Wreck the Halls

“Millions,” Danielle corrected in a whisper.

“Millions.” Melody breathed through a wave of dizziness. “They’ve waited—we’ve waited—thirty years for a Steel Birds reunion. Sure, there are recordings, songs that can be downloaded. But there is nothing like hearing your favorite songs live. You and Trina have the power to make it happen. To give fans that moment they’ve been dreaming about since ninety-three.”

Beat settled a hand on the small of Melody’s back. “You miss it sometimes. Don’t you, Mom? The crowd belting ‘Rattle the Cage’ at the top of their lungs. Feeling it. You miss that long, drawn-out break before the key change. That final, blood-pumping solo.”

“The rotisserie chickens,” Melody murmured, pressing a hand to her heart.

“Never forget,” Beat deadpanned.

A tiny, bemused laugh bubbled out of Octavia’s mouth. “You know . . . when Trina and I were pregnant with you two, Stevie Nicks blessed our bellies backstage at a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Sly and Family Stone was being instated, right? Yes. And Stevie, she recited an old proverb and waved a bundle of burning sage, which she was literally carrying in the pocket of her dress, and she said the two of you would always be . . . was it protected or connected? I can’t recall.” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Steel Birds broke up six days later. I’ve always wondered if she cursed us, instead.”

“We could call her and find out,” Danielle suggested, discreetly steering Joseph’s elbow. “On camera.”

Octavia scoffed. “Stevie Nicks doesn’t have a phone.”

“Wow,” Melody whispered.

“Look.” Octavia waved her hands. “It’s almost time for my champagne toast and I am going to sing ‘Santa motherfucking Baby’ tonight, whether or not anyone wished for it . . .” She sent a sniff in Beat’s direction. “Let’s wrap this up. If you two manage to bring Trina to New York, I will perform one song with her onstage. But there will be no communication between us beforehand or afterward. This isn’t going to be some big, emotional reunion where we lament the three decades we’ve lost being enemies and plan an international tour. If that’s the ultimate goal here, you will all be sorely disappointed.”

“Understood, Mom,” Beat said with a nod. “One night. One song. No chitchat.”

“Send it to my manager in writing, please,” Octavia added, sailing for the door with a cigar-puffing Rudy in tow. “Son, I love you dearly, despite this total nonsense.” She stopped midway through the exit to the ballroom where guests were already beginning to cheer over her reentry to the gala. “And Melody . . .”

“Yes?”

“Next time the spotlight lands on you, sucker-punch it back.”





Chapter Thirteen




For the last hour, a lead weight had been sitting in Beat’s gut.

It was a cross between dread and urgency.

Something about the way everyone at the bottom of the staircase had looked at Melody troubled him. They got it. They saw what he did. And part of Beat really enjoyed the fact that people seemed to be recognizing Melody’s uniqueness. Celebrating those special quirks that made her so . . . Mel. Because it was about damn time.

The dread kicked in when he realized all her earnest, vulnerable charm was being broadcast in real time to millions of people, apparently. So, when it came time to leave the gala, the protective instinct that had been rising inside of him all night started to hum. Louder and louder, until he could barely hear the security team’s instructions over the noise.

Beat stooped down to catch the view from the front of the venue—and his stomach dropped through the floor. The crowd waiting outside stretched down the block.

He couldn’t even see the end of it.

The live stream had only been going for a matter of hours and somehow viewers had already found the time to make signs. Vaguely, he registered his name on a handful of them, but he was far more concerned with the ones that mentioned Melody.

Peaches are my favorite fruit

Come play with my bocce balls, Mel

Melody, will you marry me?

Several people were also wearing . . . eye patches?

Melody seemed to be oblivious to the pandemonium outside, casually allowing security to guide her to the exit. “Hold up,” Beat growled, shouldering his way past them and blocking the exit. “Don’t you think a back door is a better idea?”

“He’s right.” Joseph approached with Danielle and momentarily lowered the camera. He coughed once. “I don’t want you outside in that, either, Danielle.”

The producer looked nonplussed, but quickly recovered. “I . . . very well.” She waved at the security team. “Would you mind consulting with the building manager to find a more discreet way for us to leave?”

“On it,” said one of the men, striding past while already speaking into a headset.

Danielle looked down at her clipboard where her phone was resting. “I expected a healthy viewership, but I didn’t expect this kind of . . . intense reaction.” She shook her head. “The numbers we’re seeing are shattering records. We’re at—”

“Is there any way we could not be informed of the viewer count?” Mel interrupted with a wince. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to know.”

“Understood,” Danielle answered. “Beat?”

“I want to know.” He needed to know what they were going into at all times, so he could make sure Melody was protected. “Just inform me privately, I guess.”

“Will do.” A beat passed while Danielle darkened the screen of her phone. Did she appear to be working up the nerve to ask something? “Just to keep everyone up to speed, we have a flight out tomorrow morning to New Hampshire. We don’t have exact coordinates as to where Trina’s compound is located, but we have a general idea.” She squared her shoulders. “It’s tonight I’m more concerned about.”

Melody frowned. “Tonight?”

As if on cue, the crowd outside started chanting her name.

Melody looked utterly and adorably confused. For some reason, Beat’s heart started to flop around in his chest like a trapped, injured bird. “She can’t go home,” he murmured, beating Danielle to the punch. “We’re going to be followed, right?”

“Right.” Danielle opened her mouth and closed it. “I didn’t expect this to get so out of hand so fast, Melody. But yes, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back to Brooklyn tonight. You’re in that ground floor apartment facing the street. It’s too exposed. Lola packed you a bag of essentials and I have one of my assistants looking into a hotel reservation as we speak, but it’s tricky, because we need permission to film—”

“Why doesn’t she just stay with me?” As soon as Beat offered the suggestion, some of the tension in his chest started to loosen. “I have a spare room. I’m on the twenty-second floor of a doorman building. She’ll be safe with me.”

“I’ll stay in a hotel,” Melody said quickly. “But thank you for the offer.”