Wreck the Halls

His voice was like gravel when he responded, his big chest lifting and falling. “Yeah.”

If she left things unsettled between them, she’d regret it for the next forty-eight hours. Melody turned to look at the camera, then back at Beat, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “I think you hold yourself back, because you were taught—we were taught—that the truth is ugly and should always be private. Suppressed. I think you hold yourself back because you were outcasted by those kids after you opened up to them,” she whispered, wetting her lips. “What you enjoy is beautiful if it’s for the right reasons. But if it’s for the wrong reasons, I’m just not sure I can . . . do what happened last night . . . again. No matter what, though, Beat, we’re best friends. I think maybe we have been this whole time without even seeing each other. If we can still be best friends after one crazy night, I think that means we’re in it for the long haul.” She searched for the right words. “Maybe we just needed to get it out of our systems?”

He huffed a sound. “You’ll never leave my system, Mel. You’re one-half of it.”

Again, she had to resist crawling into his lap and wrapping herself around him like a bow, but she remembered the jarring loneliness of last night too well. Not being trusted with all of him was worse than having none of him, wasn’t it? Yes, it was. Especially when she wanted to give him everything. All she had. “It’s not possible to get you out of mine, either. But maybe if we pretend long enough, we’ll start to believe it.” She savored the graze of his lips on her cheek. Accidental? “I don’t want to go back to never seeing you.”

Joseph cleared his throat.

They both reared back slightly, Beat visibly resentful of the interruption.

She slipped out of the SUV, feeling his gaze on her back while they met up with the new driver and drove away, knowing he watched until she disappeared.

But she didn’t allow herself to look back once.





Chapter Twenty-Two




When Beat walked into his mother’s dining room later that afternoon—the new cameraman plodding in behind him—he could have heard a pin drop.

Octavia picked up her tall, slim glass of seltzer garnished with cranberries and sipped daintily, watching Beat over the rim through narrowed eyes. He sat down across from her with a sigh, setting his iPad and paper files down in front of him. He folded his hands and waited for her to start making sounds again. It might be time to face the music about his trip to Trina’s New Hampshire compound, but he’d also be getting some work done.

Work. That was all he’d done after being dropped off. He treasured his position at Ovations and took it seriously. But today? He was just thankful for the distraction. Without decisions to be made regarding the scholarship, he would be climbing the walls.

Even now, it was a feat of inhuman proportions not to punch a few buttons on the iPad and watch Melody’s live stream. He’d watched long enough this morning to make sure she arrived at a hotel and made it to her room safe and sound, before forcing himself to turn it off. Obviously, she’d wanted time alone and he should respect that. Millions of people were watching her every move. Then again, the person she’d needed space from was him.

Beat rubbed at the strained muscles of his throat and reached for his own drink, a tumbler of scotch, that had already been waiting for him upon arrival. He started to sip, but the burn was too welcome and he downed the whole goddamn thing.

“My goodness,” Octavia murmured, leaning back in her chair. “Trying to banish the memory of my ex-bandmate? Can’t say I blame you.”

“Remember you’re being recorded.”

“What, me? Forget about the cameraman? He doesn’t exactly blend in, dear.”

Beat’s eyes ticked up to the oversized mirror hanging on the wall, catching the reflection of the new guy. Ernest. Octavia’s entire dining room was decorated in a pristine white. A crystal candelabra and chandelier sparkled, along with the white garland and twinkling lights she’d added for the holidays. Ernest, who said to call him Ernie, was in black-and-gray flannel, his beard red and bushy, looking about as comfortable as a wrestler at a dance recital.

“It sounds like you watched the live stream,” Beat said, dryly, nodding his thanks to the housekeeper who breezed in and refilled his glass of scotch. “Thoughts?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“That makes two of us.”

When he fully expected his mother to express her anger over the fact that Trina very obviously hadn’t requested the reunion, as they’d led her to believe, she surprised him by leaning across the table and stabbing a finger into the gleaming surface. “I demand to know what happened in that attic last night.”

Beat’s hand froze in the act of reaching for his glass, then dropped. “What?”

“Oh, don’t you dare feign shock with me. The entire world is speculating. You should see the message boards—they’ve lit up like a Christmas tree.” She sniffed. “The way I see it, I should be privy to the truth as compensation for being totally betrayed.”

“You’re being a little dramatic, Mom.”

“Me? A woman carried in on the backs of swan-men, dramatic? You don’t say.”

Beat bared his teeth in a smile. “There isn’t a chance in hell I’m telling you what happened in the attic.”

Octavia stuck out her bottom lip. “Magnificent Mel didn’t seem herself afterward.”

Beat’s insides did their best to cram their way into his mouth. Didn’t seem herself afterward. He’d done that. He’d driven her away. “You met Melody for all of ten minutes,” he rasped, his hand unsteady as it closed around his tumbler, dragging the drink in front of him, but suddenly lacking the strength to pick it up.

“Yes,” his mother said slowly. “Although isn’t it odd? I feel as if I’ve known her much longer.” If she only knew how much Beat could relate. “And if you must know, I’ve become something of a Melody-head since the gala, even though she told me a minor fib.” She frowned over that statement while throwing herself back into her chair. “Liking her so much is very disconcerting, considering she sprung forth from the womb of a trifling banshee.” She gestured to the camera with her drink. “Trina, if you’re watching, where did you find your housemates, darling? Backstage at an Everclear concert?” Octavia’s laughter was smug. “She’ll know what that means.”

“Maybe we should change the subject,” Beat muttered, opening the file folder in front of him. “I’ve narrowed the field down to five applicants—”

“No, no. You’re not getting off the hook that easy.” She pursed her lips, obviously trying to appear casual. “When might you be bringing Melody over for dinner? I’m told she likes beignets. If French cuisine is her thing, I’m going to hire out the chef from La Bernadin.”