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

by Alyson Santos

  Thanks. Wish you were here to celebrate with me. I’d take you over a number one album any day.

  It’s true too. None of it matters to me anymore. I’d trade it all for something real with Oliver and Viv. Still, it’s nice to go out with a bang. White Flame is over the moon happy with the performance of Last Resort. Two days to platinum, and debuting at number one. All three singles are now in the top ten as well, with “Fool for You” hitting number one on two separate charts. The video has been streamed over seven million times in two weeks. The tour is sold out. They’ve added six dates and are already talking about adding more. That news would have broken me a few months ago. This time I smiled when Sam asked if I thought I had a few more stops in me.

  “The Girl in the Mirror” has exploded as well. The world may not know Viv Hastings, but they know Mason West, Xander Silva, and Joel Harrison, and it doesn’t take long for those connections to send it viral. I’m enjoying the speculation, the mystery. Reading the reviews and chatter is so different now that I know it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the art I created. Sure, the negative stuff still hurts, but the positive gleams so much brighter. Besides, for the first time in my life I don’t even care what they’re saying. I know it’s amazing and that’s enough.

  Oliver: Lucky for you, you get us both. Okay, about to go in for my first test. Wish me luck.

  My stomach twists with nerves for him. He’s been waiting weeks for this moment, doing everything he could for the chance to get back on the ice. In a few hours he’ll know if it was worth it. He hardly slept last night in anticipation of his evaluation today. I was awake for other reasons.

  I’m about to put my phone away when it buzzes with another text. I glance down and grunt at the message from my mother, another plea to meet for coffee before I leave L.A. I already told her I’ll reach out when I’m ready to attempt a reconciliation, but for now, I don’t need that distraction in my life. I glare at my screen when my phone buzzes yet again—but instead of my mom’s name, it’s Joel.

  Not gonna believe this but Samantha Turner is looking for you. Just got a message.

  Confused, I open the chat and write him back. Sam? She has my number. Why is she contacting you?

  Joel: Not YOU you. Viv. She wants to talk to Viv Hastings.

  Me: What??

  Joel: Right?? What do you want me to tell her?

  Crap, I have no idea. What could she possibly want with Viv? My heart races as I respond. Give her the email address we set up for the social media accounts. Did she say what she wants?

  Joel: Nope. Just wanted to know if I knew how to reach Viv Hastings.

  I’m completely distracted the rest of the day. Worried about Oliver and if he’ll get cleared to skate. Anxious and excited for the first show of our tour—with Oliver in attendance no less. And now this. Sam doesn’t work with new artists, especially not directly. I could understand interest from one of her junior managers, but a direct inquiry? Viv is no one and has expressed no interest in representation. Sam has to swat away potential clients like flies. She’d never seek them out. She doesn’t have to.

  It’s after lunch when a message finally shows up in Viv’s inbox from Turner Artist Management. There’s an attachment as well, and I rush to my dressing room to open it.

  Hello Viv,

  My name is Samantha Turner and I represent the Turner Artist Management Agency. We are a premier management company for top level talent, including bands like Dream Filter, The Hallowed, and Burn Card. You came to our attention through your collaboration with Mason West, who is a client of mine (as mentioned). I currently have another client in search of a lead singer, and we all agree your sound and vocal style would be a great fit for what they’re trying to build. While I certainly appreciate the merits of a solo career, if you have any interest in fronting a new alternative rock band, please sign the attached NDA, and I will provide more specifics on the opportunity.

  Thank you for your consideration. We love your single and wish you lots of success.

  Sincerely,

  Samantha Turner

  Turner Artist Management

  I’m shaking when I finish reading, staring at the message. I re-read it. Then again. And again. It can’t be true. Is this a joke? But that’s definitely Sam’s e-mail address. My main inbox is full of messages from her. It’s just… Viv Hastings is good enough to grab her attention as well? Tears spring to my eyes as I pick up my phone to call Oliver, then stop when I remember he’d be in important meetings of his own right now. I text him instead.

  Oh my gosh!!! You’re never going to believe what just happened! Ahhh!!!!

  I turn back to the message and almost laugh at her polite request. Do I want more information? Do I want to know about the band that thinks I’m good enough to jump through hoops to find? Of all the artists out there, they want me. A nobody that didn’t exist until a couple of weeks ago. Am I interested? Two words.

  Hell.

  Yes.

  After adding my digital signature to the Non-Disclosure Agreement, I attach it to my reply and write her back immediately.

  Dear Samantha,

  Thank you for your message. It means more than I can express to have you and your client believe in me enough to ask. I’d love to know more about the opportunity. My only question is, does this NDA go both ways? If so, here’s my number.

  Best,

  Viv

  I enter my real phone number under my name, laughing as I send it off to my own manager.

  The day drags from there. Hair and makeup seem to take twice as long as normal. I’m too nervous to eat, and argue with Hadley who insists I need to force something down. I keep checking Viv’s e-mail for a reply from Sam and my phone for an update from Oliver. Nothing. How could a day that was exploding with promise a few hours ago now feel drawn out and tedious? I go onstage in an hour and still no word from Oliver.

  After grabbing a snack from catering to make Hadley happy, I weave my way back to my dressing room, hoping to meditate and clear my head before call-time. No new messages when I check Viv’s e-mail on my way through the door. I nearly drop my plate when I look up.

  “You’re here!” I cry, setting it on a table by the door and rushing toward my beautiful, amazing boyfriend.

  Oliver grins and catches me in his arms. “I promised I would be, didn’t I?” he teases, and I pull him tighter.

  “I can’t even tell you how happy I am right now. I’ve fantasized about this moment for so long,” I murmur, breathing him in. Ah, he smells like him, freshly showered and… wait. I glance up, pulling back to study his face. “You’re smiling. Does that mean…?”

  His gaze shifts slightly, and my stomach drops. “No. I’m smiling because I’m with you. I wasn’t cleared to skate, though. They said I’ve come a long way, but not enough. I have to give it another month.”

  “Oh, Oliver, no! I’m so sorry.” He must be devastated. I reach up, scared for him as I touch his cheek.

  His smile falters for a second before his eyes clear and he focuses back on me. “Yeah, it sucks.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?” He shrugs. “I go back to work tomorrow and start again.”

  I stare at him in awe. He means it too. Maybe he’s disappointed, but there’s no hint of bitterness or resentment on his face. No, the man who taught me how to fall has also taught me how to climb.

  “You’re incredible, you know that?” I ask, slipping my arms around his neck. I can fix my lip gloss later. For now, I need to ruin it on him.

  “Yeah? How incredible?” he says, giving me a sly look when I pull back to see him.

  “So much so that I have a surprise for you.”

  His brows lift as he smiles down at me. “Is that so? Is this the exciting news you texted me about?”

  “Oh! No. That’s something else. You’ll have to wait and see for this surprise. But for now, you’ll never guess who contacted Viv about a potential opportu
nity.”

  For the next half hour, I tell him all about the exchange with Joel, then Sam. As expected, Oliver is just as happy for me as I was, if not more so. He’s also plenty smug over it all, and I have to suffer through several cocky smirks and I-told-you-sos. Oh well, he kind of did, and maybe my stubborn brain is starting to get it too.

  But as always, my time with him is too short. Not enough words, or kisses, or touches, but then, I’m not sure I’d ever be satisfied. At least today when I get the warning call to go to the stage, he goes with me. I love holding his hand as we follow security through the dimly lit maze, and I keep glancing back as if I’ll suddenly wake up from a dream to find myself alone again. No Oliver. No Viv. No hard choices that once seemed impossible, but have now become unchecked promise.

  “You can stay here the whole time. It’s a decent view for most of the performance,” I tell him as we hover offstage. He nods while the intro music blares, already mesmerized by everything around him. I can only imagine what this must feel like for him and love experiencing my world through his eyes. He makes it special and new for me, and for the first time in a long time, I’m excited to take the stage. With a huge grin, I pull his head down for one last kiss, lingering to breathe him in. “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you too,” he says, warm brown eyes alive and glowing. “You’re a badass, Genevieve Viv Fox Hastings.”

  I laugh and force myself to let go. We have forever.

  For now, I begin the end.

  Throughout the show, I cast plenty of looks toward the left wing of the stage. He’s always there, right where he promised to be, and even though I can’t see his face clearly, I feel his support. His strength, his drive, his perseverance and belief radiate into the atmosphere around me, giving me an extra spark for what was already an explosive show. With everything riding on this Farewell Tour, we pulled out all the stops, and by the time we reach the mid-point of the set, the audience is as energized as I am.

  “How you all doing tonight?” I call out, scanning the sea of faces in front of me. A loud cheer bursts out, just as the music starts to play under me. “So, I know you’re here to listen to some of your favorite songs, but I hope you don’t mind indulging me for a minute.” I grin as the audience quiets and I cast another long glance at the side of the stage. “You don’t mind if I sing a new song for you, do you?”

  The building erupts, and I laugh into the mic on a boom stand. A tech hands me an acoustic guitar that I loop over my shoulder.

  “I’ve spent my entire life unsure about who I was. I was so afraid to fail that I was often afraid to live. Anyone else ever feel that way?”

  More cheers ring out, and I pull in a deep breath. “But then I met this incredible guy.” I laugh again through a chorus of whistles and catcalls. “You may have heard about him. He’s a very special hockey player who’s been battling through a difficult injury. You know what he taught me? Heroes don’t wear capes. They don’t fight futuristic villains or have crazy origin stories. No, heroes are the people who touch lives. The people who stand in the face of the ugly and find beauty. Oliver taught me to believe in myself when I didn’t. To see beauty when I couldn’t. To fight when I’d given up. To face the tough challenges of life head-on, because sometimes you have to break something to fix it. Sometimes you have to fall to climb.” I pull in a ragged breath, swallowing the emotion rising in my throat. I glance back and see his hand swat at his face, his eyes shining back and wrapping me in unconditional love. I laugh through a sob and wipe my own tears.

  “Ollie, this next song is your surprise. You’ve changed my life. I just wanted you to know, you’re not a hockey player. You’re my hero.”

  She stares at Someone in the mirror.

  She laughs like her

  She cries like her

  She smiles, lies, and hides like her.

  She believes like her.

  She breathes like her.

  Her heart beats and bleeds like hers

  She sees like her

  She loves like her

  But it’s not her anymore.

  You see…

  She’s free.

  EPILOGUE

  GENEVIEVE

  The opening show of the Farewell Tour was a huge success. I loved every minute on stage, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t counting the seconds until it wrapped so I could kidnap Oliver back to my house. It’s our last night together before I leave for the two-month tour, so of course we spend it the only way two passionate lovers would: learning to play hockey.

  I glare at Oliver as he snickers again at my stance in the open space of the family room.

  “Stop laughing! I’m doing what you told me! You said to crouch down and tuck my elbows in.”

  “Yes, but not like a rabid chicken,” he snorts, snapping a picture just as I raise the stick at him. “Also, you’re holding the stick backward, all-star.”

  “Hey! No pictures. It’s bad enough my security cameras are probably catching this. I don’t need you to have permanent evidence.”

  “You kidding? I want photos, video, and sealed archives. You’re doing great,” he lies, stealing one more picture of the silly face I give him before tucking his phone away.

  “You just called me a rabid chicken.”

  “I said you looked like a rabid chicken. Big difference.”

  “Grr. How about you quit making fun of me and show me instead?”

  He grins and moves behind me. “Gladly. The hockey gods must be appeased after this violation. Here, so you need to squat, yes, but also keep your back straight. Shoot your butt out. No, not like that. Um, like you’re sitting on the toilet.”

  I fire a look at him and giggle at his expression. “Oh my gosh, you’re serious!”

  “Of course I’m serious. Yep, like this.” He places his hand on my back, positioning it, then slides to my butt to mold that as well. Suddenly, I don’t mind this so much.

  “Like this?” I ask, purposely jutting my rear further out of alignment. He shakes his head, then smirks when he catches on.

  “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you,” he says.

  “Oh, you mean like this.” I shove my left leg out and hold the stick above my head in the most ridiculous pose. My laugh becomes a yelp when he scoops me up from behind and swings me into his arms. I drop the stick, laughing as he carries me over to the couch.

  “I’m pretty sure I won’t stop many goals from the couch,” I say as he lowers me to the cushions.

  “No, probably not.” That smile, though. Stops my heart. I link my hands around his neck and pull him down.

  “I have a better idea,” I breathe against his lips.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I thread my hands in his hair as he stretches out on top of me. His left arm braces on the cushion beside me; his right slides behind my back to force us together. I moan as he hardens against me, and I hook my legs around his.

  Our kiss intensifies, our bodies instinctively finding each other in all the right places. I gasp as he presses into my hips, releasing his hair to shove my hands under his shirt. I pull until he helps me yank it over his head. I’m already dreading our separation. It could be weeks before we manage a rendezvous. Weeks before I feel his warm skin and hard body, taste his sweet kisses. Talk about wanting to preserve a moment.

  “I’m going to miss you so much,” I whisper.

  “I know—”

  My phone rings. Nope. Not gonna happen. Grunting, I pull it from my pocket and drop it on the floor. “Ignore it,” I say, dragging him back and resuming our kiss. But he pulls up.

  “Maybe you should—”

  “Oliver, not now. Right now I need you inside me, got it?”

  His eyes ignite with heat and humor, but he still doesn’t seem convinced. Seriously? What guy wouldn’t be swayed by that? His gaze travels to the device I discarded on the floor. “Okay, but it’s Sam.”

  “What?” I cry, bolting up. He smirks as he straightens
to let me free. I snatch the phone from the floor and swat the hair out of my eyes. “Hello?” I answer on the third ring.

  A wry laugh greets me, and my heart races. “Genevieve? Oh my goodness. It’s true then.”

  With a huge grin, I drop back to the cushion. “Hey, Sam. Surprise.”

  “You’re Viv Hastings? I can’t believe it… and yet, I kind of do.”

  Oliver reaches over and pulls me against him on the couch. I settle into his chest and adjust the phone. “I hope you’re not upset. I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I just wanted Viv to be who she was meant to be. I didn’t want Genevieve Fox to have any influence on her career.”

  After a slight pause, she releases another long sigh. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say right now.”

  For a brief moment, familiar panic rushes back. Will this change things? Is she going to pull the offer off the table now that she knows the truth? I glance back at Oliver whose expression hasn’t changed. Still steady. Still confident. Still full of love and strength. He kisses the side of my head, and the panic dissolves. Peace settles over me instead. Whatever comes next doesn’t matter. If they don’t want me because of who I was, I don’t need them. Viv Hastings has proven she can make it on her own.

  “So this opportunity you wrote me about?” My voice is firm, curious when I continue. “You have a band looking for a lead singer?”

  Sam clears her throat, and I hear the amusement—and possible excitement—in her tone when she speaks again. “I do. And now that I know it’s you, I’m even more confident about this fit. Both of you are looking to start over. Both of you have tremendous talent and a musical identity you’re still trying to form. Both have come through a dramatic fall and are searching for a path back up. This band has been through hell lately, but they’ve culled the poison from their ranks and are looking to start fresh. If you’re open to it, I’d love to have you sit down with the lead guitarist who’s forming the band: Julian Campbell.”