Wreck the Halls

“No, it didn’t.”

He settled her down on the ground, his fingertips immediately attacking her ribs—tickling her so unexpectedly that she spun around on a squeal. “Jesus, Mel,” he growled through his teeth. “Would you just accept my comfort?”

“Fine. Fine!” She was laughing. At the gym! “I’ll get it next time. Your turn.”

With a final squeeze of her side, Beat went to complete his box jumps while Melody plopped herself down on the bench and watched him move like an effortlessly graceful animal, all smooth skin and muscle pops and flashes of that reassuring grin. She’d always believed in her heart of hearts that being around Beat would make her feel normal. More comfortable in her own skin, like she’d been that day at age sixteen.

But as she left the gym heading to the Applause offices with Beat at her side, the reality of that seemed too good to be true.





Chapter Seven




“Let’s start with the Concert Incident of 1993.”

Melody sighed fondly. “Ah, I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Beat bit the inside of his lip to quell a smile and found a more comfortable position in his director’s chair. They sat side by side in a dark, airless room in the depths of the Applause offices, recording their “confessionals,” although they weren’t doing any confessing themselves. This was about their mothers’ past.

Based on the uneasy look Melody sent him, talking about those long-held secrets in front of the cameras felt as unnatural to her as it did to Beat.

Damn, she looked pretty today.

A skirt, a snug skirt, the waistband of which hugged the bottom of her rib cage. Black tights tucked into scuffed ankle boots with a moon-shaped buckle. She’d walked into his gym wearing this coat—a bright green color that made her hazel eyes look bottomless. Her bangs were all blown around from the winter wind, cheeks red. He’d had to restrain himself from begging them not to put any makeup on her for filming. Why ruin something that was already beautiful to begin with? Still, whatever they’d put on her lips made them almost . . . plumper?

Stop staring at her mouth.

Stop thinking about how her hips felt in your hands at the gym and concentrate.

Shit. She was signaling him for help with a rapid series of blinks.

“The Concert Incident.” He coughed into his fist and sat up straighter. “Right. That is how people commonly refer to the final show. It took place in Glendale, Arizona.”

“Both of your mothers were pregnant at the time, correct?” asked the interviewer, a young man named Darren, a content manager for the Applause social media channels. “Trina was pregnant with Melody. Octavia with Beat.”

“That’s right,” Melody said. “Octavia was a little further along. Beat is older.”

“You’re going to hold two measly months over my head?” Beat asked.

“Is your hearing aid turned all the way up, dear?” She patted his forearm. “I want to make sure you can hear all the questions clearly.”

“What?”

Melody’s laugh filtered into the studio and Beat’s flipping stomach wasn’t the only one who responded to it. Danielle and Joseph smiled behind the camera. Even the lighting technician flashed a grin. “Okay, the Incident.” Melody tugged her skirt down to cover her knee and the rasping sound of wool on nylon made Beat’s mouth go dry. “The angst had been building up to that point. I think everyone would agree that Trina and Octavia are extremely different personalities to begin with. My mother, Trina—”

“Lyricist. Bass. Backing vocals,” contributed Darren.

“That’s right. She is more of a . . . restless, volatile soul, while Octavia . . .”

“Is more reserved. Most of the time,” said Beat. “Being the lead singer, she had sort of a poise about her, but when the song called for it, she could roar with the best of them.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” the interviewer said. “Octavia Dawkins has been referred to as one of the greatest rock vocalists of our time. You must be very proud.”

“I am,” Beat answered honestly.

“And you?” Darren raised an eyebrow at Melody. “‘Rattle the Cage’ has long been known as the anthem of the nineties and it was written by your mother, Trina. That must fill you with tremendous pride.”

Melody opened her mouth but didn’t speak right away. “It does,” she said, eventually.

Darren shifted in his seat, obviously scenting some intrigue. “And is that pride more for the music or would you say you’re a proud daughter?”

Her fingers curled on the arm of the chair. “Well . . .”

“Back to the Incident,” Beat slid in firmly, wishing his chair was closer to Melody’s. Wondering if he could somehow make that happen without being obvious. “The previous tour had only ended months prior. Stress was high. There had been some . . . typical backstage drama. Things that occur behind the scenes with a band in a fast, flashy environment.”

“Leading to the big breakup,” Darren said, leaning forward. “Fans have been speculating about the cause for years and the leading rumor has always been a love triangle. Could you shed any light on this decades-old mystery, Mr. Dawkins?”

Could he? Yes. Would he? Absolutely not. And it wasn’t merely a matter of keeping his mother’s past private. There would be repercussions if he outed the third player in the love triangle.

Also known as the one who broke up the band.

His blackmailer—and biological father.

Melody must have picked up his inner conflict, because she cleared her throat and said, “That’s the thing. If, in fact, there was a love triangle, which we are neither confirming nor denying . . .” She angled her head and winked at him from behind the curtain of her hair. “According to the fans, any number of fellas could have been the culprit.”

Beat’s chest swelled with gratitude. She was giving him an avenue of escape—and reminding him of their agreed-upon strategy. Friendly but evasive. “Axl Rose, obviously, is the big one,” he said.

“Yup,” Melody agreed without hesitation.

Darren’s jaw dropped. “Axl Rose?”

“Keanu,” Beat sent back to Melody. “That theory is a contender.”

“Reeves?”

“That’s my favorite one.” Melody sighed. “I just like knowing I could be connected to John Wick in some small way. Even if it’s just that my mom smashed him in ninety-two. But you’re forgetting about the strongest possibility.”

“Am I?”

“Mr. Belding.”

Beat snapped his fingers. “Right. He was always backstage.”

“They couldn’t keep him out! Belding was a secret freak.” She spoke to the camera out of the side of her mouth. “Seriously. Watch the earlier episodes. The signs were there.”

Darren was starting to catch on to their subterfuge. “You’re telling me the principal from Saved by the Bell might have been the catalyst that broke up the band.”