Wreck the Halls

Beat was almost afraid to look, but he did so anyway, watching messages from his friends populate the screen, one by one. Of course, they were texting him with questions. He’d told them nothing about the live stream and they’d obviously missed any promo. In other words, they were finding out in real time on social media.

He started to pull everyone into a group chat, so he would only have to explain the situation once. A blanket message to keep things impersonal and vague, as was his modus operandi. But before Beat could tap out an explanation and get the thread started, a video clip from his buddy Vance popped up, accompanied with a text that read: someone has it bad. Beat tapped the play icon, quickly hitting pause when he saw it was a clip of Melody. Clearly, the footage was taken recently, because she was wearing the same gown.

Don’t watch it. Some intuition told Beat it was a bad idea. But when Melody turned around in the seat to speak with Danielle, Beat couldn’t talk himself out of tapping play again and holding the speaker of his phone closely to his ear.

“How well do you know Beat?” came Danielle’s voice.

“Not well. Not well at all,” responded Melody. Beat held his breath. “I-I mean, I feel like I know him. That doesn’t mean anything, does it? A lot of people probably feel like they know Beat, because he’s so personable. When he looks at you, everything just kind of fades away and . . . yeah, everything just kind of fades away when he’s around, I guess. He’s kind and thoughtful and you’ve seen him. He’s . . . beautiful.”

Those words might have been enough to tell him Melody was harboring a crush on him, but her tone of voice sealed the deal. She may as well have been a devout Catholic speaking about the Second Coming. And his behavior was doing nothing to dissuade the crush, either. Case in point, their hands were still locked together on the seat between them. Two seconds after this footage was recorded, he’d barged into the room and hugged her, because he’d been utterly compelled to . . . touch her in some way. Any way.

Safe to say they were both nursing a crush.

Might as well acknowledge the facts.

Unfortunately, Melody didn’t know his sexual interests were . . . slightly complicated. He came part and parcel with that complication, and he’d decided early in his life, before he even reached adulthood, that he would handle his particular needs privately and keep his social life separate. That included Melody. Most of all Melody.

Stop leading her on, then.

Knowing what he had to do—and doing it—were two very different things. Touching Mel came naturally in a way it never had with anyone else. It felt necessary, like he was making up for lost time. They might have grown up separately, thanks to the Steel Birds breakup, but their mothers’ past kept them tethered, along with something intangible. When they were together, his senses heightened, and his two-dimensional world expanded into three. Like it was supposed to be.

As soon as Beat let go of Melody’s hand, the tip of a blade dug into his chest and twisted. Immediately, he wanted to thread their fingers back together, but he forced himself to keep both hands on his phone, instead, tapping out a message to his friends without really processing any of what he was saying.

Minutes later, when they reached the venue, he was relieved to see a security team of half a dozen men waiting for them just beyond the valet line. But when he climbed out of the SUV and automatically turned to help Melody from the vehicle, one of the guards performed that duty instead and his stomach shrunk in on itself. Briefly, their gazes met over the guard’s shoulder and she quickly looked away, which told Beat she’d felt him withdraw on the ride over.

Of course she had.

And it was for the best, even if his stupid heart was in his mouth.

Realizing the camera was trained on his face, Beat let security sweep him and Melody toward the entrance, forcing himself to prepare for what was to come.

Nothing major. Just a little thing called Armageddon.





Chapter Ten




Melody hadn’t been to an event like this in a long time.

And she’d been more than happy to be left off the guest lists.

Celebrity-held charity galas were over-the-top displays of extravagance—and as soon as they pulled up to the benefit, it was obvious that this one would be no different. Lines of limousines paraded slowly along the curb, passengers alighting to an eruption of camera flashes. Garlands, heavy with blue lights and sparkly crystal icicles, were hung from the entrance of the building, fake snow fluttering down from an unseen source overhead. A frowning, long-haired musician in a tuxedo played a sexy version of “Silent Night” at the edge of the carpet.

“The theme can never be pajama party, can it?” she said, wryly, hoping to make Beat laugh.

The side of his mouth jumped subtly, but he continued to look down at his phone.

Melody wondered if it would make for great television if she hoisted up her dress and hauled ass down the avenue. Ratings spike, anyone? She’d be a meme by dessert.

It took serious restraint not to follow through on that impulse. This whole evening was scary enough, but the sudden lack of warmth coming from Beat made it terrifying.

Relax. He’s probably just nervous, too.

After all, they were preparing to propose a reunion to his mother with, apparently, a lot of people watching. He wasn’t obligated to hold her hand and rain down his golden energy on her every second of the day. Sometimes he probably turned that sunshine-level wattage off completely. What was he like in those moments?

Her chest ached with the need to know.

When a muscle leapt in Beat’s cheek, Melody realized she was staring at him and quickly looked ahead. They were the sole SUV in line and . . . they’d been noticed. At first, she assumed her mind was playing tricks on her, but no. Additional camerapeople were sprinting toward the red-carpet line, along with pedestrians, phones glowing in their hands. A group of very large men in black jackets and headsets stood at the curb, waiting on their arrival. And then it was Beat and Melody’s turn to step out of their vehicle and everything happened so fast, she could only put one foot in front of the other and keep moving.

Someone took her hand and helped her out of the SUV. Not Beat. This hand was thicker and all business. “It’s best if we get inside quickly, ma’am.”

“Just Melody is fine.”

“Melody,” the gruff voice said, not warming in the slightest. “Let’s move.”

Flashes blinded her, but she could see just enough to catch Beat’s tight expression. His eyes were trained on the security guard’s hand where it now gripped her elbow to hustle her forward. One of the cameramen called his name and he seemed to snap himself out of the daze, at least halfway, striding down the red carpet in front of her while frequently glancing back over his shoulder at Melody.