Wreck the Halls

You stay like that.

Every time he remembered her whispering that breathy command back at him, he stiffened up all over again. The only thing that could put a damper on his hunger was Melody’s obvious anxiety about seeing her mother, and now that the moment had arrived, she was sinking down farther and farther into the seat. Beat took a deep breath and let the desire ebb from his body, his focus narrowing down to her in a different way.

“Hey. It’s going to be fine.” He raised a hand to brush back her hair, but he realized the camera was trained on them and let it drop. According to Danielle, the public were already pushing for them to be a couple. But something stopped him from touching her on camera. Maybe he wanted to keep the most intimate parts of Melody all to himself. Or maybe because he knew he should fight the physical pull between them. Because if he hurt this perfect person, he would never, ever forgive himself.

“Should we get out and knock?” Danielle asked.

No one moved.

“No one seems to be home. No cars in the surrounding area,” Beat pointed out. “Unless . . . do they drive?”

“They bike everywhere. I remember my mother telling me that.”

“Okay.” Beat squeezed her hand on the seat. “I’ll get out and check for bikes.”

“No.” She grabbed his wrist to prevent him from opening the door. “Can you ask the driver to please honk the horn or something?”

Beep beep.

Silence.

The driver, a man in his sixties with a low-brimmed ball cap, took his time turning around in his seat. “Far be it from me to alarm you city folks, but I thought you should know. We get a lot of police activity up here.”

Melody’s back straightened. “What kind of police activity?”

“The sirens and flashing lights kind,” the man drawled.

“Yes, but why are the cops called, sir?”

The driver gave a head tilt. “Do you know who you’re up here visiting, girl?”

“My mother.”

“Oh.” He winced. “Is she the old rocker gal always walking around town in angel wings and combat boots?”

Melody covered her face with her hands. “Undoubtedly. Unless there are two people who fit that description.”

“The locals don’t like her much. None of her friends, neither.” He gave Beat a pointed look. “They don’t place much importance on hygiene.”

Beat opened his mouth to ask the driver to please stop upsetting Melody, but he never got the chance to say anything. Because the peal of a police siren rent the air.

“That’d be them, now, probably,” sniffed the driver, turning back around.

Joseph started to laugh.

“Shut up,” Danielle whispered at him. Then to Melody, “I’m sure that’s just a coincidence. Let’s just get out and have a look around, shall we?”

As soon as the producer opened the rear passenger door, the sound of beating drums could be heard in the distance. Danielle turned, looking back at everyone with a raised eyebrow, then climbed out, followed closely by the cameraman. “Hey,” Joseph grumbled at her. “Stay close.”

“Oh stop.”

“I mean it, woman.”

Danielle looked ready to reprimand him. Unfortunately, another siren joined the first and cut her right off. Beat resisted the urge to slam the door closed and ask the driver to return them to the airfield, but he got out of the SUV instead, turning to help Melody. She settled her hands on his shoulders and he tugged her out into his arms, allowing himself an extra second of holding her before letting her feet touch the ground. Taking her hand, they walked around the side of the house—and that’s when the bonfire came into view.

About a quarter of a mile into the field, flames rose a story high, whipping and licking against the dull winter sky. Several figures surrounded the fire and appeared to be moving in a measured circle, some of them beating on drums. Although the police vehicles arriving one by one were definitely putting a damper on the proceedings.

“Enough with the drums,” came a stern voice through a loudspeaker. “Put them down in front of you and keep your hands where we can see them.”

The drumbeats grew louder. A familiar, defiant shout went up.

“Oh boy,” Melody said, gulping. “That’s Trina.”

“Are you getting this?” Danielle asked Joseph. “How close can you zoom in?”

“It’s like I’m there,” answered the cameraman. “There are seven of them playing drums. Bongos. One of them is Trina. It’s thirty-five degrees and not one of them is wearing a goddamn jacket.”

“By all means, tell us the important parts,” Danielle deadpanned.

Joseph cleared his throat. “Do you want me to tell you about the three men dressed like Santa Claus that just arrived?”

“What?” Beat, Melody, and Danielle shouted simultaneously.

“You heard me.”

“We need to get closer.” Danielle was already jogging for the SUV. “Let’s go.”

When Melody started to take off after the producer, Beat caught her around the waist with his forearm, drawing her to a quick stop. “I’d rather keep Melody away from the police activity than go toward it.”

“For better or worse, she’s my mother.” Melody squirmed against him. “What if I can help?”

“Sounds like if she wanted help, she’d stop playing the drum.”

“Beat.”

Against his will, he released Melody, stalking in her wake toward the SUV. Once they were all piled in and the driver was cutting across the field, Beat cupped Melody’s chin and lifted it until they locked eyes. “Stay with me, okay? Please?”

“Okay.”

“Notice the way he says please,” Danielle said, poking Joseph in the shoulder.

A snort was all he offered in reply.

At any other time, Beat might have speculated more on the relationship between Danielle and Joseph, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the scene that greeted them when they pulled up at the drum circle.

Because it was a sight to behold.

Trina Gallard stood in front of the bonfire wearing angel wings, but they weren’t the pink, sparkly kind that came with a child’s Halloween costume, like he’d wrongly pictured. No, they were black and purple, spanning at least six feet. Doc Martens were laced up to her knees. She wore spandex shorts and something he thought might be called a bustier. Or a corset, maybe?

“Miss Gallard . . .” The cop’s exasperation came through the speaker. “I’m not going to ask you again to put down the drum.”

“This is the great outdoors, Officer! Man has no jurisdiction here.”

“Except you’re on my land once again, Trina!” shouted one of the Santa Clauses, stabbing the air with his finger. “I’ve got the right to hold a peaceful gathering at my home without you hippies worshipping the sky or whatever weird shit you’re up to this week.”

“You heard him, Miss Gallard,” the officer said. “You’re trespassing. Again.”

The former rock star blew a raspberry. “We’re not bothering anyone.”

“You’re bothering me! You’ve gone too far this time, making a bonfire on my side of the property line. Officer, I want them arrested.”