Wreck the Halls

“I guess it’s a good thing I only make you put up with me once a year, huh?” Trina laughed, pacing barefoot to the other side of the cell, signaling an end to their heart-to-heart. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

If the jail cell floor wasn’t stained with God knew what, Melody might have lain down on it, knees to her chest. But if those splotches had managed to stain concrete, they had to be something serious, so she remained standing. Swaying a little in the wake of her mother’s hurtful statement. Trina thought she was doing Melody a favor by being absent? How was she supposed to respond to that?

Thankfully, she never had to find out.

Beat’s voice cut through the stale air like a violin string through cake. “I’ve spoken to the bondsman—he allowed me to do a wire transfer. You should have an email from him. Melody no longer has to go before a judge, because charges have not been pressed. I spoke to psychotic Santa myself.” His tone invited zero nonsense. “Let her out, immediately.”

“You mean them, Beat,” Melody called into the hallway. “Let them out.”

“Mel,” he shouted back, “are you okay?”

At this rate, she was going to turn to a fine mist of relief and drift out through the metal bars. “I’m completely fine.”

Physically.

“She better be fine,” Beat informed Melvin as they came into view.

Oh . . . my.

Her blood thickened to hot syrup at the way Beat strode toward the jail cell, hair in disarray, the sleeves of his dress shirt shoved hastily to his elbows, those forearms in a full-on irritable flex, along with his jawline. He was in shambles, and yet he looked completely in command of the situation. Melody seriously hoped her weak-kneed, total body reaction to Beat’s arrival wasn’t showing on her face. One small mercy was that the camera wasn’t there, likely forced to wait outside.

Melvin unlocked the jail cell door and Beat pulled her out by the wrist, stooping down slightly to wrap her in his arms, then lifting her clear off the floor.

“I got you out as quickly as I could.” His voice was gruff paradise in her neck. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

He settled Melody onto her feet, but kept her close, that line of concern remaining deep in between his brows. “Let me see your wrists.”

“Why?” she asked, confused but presenting them anyway.

Beat took her hands, holding them up to the light, turning them right and left. “If those cuffs left a mark on you, I’m going to fucking lose it.”

“They didn’t.”

Melvin patted Beat on the shoulder. “Relax, man, she’s been in the hands of a Melody-head. She’s been treated like family!”

“Would someone mind letting me out of jail, too?” Trina shrieked.

“Guys, my mom!” Melody wiggled out of Beat’s hold and reached for Trina’s hand through the open door, pulling her out into the open. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you want to check my wrists, too?” Trina said tauntingly, wiggling her fingers at Beat.

“Nah,” he drawled without missing a beat. “Sounds like your wrists are used to being cuffed. Hers aren’t.”

“Beat,” Melody breathed, frowning up at him. Why did he look and sound so angry?

Trina cracked a knuckle. “I see your mother has properly poisoned you against me.”

“She didn’t, actually. That’s not her style. I can make my own judgments.”

Melody grabbed his hand and squeezed, imploring him without words to look down at her. In the great scheme of things, it didn’t really matter if Beat and Trina liked each other. In fact, there was an extremely high probability that they wouldn’t. The past was already working against them. For some reason, though, every dart they threw at each other was striking Melody in the process. “Please. Please stop.”

His gaze veered toward Mel, running a lap around her face. “Yeah. Okay. I just don’t like this place.” A line moved in his cheek. “I don’t like that Melody Gallard showed up and the so-called Free Loving Adventure Club didn’t appreciate it enough.”

“I haven’t exactly had the chance, have I, golden boy? Or did you miss me getting rolled the minute she arrived?” Trina snapped, before she slowly settled into a cajoling smile, which she sent in Melody’s direction. “There’s always a little celebration back at the house when I get out of the slammer. Who’s ready to party?”

Melvin cleared his throat. “I, for one, wouldn’t mind unwinding—”

“Oh, fuck off, Melvin,” Trina scoffed, sailing down the hallway toward the exit. “You’re not invited. This one’s for my kid.” Just before she walked out of the jail, she turned. “It goes without saying that you’re welcome to stay the night. We’ve got an extra room.”

Melody followed her mother, Beat’s hand warming the small of her back. “Only one?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s a packed house.”

She could feel Beat’s gaze on the crown of her head and slowly raised her eyes to meet it. Were his pupils larger than usual or was it a trick of lighting? Melody wasn’t sure. Nor was she sure what kind of night lay ahead of them.

But odds were, it was going to be interesting.





Chapter Nineteen




Beat and Melody stood side by side, staring down at the twin-sized bed.

Correction: mattress. It was a mattress. On the floor in the corner of a room at the highest point of the house. The attic, if you will. There was no other furniture, except for a row of potted house plants lined up in front of a giant, circular window. The sun had set while Melody and Trina were in jail, leaving the sky a pitch-black canvas full of stars that seemed so close Beat felt he could reach out and rearrange them.

The celebratory music downstairs played loud enough to shake the floorboards beneath their feet. Madonna followed by Skynyrd followed by Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas.” They’d been welcomed back to the house by a boisterous round of applause, and the alcohol had started flowing. Danielle ran around getting release forms signed while whiskey was poured into Solo cups with beer chasers and limes were sliced in the kitchen in anticipation of tequila shots.

There wasn’t a chance in hell Beat was drinking tonight. Too many variables. Their main mission was to reunite Steel Birds, but his side mission was to get Melody back to New York without any further mishaps or harm.

And he was growing extremely skeptical of his odds of success.

Mainly because of the bed. Mattress.

The twin mattress they were expected to share.

Hyperaware of the camera filming behind them, Beat forced a laugh. “Bet you wish you’d stayed in jail.”

Her sides shook with mirth. “It was quieter.”

“Less of a seventies cultlike atmosphere?”

“You don’t think my mother’s living situation holds a certain . . . charm?”

“No.”

“Correct.” She glanced at the door. “I guess we better show our faces downstairs. After all, they’re holding the party in honor of the outlaws. Of which I am now one.”

“Yeah.”