Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,10

I’m tense with fear, until I realize it’s only so he can slip into the water with me. The air around us feels different when he pulls me into his arms. Lighter, more sustainable. I tighten my hold around him, burrowing into his hard chest as the thud of his heart becomes my universe.

He rests his lips against my hair.

“Then we find her.”

CHAPTER 3

Diamond bright, how you sparkle

Rich indulgence you spread delight

Diamond bright, how they clamor

To plunder your unguarded treasure

Those parasites

Those thieves of light

Those borrowers of others’ dreams

They’ll claw and smother until you’re just another

rock

OLIVER

Who’s the girl in the mirror? I have no damn clue, but I sure as hell want to know her more than the tipsy party girl who met me after I came out of the bathroom. I don’t have time for games. Never have, and with six family members relying on me, I’m definitely not starting now. My stakes aren’t just high, they’re non-negotiable, so yeah, even Genevieve Fox wasn’t going to tempt me into playing. Except when she drops the act, she’s mesmerizing. Is she beautiful? No. She’s fucking breathtaking. Long, dark red hair, almost violet. Vibrant green eyes. Hell, if you look close in the sun, you can see flecks of brown that draw you in and make it impossible to look away. So when she turned them up at me a minute ago, glistening beneath a sheen of tears, I was hooked. Yep, felt the line catch and jerk me right to the edge of the pool where that sharp sucker dug into my soul and dragged me through a busted knee down to the ledge.

Who’s the girl in the mirror? She’s now the girl in my arms.

I run my fingers through her hair as she clings to me. When’s the last time someone held her? The way she’s clutching my back, I suspect the answer would make me sick. Maybe angry. Okay, yeah, I’m angry that she’s been mangled to the point where she can’t even face a mirror. Where she actually believed she had to put on a show to get my attention. Because this woman doesn’t need to do anything to get a man’s attention. Walk in a room. Breathe the same air. Turn her head in my direction, and I was riveted. It wasn’t until she made herself into something else that she lost me. And now? Heaven help me. She’s triggered every protective bone in my body, and with four younger sisters, god knows that’s pretty much all of them.

“You okay?” I ask gently. Honestly, I could stand here all day. She’s right: the water is warm. Her body is pressed into mine, and she smells like starlight. Starlight? I don’t know. Radiance. Bright and blinding. I close my eyes to breathe in more of it.

“I’m sorry, Oliver. I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. The heat of her breath sears into my chest. The brush of her lips against my skin sends a shudder through me.

“For what?”

“All of this. We don’t even know each other and—”

“And it’s too early for something real?” I pull back enough so she can see my smile. She sends a weak one back.

“I’m not used to real.”

“I can tell. But I don’t have much patience for anything else.”

Her smile spreads into real, and I pull in a sharp inhale at the effect. “I can tell,” she echoes.

It almost hurts, her real smile. Plunges into your gut and lodges deep. That beam will scar me. I already feel the burn of eternal heat.

What hope do I have as I brush a few lingering tears from her cheek? So soft. So perfect like everything else about her. It’s ridiculous that she called me perfect when I’m broken ligaments and scar tissue. She’s the universally accepted standard of perfection. Is there a publication that hasn’t splashed her image beside a headline about her beauty? I’m a hockey player who can’t play hockey. An elite athlete who can’t even fucking walk right.

I clench my jaw and plug the negative spiral before it starts. Camille would be pissed if she heard me say something like that. I almost laugh at the thought of my sister’s glare when we video-chatted earlier. She may be two years younger, but she’s more like Mom than Mom half the time. Don’t you ever talk about my brother like that, Oliver Levesque. He’s the best person I know.

I usually respond with something like, if that’s true, you should get out more, which earns me