood. Will he be there? Am I important enough to him to keep a promise? Oliver’s SUV is parked by the gate, and a sick mix of relief and regret courses through me when I realize I never called him in to security. He kept his word, and I couldn’t even be bothered to give him that one courtesy. The gate opens for us, and I roll down my window.

  “Hey, Bobby. You can let him in. In fact, put him on my permanent list. Oliver Levesque.”

  The security guard lifts a brow but nods. I understand his hesitation. No one has unrestricted access to my estate except my parents and intimate staff. I glance back at the sound of Oliver’s car starting, already breathing easier when I see his silhouette through the windshield. I strain for a view of his eyes, his smile, but all I get is a shadow from this vantage point.

  “Oliver’s here?” Hadley asks, and I hear the unspoken second half of that question. After what happened earlier?

  “I called him at the White Flame meeting. What happened earlier was my fault.”

  Except she only looks confused. “What happened earlier? What do you mean?”

  “When Oliver left this afternoon after I kicked him out?”

  “You kicked him out? Oliver?” I cringe at the shock on her face, my stomach cramping. Somehow it’s worse that he left as a perfect gentleman, giving no hint of the basket-case who threw him to the curb. “No, I had no idea. He smiled and waved when he left like nothing was wrong. I just thought he was leaving because you had to get ready for the meeting. What happened?”

  “He saw my writing, and I freaked out on him.”

  “Your poetry?”

  I nod. When did this driveway get so long? Hadley quiets, probably trying her best to process my crazy without letting on.

  She clears her throat as we pull in front of the house. “Well, I have a lot to do, so I’ll be in the office. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything.” Her eyes search mine, and I swallow the rising pressure in my throat.

  “Sounds good. Oliver and I will probably be in my room.”

  She nods, reading my face one last time before exiting the car. I step out as well, smiling at my driver. “Thanks, Devin,” I say to him as he closes the door behind me.

  “Will you need anything else or should I park the car?” he asks, eyeing Oliver’s SUV as my guest pulls in behind us.

  “You can park it for the night. Thanks.”

  He nods and rounds the front of the car to the driver’s seat. I feel Oliver’s approach behind me—his presence always seems to have a supernatural effect on my awareness. It calms me, makes me feel confident, like I can do anything with him standing behind me. It’s a strange feeling, so different than the weight of the conference room I just escaped. Once Devin pulls away, I turn to Oliver, almost shy after everything that’s happened between us.

  Any lingering shadows dissolve through the current of his warm brown eyes.

  I rush toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his chest. Color filters in. Air comes lighter. Tense muscles relax into relief.

/>   “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

  His strong arms tighten around me, and I breathe in spice and clean linen. His button-down shirt is soft against my cheek, and for a brief moment, I think I could stand here forever. I think things will be okay. Then—

  Twenty-seven cities.

  Millions of fans.

  Radio interviews.

  TV interviews.

  Editorial shoots.

  Clothing brand.

  Fragrance line.

  January world tour because—

  You are everything.

  Julie Sanchez.

  And still not enough.

  Then.

  Panic.

  “Genevieve?” Oliver pulls away to search my face, and I blink back the familiar tears.

  “Can we just go to my room?” I whisper.

  He brushes his thumb under my eye, catching a tear and dissolving it in his fingers. “Lead the way.”

  I move quickly through the house, tugging him by the hand behind me. The staff probably thinks I’m desperate to jump my hot boyfriend as we scurry past. Only he knows the truth: That I prefer the lie.

  We climb the stairs, his footsteps heavier than I expect below me. I glance back and notice the way he’s favoring his right leg again. Oh no. I didn’t even ask about his knee. I never ask. It’s always about me. My life. My drama. What I need from him. Until I toss him aside. Self-loathing bubbles deep, swirling among the existing sludge inside me.

  I close the door behind us, shaking by the time we reach my room. He waits in silence, watching me, his huge presence filling my room, my awareness. Behind me a vista worthy of any lifestyle show stretches to the ocean, but I can’t tear my gaze away from the breathtaking view in front of me. A dull ache spreads through my chest, pounding against my ribs. How much can you want something you don’t deserve? Because he’s everything, and I’m nothing. He’s the sun, and I’m the shadow. And then I see the way he leans to his right.

  “Your knee. It’s hurting?”

  A crease spreads across his forehead. “Just a little. I’m fine.”

  “It was fine earlier.”

  He blinks, a thought skating through his head as he runs his hand through his hair. Egg shells. That’s what’s happening here. He doesn’t know what he can say around me anymore. I even ruined our words.

  “Tell me the truth. What happened to your knee?” I demand.

  He still hesitates, and I narrow my eyes at him.

  “I pushed myself too hard this afternoon,” he says finally, meeting my gaze. “After I left here.”

  His words drop like an anvil. I knew it. This is my fault. I did this to him. But he doesn’t say that. He never will because he’s good, and I’m broken.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “For what?”

  “For hurting your knee.”

  His eyes change at my confession, hardening. “You didn’t hurt my knee. I hurt my knee.”

  “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have hurt yourself if I hadn’t hurt you first.”

  “What?” He looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

  I shake my head and force a dry laugh. This is going all wrong. I wanted a friend, not another fight. “Never mind. You’re right.”

  That only seems to anger him more. I see his fist tighten at his side. “Don’t. Not never mind. What did you mean by that?”

  I sigh and cross my arms. My fingers dig into my biceps to block the emotion. “Nothing. Just that, if I hadn’t been a bitch this afternoon, you wouldn’t have gotten mad and had to blow off steam. So really, it’s my fault. Because I’m selfish and stupid and I didn’t even call security so you could get in after asking you to meet me. I’m…” Somewhere along the line, pinching my skin wasn’t enough. The tears broke free, building in my throat. I clear them away, shaking my head to clear that too. But I only seem to jar them further into my vocal cords. A few surge higher, bursting all the way to my eyes. I blink rapidly to stop them. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I’m just sorry for...”

  “For what?”

  “For being what I am.”

  “What’s that? Selfish and stupid?” he echoes, his voice strangely hard and emotionless at the same time.

  I nod. “Among other things.”

  He stares at me for a moment, and I shrink beneath his perusal. Not because of him, because of me. Because he’s looking for something he won’t find. Because blind faith leads to lucid doubt and he’s about to discover everything that’s missing beneath the glossy covering that attracted his attention for a fleeting moment.

  She’s no one. Run!

  “What else are you, Genevieve?” he asks in a low voice, almost angry.

  I glance at him in surprise. He’s not letting this go? Apologies are supposed to fix things. Smiles. Laughs. A flutter of thick, mascara-laced eyelashes. All those tricks just seemed to upset him more.

  “What am I? I’m…” There’s no answer to that question. There are too many answers to that question.

  “You said you’re selfish and stupid. What else are you? What were you thinking about when you called me crying from the bathroom today? What were you thinking about just now when you made that statement?”

  I swallow the rise of old shadows, the darkness that comes screaming back. “I…”

  Gray settles over my vision again.

  He glances at the mirror, visibly stiffening when he sees I covered it after he left. I needed to breathe, though. He has to understand that sometimes you just need a full lung of air.

  “You’re what?”

  “No one.”

  “What else?”

  Tears spring to my eyes. Ugly. Inside. Where no one sees. A fraud.

  “An imposter.” The words come out broken and charred, but he doesn’t react. Just keeps staring, waiting for the rest. Braced like he’s about to be plowed over by a massive defenseman with the puck. Like maybe I could shatter his other knee.

  “What else?” His slightly softer tone only makes the tears fall harder.

  “Ugly.”

  Something flickers in his eyes, but he holds his ground. “What else?”

  “Talentless.” Oh god. I didn’t even know that one was there. I’m full-on crying now. I wipe at my eyes, but new tears rush in to replace the old ones. I don’t know how to make them stop anymore. Why can’t he just accept the truth and let it go? Let me go?

  “I’m no one, Oliver. Don’t you see that?” My voice is cracked, my words barely audible as they tumble out for the first time in my life. “They created me. I was sculpted and molded to be Genevieve Fox since the day I was born. A child star, a teen idol, a pop icon—but it’s all what they made me. I don’t even know who I am. I’m nothing because I’m just a mirage. I’m…” I stagger a bit, hardly able to lift my gaze to his at the weight of the truth pressing down on me for twenty-two years. “I’m no one because I’m just a shell. I’m completely empty inside.”

  And I crack.

  Oliver rushes forward to catch me as I dissolve, pulling me into his arms and rocking me gently to the rhythm of his steady breaths. The girl of steel, who’s held up an empire for most of her life, shatters in a lonely bedroom. Except I’m not alone. I should be, but instead of collapsing into oblivion, I’m being held against a pillar of muscle and fortitude that refuses to back away from a fight. He’s fearless as he holds on. Fearless as he confronts the darkness that was none of his business until he chose to defy it.

  I don’t know when we started moving, but soon we find ourselves near my vanity. I feel the chill of our separation when he reaches over to yank the sheet off the mirror. Still supporting me with one hand, he uses the other to pull out the chair before gently guiding me to sit.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, trembling as he kneels beside me. He’s so tall, we’re practically the same height when I’m in the chair and he’s on his knees. I flinch at the image of our joint reflection in the mirror. He’s so beautiful. I’m… I look
away.

  “Don’t,” he says quietly, nudging the chair closer to the mirror. “Look at yourself.”

  I shake my head, panic mounting when I feel the edge of the vanity against my stomach. I’m close now. So close. Too close to that ugly, empty lie staring back from the glass.

  “Look at yourself, Genevieve. Please.”

  Please. Oliver is asking. Can I deny him anything?

  “I… I don’t think I can.” I want to look. He has to know that. I want to do this for him.

  He pulls in a deep breath, and I feel the change in him as he leans forward until his own face is inches from the glass.

  “Then don’t look at all of it yet. Just your eyes. Come here.” He presses his hand into my back, gently urging me forward.

  I blink away tears, focusing on the warmth of his hand on my spine. The way it feels like it’s bracing me against the storm. Is he strong enough to support both of us? What if he’s not?

  “Just your eyes. Ignore the rest,” he says.

  Just my eyes. I can do that, right? For him, I can. I clench them shut as I turn my face back toward the mirror. I can do this. Pulling in a steadying breath, I force them open. Staring back are two green orbs, lined by thick dark lashes. They blink in unison, hiding themselves for a split second before reappearing with a strange glow.

  “Do you see those little specks of brown in there?” Oliver asks in a soft voice. Tender, like those specks are important to him.

  I nod, trying to see what he does.

  “In the sunlight, they flicker. They make your eyes look like they’re sparkling. I always thought it was beautiful but after reading your poetry, I learned it’s more than that. Do you know why your eyes shine?” His voice cracks on the last question, and I stare at myself, mesmerized.

  “Why?” I breathe out.

  His arm circles my waist, squeezing in a protective band. I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder even as my gaze stays focused on my own.

  “Because the girl in the mirror is a diamond, Genevieve. She’s so full, she glows from the inside, bright enough that even the gray world around her can’t dim the fire. She may not recognize herself yet, but only because she’s never looked. Once she does, there will be no stopping her.”