Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,35

my chest.

“Mom!” Genevieve says, casting her mother a pleading look. She sends one to me next, but I have zero patience for bullies like her mother. Genevieve clearly feared what’s about to go down when she asked me to wait upstairs, but as long as this woman continues to treat her daughter and other people like garbage, it’s going down.

“Nice of you to follow my career, ma’am. You’ll be pleased to know that I’m working very hard to come back as soon as possible. By all accounts, I’ll be better than ever when I do.”

“Well, good luck,” she tosses flippantly, brushing me off with a dramatic sip from her water bottle.

“I don’t need luck. I’m working my ass off to get back on the ice and go after what I want.”

She glances back at me, clearly not accustomed to being challenged. “As does my daughter. And please watch your language around us.”

I glare at her. “Does she? Or is she working her ass off for what you and everyone else wants? Do you even know what she wants?”

Shit. Probably shouldn’t have gone there right out of the gate. I just have zero filter when it comes to protecting those I care about. Or when dealing with tyrants like her mother.

Both women stare at me in shock for a moment. Even Hadley, who’d been watching quietly from the sideline, cringes and gives me a subtle warning look.

“What’s he talking about, Genevieve?” the woman asks her daughter.

I hold my breath, half wanting to retract my statement and half grateful I let it slip. I gave her an out. Will she take it?

My heart beats wildly in the silence, willing her to accept the pain and go after happiness. It’s right there, waiting for her to reach out and grasp it. One step. Then another. Then another. Slow and painful at first, but I’ll be right behind her, supporting her through the agony of the journey so she can touch the glory of the prize. Hope sinks with each silent second she doesn’t respond.

“Are we forcing you into a life you don’t want, Gen?” the woman continues when Genevieve doesn’t. “You don’t want to be one of the biggest names in the industry? You don’t want top records and millions of fans all over the world? You don’t want this beautiful mansion, access to the best of the best, and invitations to join the nation’s elite? Did we make a mistake giving all of this to you?”

The woman waves her hand around her, and I have to clench mine at my side. A biting retort rises in my throat, but when I cast a look at Genevieve’s anguished expression, I swallow it back. Maybe I’ve done enough damage for one day. Still, how can she not see what’s right in front of her? How deep do their manipulative hooks run? She might be afraid of her parents and the corporate monster that created her, but I’m not. They better prepare for battle because it’s on.

“No, of course not,” Genevieve says finally, so quiet we have to lean forward to hear her. “I love my life. I’m very blessed to have all of that.”

Her mother releases a sigh and squeezes her daughter’s arm with a smug look.

I stare at Genevieve in disbelief, nearly shaking from the effort of suppressing my anger. Is she fucking serious? She loves her life? What about the girl constantly on the verge of a panic attack? The girl who called me crying from a bathroom stall just hours ago? The girl who can’t even look in a damn mirror? Is she so brainwashed that she actually thinks her life only has one viable trajectory? I study her in the heavy silence, searching for any sign that my efforts over these last few days have made an impact. What about the girl whose music burned a hole straight through my chest to lodge in my heart? When does that girl get a chance to live?

“You should probably go, young man. Genevieve and I have a lot to discuss. She told you she’ll be leaving shortly on a lengthy world tour, right? It will be constant rehearsals and meetings to prepare before then. It’s probably best you focus on your rehab.” She spits the word like it’s a criminal activity. Like I really am some kind of felon.

I ignore her, focusing instead on Genevieve, searching her, silently pleading with her to give me a reason to stay. Because I want to.