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

by Alyson Santos

  I grunt as Camille tells the twins to go change into their suits and shoves my shoulder as she passes. “You’re going in too, grumpy,” she says to me.

  I glare at her, ready to argue when I see the look of pure joy on Genevieve’s face. “Do you think they’d want to use the slide?” she asks, eyes wide and hopeful. “We put it in, but no one ever uses it. We have pool toys too that are so cute and still in the packaging. There’s this dolphin and a turtle and… I mean, if it’s okay with you…” She bites her lip, and my chest aches as I pull her against me and kiss her hair.

  “They’d absolutely love that. I’ll go change. Is my stuff still in the pool house?”

  After everyone’s ready, Camille and the twins jump into the water, while I help Genevieve with the toys. She looks ten years younger as she struggles to inflate the obnoxious dolphin with a giant grin on her face. Man, I’ve never seen her so happy. Why couldn’t anyone give this to her before now? All she’s ever wanted was to be accepted, to be able to give love. She’s a generous heart with everything to give and no one to give it to.

  “Do I just blow like this?” she asks, holding up the folded plastic.

  “Yeah, into that little opening there. Here, straighten and stretch it first so the air has somewhere to go.” I show her briefly and let her finish the rest. Her gaze keeps crossing to the pool where the twins are screaming with laughter while jumping in from the sides and sliding down the elaborate rock waterslide.

  “If they’re too annoying, let me know. I’ll tone them down,” I say.

  She shakes her head, almost horrified. “No, no. Please don’t. I love it.” She finishes her dolphin a little after I finish the turtle, and we toss them into the water for the kids. Then, I take her hand and lead her to the hot tub where she’ll have the perfect view. We adjust to our favorite position, me against the wall with her nestled between my legs, her back to my chest. How many hours have we spent in peaceful serenity like this, but suddenly it feels different. She’s electric, charged from a new energy I’ve never seen before and magnified by our brutal time apart. What seemed like a great idea a minute ago, quickly becomes dangerous as my body reacts to the magnificence of everything she is.

  I shift on the bench, trying to put some space between us before she notices my arousal. So inappropriate. So inevitable and uncontrollable. I’m totally screwed when she catches on and chooses to torture me instead of helping a guy out. A low grunt rushes out as she slides back, pressing into me until I feel the sensual ache of every curve of her perfect backside. She must like it too when she wriggles against me, releasing a sigh that I don’t think was voluntary.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” she whispers, her eyes still on the others who have completely forgotten about us at this point. “Four days is way too long not to see you. To touch you.”

  She reaches behind her, and I hiss in a breath when she tugs the waistband of my suit. Her fingers slide over my skin just beneath it before sinking lower. And lower. And…

  “Gen,” I groan. “What are you doing?”

  “I know. Just for a second.” Her voice is strained, as charged as everything else about her as she touches me. She grips harder, tugging just enough to make me crazy. My head leans back in frustration, my fist clenching as hers forms around me. Her thumb rubs light circles in the very best—and worst—way.

  “You’re literally killing me right now,” I growl at her ear. But once I’m there I don’t have a choice. I have to taste her skin. She moans as I sample her neck, sucking gently along the column until I reach her shoulder. Her touch intensifies, teasing me into a further rush of heat. Can we escape to the pool house? Just for a minute. Damn, it wouldn’t take long. Just enough to soothe the burn, to retaliate for her sneak attack.

  “Ew! Oliver’s kissing a girl!” Eric shrieks, and Genevieve and I freeze. We look up to see all four of my siblings staring at us from the pool, and all I can do is thank the stars that the hot tub jets hid everything else.

  “Mind your own business!” I shout back at him. “You want to help mom at the store instead?”

  Eric’s look of horror almost makes the whole incident worth it while he climbs the stairs for another run at the slide. Camille is snickering as she encourages Emma and Lea to go back to playing as well. It’s actually kind of hilarious until my stomach drops at the thought of Genevieve. Will she be embarrassed? Hurt?

  She lets me go with a snort laugh, then turns to face me. Gripping my hair, she pulls me toward her with a sly look. “To be continued,” she whispers before planting a solid kiss.

  “So there really is a premiere of your music video?” I ask as Genevieve drags me toward the back stairs later that night.

  “Yes! But it’s not a big deal. Joel isn’t even premiering it like you normally would. It’s actually already uploaded and live, but I want to see it. Hurry.”

  I tug her to a stop at the base of the stairs. “Why do we have to watch in your room? Why not the main floor where everyone else can see it.”

  She gives me a look like that should be obvious, but I continue to stare at her, confused.

  “Um, because your family is here… they…” She stops, her gaze lowering in a way that triggers old frustration in me.

  “Because they what?” I ask, my tone hardening.

  Her eyes flicker up, and I soften slightly. Are we back to this? When is she going to understand how incredible she is?

  “Nothing. I’ll watch it later. It’s fine,” she mumbles, tugging her hand away to head back toward the kitchen.

  Oh hell no. “Gen, stop. Gen!”

  But she doesn’t, and okay, now I’m just pissed. I don’t even know at who. Not her, I don’t think. The world again. Her parents. Her label. Her old life. All the forces that have taught her she can’t watch a damn video of herself in her own home without hiding. No more.

  “This isn’t a video of Genevieve Fox. It’s Viv Hastings,” I say.

  She stills in the corridor, her back to me, her fists clenched.

  “Viv Hastings isn’t afraid to fight. She’s not afraid to show the world who she is. Show them, Viv. Show them.”

  “But then they’ll know it’s me,” she returns, still not looking at me. She’s hiding again, and I hate it.

  “Will they? There’s nothing identifiable in the video, right?”

  “No, but…”

  “And so what if they do? I hope they see how amazing you are.”

  I shake my head, bristling when she casts a nervous look at my mother who’s bustling around the kitchen in the distance. Shit, that’s why. My heart aches as I pull her in for a quick kiss before marching her down the hall.

  “What are you doing?” she asks in alarm.

  “Showing you something.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  I burst into the main area of the house where my family is scattered around in various activities. Maman and Camille are in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Lea is strumming one of Gen’s guitars on a stool at the island. The younger ones are in the attached family room watching TV. This is about right. A massive mansion of endless nooks and crannies, but my family ends up piled together in the same vicinity. It’s time for Genevieve to see a different kind of love.

  “Everyone! Can I have your attention, please?” I shout in French. Maman and Camille look over from the island counter. Lea straightens on the stool. The others twist back to stare at their weird brother who’s making a scene in the middle of the room. “We have something very important to watch right now. Sorry, kids, we need the television for a few minutes.”

  “But Oliver, my bread,” Maman whines, and I give her a look that makes her sigh.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to miss this. It will just take a second.”

  Genevieve looks very confused when everyone stops what they’re doing and gathers onto, and around, the couches in the family room. “What’s happening? What did you say?” she hisses at me.

 
“Don’t worry about it.” I trap her in front of me behind the couch so she can’t bolt. I tell Eric to pass me the remote and switch the input. When I find Viv’s video on my phone, my blood rushes with anticipation at the evidence of what my genius girlfriend has put together. Maybe part of me is even being selfish right now. This is for her—to show her what unconditional love looks like—but this is also for me. My girlfriend is brilliant, and I want the people I love most to know it.

  I mirror my display from the phone to the TV and feel her gasp when the paused image pops up on the enormous screen.

  “Oh! A music video,” Lea cries, clapping her hands.

  “C'est qui Viv Hastings? Une amie?” Camille asks.

  “English, when possible,” I remind Camille who shoots back a sheepish smile.

  “Sorry,” she says to Genevieve. “I asked who is Viv Hastings. Someone you know?”

  “Kind of,” Gen says. Her strange tone gets my attention. Was there some excitement creeping through the anger in her voice? Her body is stiff against me, so I know she’s scared, but she’s not running or fighting me anymore either.

  I press play.

  For the next three and a half minutes, my family remains mesmerized in front of the screen. Genevieve relaxes as well, even leaning forward against the back of the couch as if straining for a better view. Me? I’m speechless. The video is incredible, as dark and raw as the song. The entire thing is a sequence of mirror fragments reflecting back glimpses of a girl. You can never see enough of her at once to tell who she is. An eye here. Lips there. A hand, a waist, a foot. The girl in the mirror is exposing herself in pieces, and yet creating a picture so poignant it has my stomach tight with emotion. I want her to find herself, to break free and claim everything she deserves. It’s beautiful and sad. Frustrating and hopeful. My fists clench in silent cheers for her to just break out.

  And then I lose my breath. As the song fades out, a shadowed girl steps forth from the first intact mirror. Strong and confident, she stands tall in the darkness, her features obscured by intricate lighting so all you see is a halo of red hair reflecting around her shadowed silhouette. It’s Genevieve. And it’s not. It’s so simple, and yet so incredibly moving I’m fighting back a rush of emotion. It’s just so perfect for Genevieve’s metamorphosis into Viv Hastings. No one will know it’s her, until they do, and then there will be no doubt.

  Applause erupts around the room when the video ends, enough excitement to assure anyone of the masterpiece we just witnessed. But while my siblings engage in animated chatter and demands to see it again, Genevieve’s nervous attention remains fixed on one person: my mother. It kills me that my girl can’t enjoy the magic of what just happened, the glowing response of everyone else. No, she’s still listening to that one flicker of doubt that’s been ingrained in her since birth.

  After a long pause, my mother turns to face us, her eyes resting on Genevieve.

  “This is you?” she asks in heavily-accented English.

  Genevieve tenses and swallows. Her grip constricts on the back of the couch. “Yes. It’s me,” she says quietly. She’s braced for critique, ready to fight. I know what she’s thinking, can see it in every subtle movement and expression.

  And then…

  My mother’s smile grows into a proud grin. She pushes up from the couch and crosses around to pull my stunned girlfriend into her arms. Genevieve stiffens briefly before leaning into the embrace. Maman holds on firmly, tucking her into a wave of love that’s gotten me through years of adversity and tragedy. Tears well in Genevieve’s eyes as she lifts them to me over my mother’s shoulder, and I have to choke back some of my own. This is it, I respond silently. This is your surprise.

  “You are so wonderful, Genevieve. I hope you know this,” Maman says quietly. “We are so proud.”

  I wake up on Christmas Eve alone in Genevieve’s bed. Strange, she usually waits for me. This is her favorite time of the day, cuddled up and lingering in the morning, and due to the holiday, we both have two blissful days off to enjoy it. After a quick shower, I make my way downstairs, lured by the intoxicating scent of something sweet and the sound of conversation in the kitchen. I stutter to a halt, surprised to find Maman, Camille, and Genevieve working at the island in the kitchen.

  “Roll it like this,” Camille translates from my mother to Genevieve who’s studying their movements intently. She looks up to find me hovering in the hall.

  “Oliver!” she says brightly. “We’re making crêpes!”

  I grin and move into the kitchen. “I see that. They smell amazing.” Her gaze slides to the batch already piled high on the counter, and I catch the longing in her expression. “Hope you’re planning to eat about a hundred,” I say. “Maman makes enough for the entire Trojans team.”

  My mother snaps a glare at me, even though she probably only understood half of that. I toss back a wink, and she rolls her eyes.

  “You do a terrible job feeding this girl,” she says to me in French. “She’s never had crêpes. Can you imagine?”

  I can, and force away my irritation at the thought. “Then I’m glad her first experience will be yours.” I plant a kiss on Maman’s cheek. “Where are the others?”

  “Where do you think?” Camille mutters, nodding her head in the direction of the pool area.

  “Seriously?” I ask with a laugh. “It’s sixty degrees outside.”

  “And we were worried they’d be upset at a Christmas without snow,” she scoffs. “Los Angeles is so awesome,” she adds in English for Genevieve. Gen looks up and smiles.

  “I’ve lived here my whole life.”

  “I wish I could,” Camille says with a sigh.

  “Why can’t you?” I ask, plucking a sliced banana from the pile on the counter.

  She gives me a look and rolls her eyes. “Very funny.”

  I shrug. “I’m not being funny. You have a year of university left after this one, right? Transfer to a school down here.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t just do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because! I mean… Where would I even stay?”

  “We can find—”

  “Here,” Genevieve interjects. She blushes when we turn to her. “I mean, I have so much room. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want, even if it’s just for the summer to visit.” She blinks and looks away. “It’d be nice to have someone around.”

  Camille stares at her in shock. “Seriously? You’re kidding me right now.”

  A shy smile spreads over Genevieve’s face as she shakes her head. “Not at all. I’d love that, actually.”

  “Oh my god. Oliver!” Camille shrieks, jumping up and down. She grabs my arms and shakes me. “Did you hear what she just said?” I laugh as our mother looks over, her brows scrunched in confusion and concern. Can’t blame her. Camille doesn’t get excited often. I translate what just happened, and to my surprise, Maman doesn’t immediately shoot down the idea.

  “We can discuss it,” she says to Camille who moves in for a spontaneous hug. Not for Maman. Not for me. Genevieve startles a bit at the surprise tackle, and I’m guessing she’s experienced more hugs in the last twenty-four hours than the last twenty-four months. Welcome to the Levesque family. Here’s to hoping she survives tonight’s Christmas dinner and festivities. Last year the snacks, gifts, and general revelry lasted until four in the morning.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Hero”

  By Genevieve Fox

  Another night of tears, years of fear leave me cold

  Another day of searching, always learning I’m alone

  Through the shadows of the sun

  I stayed hidden as the one

  Who couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see

  Trapped in broken destiny

  I never saw you coming

  I’d been too busy running

  Take me in your arms and show the fear a

  Hero

  I don’t need prince charming,

 
; Just the calming strength of your smile

  Cuz we don’t have to fly

  To survive the tides of life

  It only takes a hand to hold

  To know

  A true hero

  GENEVIEVE

  I’m sad to see Oliver’s family go. The truth is, I loved having my cavernous house feel full. I loved the laughter, the teasing, and even the hugs that I started to get used to by the end. Christmas for me was always a chore. One more performance I had to endure, while pretending it meant anything. But it was different with Oliver’s family. The gifts, the food, the conversation, it was so relaxed and organic. We stayed up late into the night on Christmas Eve, laughing and exchanging simple presents that meant the world. I teared up when they presented me with a box of tokens from Quebec. I went through it with reverence, pulling out each item and wishing I could capture the excitement in the room as they shared the significance with me. “You’re one of us now,” Oliver had whispered. I’d never been so honored in my life, felt so included. I also totally embarrassed myself when the twins gave Oliver their gift: a framed drawing of him pictured as a superhero. It took my breath away, the simplicity and significance of that heartfelt image. He’s a hero to so many and it has nothing to do with sports.

  As life resumes after the holidays, so do the rehearsals, interviews, and stress of disparate schedules. Oliver and I are stuck with scraps of what’s left, sneaking short visits, quick dinners, and heated but rushed rendezvouses whenever we can. And after Genevieve Fox’s album launches in mid-January, the little time we had disintegrates into nothing. I miss him so much and cling to the knowledge that once we get through this final tour, I’ll have endless hours with him to make up for lost time. Okay, not endless, but it will feel that way after the pitiful seconds we have now.

  Holy shit, Gen! Number one?? Congratulaations! It’s a text from Oliver. I ignore the typo and grin at my phone as I take a swig from my water bottle backstage. The crew is still setting up, and normally I’d be hiding out for this part, but today is different. Our tour officially opens tonight in L.A., and despite Oliver’s own milestone day, he’s promised to finally see me perform. I’m so excited I could burst.