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

by Alyson Santos

  “I didn’t. I canceled an important meeting to be here.”

  He glances back at that, his face changing as he studies me again. Motioning toward a leather recliner, he waits while I sit, then moves a few kids’ toys to rest on the neighboring couch.

  “How can I help you, Ms. Fox.”

  “Please, call me Genevieve.”

  He nods.

  I clear my throat.

  Crap. I didn’t plan this out exactly. Just because I’ve finally found something worth the pain, doesn’t mean I’ve figured out how to fight for it.

  “I’m sure you’ve seen the reports about last night,” I begin awkwardly.

  His fist clenches on the armrest. “You mean, the bullshit about how the most focused, selfless, hardworking guy I know is a lying playboy who likes to fuck around with Hollywood starlets? Yeah, I saw.”

  I look away, swallowing my response to his harsh statement. He’s not wrong. I felt the same fire at the injustice. It’s why I’m here, isn’t it? “The coverage isn’t fair. We both know he’s not being represented accurately. Unfortunately—”

  “Unfortunately, you’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know and warn him about the second he started making googly eyes at you. This is exactly what I said would happen and why I told him not to get involved with you. What do you want, Genevieve? Why are you here? You want to make sure he’s not going to open his mouth and make things worse for you? Because if you even have to ask me that, you don’t know a damn thing about him.”

  I bristle at his words, my own jaw tightening in response. “No. I didn’t come here for that. I came here because I know I don’t deserve him, but I’m falling in love with him and I want to find a way to help make this better for him.”

  He stares at me for a moment, his hard features hardening further as he searches me. I stare right back, challenging him to find a false note in my statement. I spoke the truth, including a confession I didn’t even know was there until I heard it pouring out. Am I falling in love with him? Hard. I’m falling hard.

  After what seems like hours, he finally breathes out a heavy sigh accompanied by a dry chuckle. “I’ll be damned,” he mutters to himself. “That idiot prince literally snagged a princess.”

  My brow furrows in response, the instinctive protest rising on my tongue. And then—it stops. A smile slips out instead, especially when iron-warrior Raffie Sanderson levels an amused look at me. “He did,” I say sternly. “So what are we going to do about this?”

  Raffie runs something through his mind before settling back in his seat. “First, let me ask you something. Do you know why Ollie rents that crappy apartment downstairs from me?”

  “It’s not crap—”

  Raffie waves me off with a smirk. “Come on, Ms. Fox. I can only imagine what kind of castle a princess like you lives in. You’ve seen his place. My grandmother has more room at her care home.”

  I shrug. “He said he doesn’t need much.”

  “No, that’s true.” Raffie locks his hands behind his head as he leans back. “What he probably left out, if I know my boy, is that he’s basically broke because he sends most of his paycheck home to Quebec. He supports his entire family of six. Did he tell you that?”

  My heart rocks in my chest. “No,” I say quietly. But I’m not surprised.

  “He tell you his father died when he was thirteen? His older brother two years later? That he’s felt pressure to provide for them since he was just a kid in juniors? That boy has worked his ass off every day of his life, not just for himself, but for everyone around him. His family, his coaches, his teammates. He’s never known a world where he wasn’t looking out for everyone else. Why do you think we’re all so worried about this damn knee injury? For the first time in his life, his survival depends on doing the one thing he can’t seem to get his thick skull around: fucking taking care of himself. He’s got one job to do right now, look out for Oliver Levesque, and what’s the first thing he does? Tackle your shit. My shit. Fucking front office brass who are parading him around for public charity and press parties. He tell you any of that, Genevieve? Do you truly understand the level of pressure on that kid right now?”

  I shake my head, emotion burning behind my eyes.

  “No, I’m sure he didn’t,” Raffie says, relaxing back into the cushion. “If I had to guess, he probably listened to you whine about your rich girl problems. Nursed your wounds. Made you feel like the world revolved around you.” He holds up his hands when I stiffen. “Hey, that’s not a knock on you. He does that for everyone. Me included. Kels, my boys. Everyone. That’s the way he is. Everyone else comes first. That’s also why those who truly care about him need to step in and play hardball on his behalf.”

  “That’s why you don’t like me,” I say quietly. He lifts a brow, and I shrug. “I could tell Kelsie wasn’t a fan the first time I visited. Last night at the club wasn’t exactly a love fest either between us.”

  “Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sorry. He sighs. “Look, it’s not personal. I’m sure you’re a nice girl, but that doesn’t mean you’re good for him or his recovery.”

  I nod slowly, wincing inwardly at his words. He’s got a point. Haven’t I been worried about exactly that? How many times has he come back limping after a fight with me? I’m a setback for him. An obstacle at a time when he needs to be clearing them as much as possible. The question burns in my throat, slithers onto my tongue like venom. Am I willing to give him up? Is he worth the pain of living without him? I think I’ve known the answer since the moment we met.

  My heart shatters at what I’m about to do, but what choice do I have? There is no choice when it comes to Oliver. He’s given up enough for me. He’s too beautiful to be forced into a violent faceoff with the ugly. “You want me to break up with him,” I say quietly.

  Raffie’s eyes widen as he snorts a laugh. “Break up with him? Are you kidding? Have you heard nothing I just said?” He shakes his head, still smirking. “The damage is already done, sweetie. You break his heart now, you’ll have more than some stupid tabloids to worry about. You’ll be going head-to-head with the whole damn Trojans hockey club.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “Worth the pain”

  Says the boy unafraid

  Who lives for a game he can’t play

  “I won’t fight”

  Says the girl so ashamed

  Who lives for fame she can’t claim.

  OLIVER

  I pull into Sandy’s driveway, exhausted and ready to collapse on the couch. I can run drills from sun-up to sun-down, push for hours in the gym, battle through tedious, and sometimes painful rehab, and it’s got nothing on the marathon meetings today. Coaches, front office bigwigs, the team psychologist, everyone wanted a piece of me from the second I arrived. They’re all so damn sure I’m a different person today than I’ve been for the years they’ve known me, just because some stupid websites tried to make a buck on gossip. Even Genevieve joined the parade, leaving multiple messages to call her. I don’t blame her. She probably wants to know who the hell Regina whatever is also. I can’t bring myself to face her critique on top of everything else, so I haven’t returned her inquiries. Later, maybe. Once I get a moment to breathe and sort through the mess that is my brain. I wondered what ugly meant, what millions of judgmental eyes would look like. Now, I know.

  After parking my car, I trudge up to the house and push inside. I’ve never wished for a separate entrance to my apartment as much as at this moment. I can’t take more from Sandy and Kelsie right now. Especially, because after an entire day of hearing how much I fucked up, I still don’t think I did. What did I do wrong other than fall for a woman whose life is complicated? Plenty, according to everyone else.

  Camille. If I ever needed to hear my sister’s voice and see her supportive smile, it’s now. She’s left several messages as well. She’ll be the first voice I seek out as soon as I gather the strength to keep going. One day at a time, right? This day is ma
xed out.

  Sandy’s house smell’s amazing when I step inside. My stomach rumbles with hunger, and I realize how little I’ve eaten today amidst the external chaos and internal anxiety. Suddenly, another lecture from my teammate doesn’t seem so bad. The aromas of baking bread and simmering sauces waft through the foyer in an inviting cloud. I don’t like to intrude on their lives, but maybe, just this once, I can ask to join them for dinner. I need something. A moment of connection. Anything to feel wanted after today. The thought of slinking down to my dark basement for a night alone with a packaged meal makes my heart twist in my chest.

  “Oliver, that you?” Sandy calls from the kitchen.

  “Yeah. Just got in.” I hesitate at my door. Should I ask? Maybe once he sees my face, he’ll know what happened and let me lose myself in the warmth of his family for a little bit. Just long enough to recharge before facing the lonely climb again.

  “Good. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  I blink toward the light at the end of the hall, my hand still resting on the handle to my door. Was that an invitation? Had to be. Emotion burns in my throat. The torrent I’ve been fighting all day rushes in at once to assault my barriers. I can take a lot. Almost anything, I always thought. Today confirmed the mental game will always be harder than the physical one.

  “Coming,” I return, clearing my throat of the rare tears invading my voice. I clench my fist with alarm, forcing them back down. After everything I’ve been through these past months, I’m not going to cry now. With a tentative step forward, I move toward the light.

  “Hey, babe. Welcome home,” Genevieve tosses back casually from the stove when I reach the kitchen. I stare at her in disbelief, my gaze sliding from her confusing stir of a pot to Sandy and Kelsie working on a salad at the island. The kids are parked in front of the TV watching one of their shows in the neighboring living room. Everyone holds a straight face, as if this is just another day. Just another meal at the Sanderson household with Genevieve Fox.

  “What are… I mean…” I shake my head.

  “You’re probably starving,” Genevieve says, scooping a spoon in the pot and blowing on what looks like marinara sauce. “Here, taste this. Do you think it needs anything else?”

  I still can’t move as she lifts the spoon to my lips. That’s when I see my hosts exchanging a look and suppressing smiles. “What’s going on here?” I ask. Genevieve shoves the spoon in my mouth before I can add another protest, and my gaze shoots to hers in shock. “Oh my god. Did you make this?”

  She beams back. “I mean, I had a little help. What do think?”

  “It’s delicious. Wait… salad and pasta? Are you re-making your meal from the other night?”

  “An edible version, anyway,” Sandy interjects. “She told us about the egg-shit. Not on my watch.”

  Genevieve giggles as she drops the spoon in the island sink. Wrapping her arms around me, she leans into my chest and pulls tight. “We figured you had a hard day and could use a nice homecooked meal.”

  I blink back the sudden rush of tears. “Thank you,” I rasp out.

  She glances up, her eyes softening as she studies me. “I think I’m in love with you, Oliver. I’m ready for the ugly if you are.”

  A thousand kilograms lift from my shoulders in one breath. One squeeze of delicate arms and sigh from beautiful pink lips is all it takes for the walls to break. Tears spring to my eyes as I bury my face in her hair and hold on. “I think I’m in love with you too,” I whisper. “Let’s make the ugly worth the pain.”

  “So then, this one looks Vanecek right in the face and says, ‘if you’re gonna keep poking your stick in my crease, at least buy me dinner first.’” Sandy cracks up like he does every time he tells that stupid story.

  “Did you really say that to him? During play?” Genevieve asks me, half-laughing, half-horrified.

  I shrug. “Technically, play was stopped. He was getting on my nerves. I mean, the dude was ridiculous, and when he slashed my pad for no reason, I may have lost it a little. Refs didn’t see it of course.”

  “Viv! Watch me!” Sandy’s son Jaden calls out. A long noodle slurps awkwardly into his mouth, casting saucy debris all over the table and his face. He laughs as Kelsie grunts and grabs a napkin.

  Viv. I love it.

  “Wow!” she says with a laugh. Her phone beeps, and she glances down at the display. Making a face, she pushes back from the table. “Dinner was amazing. Thanks for helping me and letting me do this,” she says to Sandy and Kelsie. “Do you mind if I take this call in your apartment?” she directs to me.

  “Take what?” I ask.

  “Damage control,” she sighs out. “Scheduled in five minutes.”

  “Can I join you? This involves me, right?” I add when she looks surprised.

  “Yeah, but… you’re sure?”

  “Am I your boyfriend now?” I ignore the sneer from Sandy and future ribbing I’ll get for asking that like a needy teenager at a school dance.

  Genevieve smiles like she’s the needy teenager receiving the question. “This will be way more complicated if you’re not.”

  I laugh and push back from the table as well. “Then I’m sure. Let’s figure this out. Thanks for dinner, guys, really.” Sandy shrugs as Kelsie shoots over a smile amidst her own attempts at damage control with two young children and spaghetti.

  “We love you, Ollie. We just want you to know you’re not alone in this,” she says.

  “What she said,” Sandy grunts, and I give him a smile.

  “We’ll be back later to help with the dishes,” I say on our way out of the kitchen.

  I follow Genevieve down the hall and stairs to my room. I’ve dealt with publicists and the press plenty of times in my career as an athlete, but rarely for something as ominous-sounding as damage control. Strangely, Genevieve doesn’t seem as anxious as I would have expected. If anything, she’s relaxed and in control when she reaches back to grab my hand like I’m the one who might need to be comforted. Maybe she’s right about that. This will probably be good practice for whatever the Trojans’ Communications department has planned for me.

  Seated on the couch, we join the video call, where two other women already wait. Even on the small screen I can tell they’re surprised to see me.

  “Your parents won’t be joining us?” one of the women asks. She’s probably in her mid-thirties and looks as sharp and dangerous as they come. Even as a hockey player, I wouldn’t mess with her. I’m just glad she’s on our side.

  “Not today, Sam. This doesn’t concern them. Oliver is here, though. It does concern him.”

  The woman nods. “Hello, Oliver. I’m Samantha Turner, Genevieve’s manager. You can call me Sam.”

  “Hi, Sam. I’m Oliver, the cause of all Genevieve’s problems, apparently.”

  Genevieve huffs and shoves me. “What he means is, I’m his problem.”

  Sam grins, clearly liking what she’s seeing. “You both look like trouble. Should be fun.”

  “Okay, so can I assume then that you two are in a relationship and this is about confirming your status rather than denying it?” the other woman interjects. She’s younger, with long dark hair and piercing eyes. Her naturally friendly features seem to disguise a bite I’m guessing wouldn’t be fun to experience. “I’m Selena, Gen’s publicist, by the way.”

  “Hi, Selena,” I say, lifting my hand in a small wave. I’ve already decided I’m going to be useless in this conversation. These women clearly have control of the operation and my best move is to keep my mouth shut and listen. It reminds me of the time I thought for five seconds I could help my sisters plan Lea’s thirteenth birthday party. Short answer: Shut up, Oliver!

  “Yes, we’re in a relationship, and it’s serious,” Genevieve says. “We’re confirming.”

  The others nod, and I see their brains already working. “Great,” Selena says. “And Regina Jeffries?” She directs that question to me.

  “I have no idea,” I say with a shrug. “
She came up to me at the club and tried to flirt until I politely sent her away. She was at the table maybe five minutes?”

  The women don’t even flinch, just nod again and make more notes. “Okay, thanks,” Selena says. “This shouldn’t be hard to clear up. Figured it’d be quick if we’re confirming. I’d like to see you together publicly in the immediate future. Gen, your next performance is tomorrow night, correct?”

  Genevieve nods, looking uncertain for the first time tonight. “Yeah. I’m doing that show in Las Vegas.” She casts a concerned glance at me.

  “Oliver, are you able to attend?” Selena continues. “It doesn’t have to be the whole night. Just enough to snap a few photos backstage. Does that work?”

  “Um…” I review my schedule in my mind. I begin training again tomorrow, but if I get an early start I can probably be done in time to get to Las Vegas, even if I’m late. “I guess so?”

  “You don’t have to. You have your rehab,” Genevieve says, tugging my hand until I face her. “It’s your first day back and that’s a four-hour trip.”

  “Do you want me there?” I ask, searching her eyes.

  She bites her lip, something flashing across her face. Longing. Hope.

  “I’ll be there,” I say to the others before she can respond.

  “Perfect,” Selena says. “We’ll work out the logistics. Okay, on to the bigger problem. Gen, the rehearsal today? What was that about?”

  “I was sick,” she lies. Selena and Sam both give her a look that distance and a phone screen can’t block.

  “White Flame isn’t happy,” Sam says. “First rehearsal, Gen. This was a big one. We’re going to lose time over Christmas as it is.”

  Genevieve flinches and looks away for a moment. After a long pause, she glances back up. “I know, I’m sorry. I really wasn’t feeling well. I’ll be at the next one on Monday.”

  Selena looks relieved, but Sam’s brow still slants with concern.

  “If you have to cancel again, please call us first so we can strategize and smooth things over with White Flame,” Selena says. “Sam’s right. They’re pissed.”