Wreck the Halls

Neither Beat or Melody made a move for the door.

More than life itself, he wanted the camera to leave so he could put his arms around Melody and run his palms over her hair, her face, her back. Put his mouth on her skin and inhale her, just to get her into his lungs. They hadn’t been alone since he’d bailed her out, and he had no idea what took place inside the jail. He only knew a little bit of the sparkle was gone from her eyes and he wanted it back ASAP.

He also knew if he touched her, there was a very good chance they’d end up on that mattress. And the outcome of them getting physical could mean robbing even more of that twinkling life force from Melody’s eyes. That left Beat trapped between a rock and a hard place. His need to touch Melody was a yawning physical ache and yet, if he gave in, she could end up hurt.

In other words, this was about to be the longest night of his life.

“Listen, I’ll sleep against the wall. I’m tired enough to knock out in any position.”

Melody’s face became a mask of horror. “What? No.” She wet her lips and made a fluttery-fingered gesture at the mattress. “We’ll go back-to-back. Or I’ll face south and you face north?”

Beat raised an eyebrow. “Feet to face?”

“Why yes,” she purred theatrically. “That’s how I seduce all my men.”

He laughed, even though it hurt. To be seduced by Melody. Christ, he wouldn’t withstand five seconds before he started begging. No persuasion required. Watching her get arrested had been the cure for the hunger she’d incited on the plane, but hell if it wasn’t back now, bigger and badder than ever. How was he supposed to combat it when the universe was throwing twin mattresses into his path?

“We’ll figure it out,” Melody said with a quick glance at the camera. “Just a friendly sleepover. Nothing to see here.”

Nothing but my multiplying obsession with you.

“Nothing at all.”

She rolled her lips inward and nodded. “Should we join the debauchery for a bit?”

Beat shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants to prevent himself from reaching for her. “What’s the holiday season without a little debauchery?”

When she walked by him, his lungs filled themselves with air made so much sweeter with the scent of her, and he followed, Joseph taking up the rear. Danielle, who was waiting in the hallway furiously tapping away on her phone, smiled when they emerged and joined their slow-moving procession toward the earsplitting music, descending three staircases to the main level of the house. All four of them stopped at the bottom, surveying the scene in front of them. They’d only been in the attic for ten minutes and already, shit was getting wild.

Based on the number of occupied rooms in the house, at least a dozen people lived here with Trina. More than that if those individuals were sharing rooms. Based on the make-out session taking place in the shadowed nook beneath the staircase, at least two of Trina’s guests were . . . roommates. It appeared every member of the household was in attendance at the celebration, and none of them seemed fazed by the camera or the quartet of strangers in their midst. Some of them even waved, Purple Bandanna man flashing a peace sign.

A Christmas tree decorated with big, vintage bulbs sat in one corner. Beyond that, there were only two lamps providing light to the downstairs space and their shades had been draped with colorful scarves, casting the room in a festive red and green glow. The pungent scent of marijuana hung in the atmosphere, but the house was so big and airy that it wasn’t cloying. Beat was relieved to find that, in keeping with the bizarre throwback hippie compound vibe, everyone seemed relaxed and welcoming. Not quite relieved enough to let Melody out of his sight, though. Not after how quickly things had shifted that afternoon.

Melody tapped his elbow and pointed across the living room to where Trina stood on an old trunk, a bottle of Southern Comfort in one hand, a lit joint in the other, dancing to Wilson Phillips. The four of them took a collective step in Trina’s direction when a man in ripped white jeans jumped up onto the trunk beside Melody’s mother, grabbed the back of her neck, and planted a kiss on her mouth.

Melody skidded to a halt, blinking several times. “That’s one way to meet my new dad.”

Trina noticed them out of the corner of her eye and broke the kiss with a laugh that momentarily drowned out the music. Then she hopped down from the trunk and signaled for White Jeans to do the same. Once he’d done so, Trina clasped his hand and guided him through a group of dancing housemates toward Beat, Melody, Danielle, and Joseph.

“Hey you!” Trina shouted to Melody over the music. “This is Buck. Buck, this is my daughter, Melody Anne.”

“So nice to meet you.” Melody held out her hand for a shake, but Buck released Trina’s hand and pulled Melody in for a shirtless hug instead, tensing every muscle in Beat’s body.

Trina watched Beat’s face the entire time, slowly sipping from the bottle in her hand.

Finally, Melody wiggled out of the young man’s embrace, giving Buck an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Buck, you seem to be about my age, so I’m not sure about fatherly hugs from you, okay?”

“God, I fucking love her,” Danielle growled, behind Beat.

Yeah. Beat was beginning to grow very familiar with the feeling.

“Have you been seeing my mother very long, Buck?” Melody asked.

Trina and Buck traded an amused glance. “In a manner of speaking,” replied Melody’s mother. “We don’t necessarily confine ourselves to relationships in this house.”

Melody was already nodding her understanding. “You know, halfway through my question, I got there. I put it together.”

Buck leaned in. “If it makes you feel better, Melody Anne, your mother is my favorite.”

“Oh, it does, Buck.” Another series of shoulder pats. “Thank you.”

Melody elbowed Beat in the ribs. “We should get a drink,” Beat suggested, recognizing her cry for help. “Trina? Buck? Would you like anything from the kitchen?”

“We’re good, thanks,” Trina said, tone overly sweet. “Do you know how to prepare your own drink, Beat Dawkins? Doesn’t the butler normally do that for you?”

It was a cheap jab, but it caught Beat in his sore spot, stiffening his shoulders.

“Mom, please,” Melody sighed.

“I make my own drinks, thank you.”

Trina snorted. “Maybe your mother wanted to raise a pampered child, but that’s not how I chose to raise mine.” She sent her daughter a pointed look. “You’re letting him make you soft, Melody Anne.”