Wreck the Halls

Beat’s chest was currently held together by a zipper and with each mention of Melody, it was lowered a little more, everything on the verge of spilling out. “Is there any way we could avoid talking about this in front of millions of people?”

“Are you serious?” Octavia seemed genuinely perplexed. “Are you aware of how much you’ve been saying on camera, whether or not you actually say a single word?”

His pulse picked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean”—she wiggled her fingers at the camera—“you haven’t exactly been . . . subtle about your feelings. Or don’t you remember threatening to drive a tractor into the side of that Podunk jail to get Melody out? And honestly, no one blames you. What man could be subtle with Magnificent Melody on the line?”

Beat had no earthly idea how to answer that. So many times over the last week, he’d tried to pump the brakes around Melody, make his infatuation less obvious. Apparently he hadn’t been remotely successful. Why was he bothering to try and deny it now? At this stage, he was probably only making himself look like a fool. “You’ve been watching the live stream all day?” Beat asked, gruffly, waiting for his mother’s nod. “How is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s restoring an old copy of Animal Farm. Lord help me, it shouldn’t be so riveting, but she keeps up this delightful commentary. I simply couldn’t turn it off.”

He would have sold his soul in that moment to see Melody, head bent over a book in her magnifying glass hat, explaining the restoration procedure in her unique tone of voice, so full of humor and grace.

Octavia’s expression turned triumphant. “See? Look at you. One mention of her and your eyes melt like candle wax. You look like Woody from Toy Story when Andy didn’t take him to college.” Octavia gestured impatiently at the cameraman. “Are you getting this?”

Beat pinched the bridge of his nose and held on to his patience while Ernie circled to the other side of the table to get a better angle of his face. “What do you want from me, Mom? You want me to admit I have feelings for Melody?”

“At this stage, it’s merely a formality. But yes.” She waved at the cameraman. “Get me in the background. They’re sure to use this clip as promo and I look fucking hot.”

A smile couldn’t help but tug at Beat’s lips. “I have every single feeling for her.”

His mother yelped at that statement. “Then where is she?”

“Getting a well-deserved break from me.” He tried to swallow and couldn’t. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think she’ll be coming over for dinner anytime soon. Not as my date, anyway. As my friend? Maybe.” His mouth tasted bitter. “If I have to accept that, so do you.”

Octavia thought about it. “No. And you can’t make me.”

The housekeeper rushed into the room and whispered something in Octavia’s ear, making her eyes widen with interest. “Wait until you hear this. Melody is ordering room service.” She listened to the housekeeper some more. “Spaghetti and a Diet Coke? Damn. Now I don’t know if I should hire a French or Italian chef for our dinner.”

Beat wanted to roll his eyes, except he’d been holding his breath to find out her order, too. “I came here thinking you were going to read me the riot act over Melody’s claim that Trina wanted the reunion. Instead, you’re starting a Melody fan club.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you be a member?”

He looked down at the paperwork without really seeing it. “I’d be the president.”

When he thought Octavia might say I told you so, she tilted her head at him instead. “What’s the problem, Beat?”

“That’s between me and her.”

“And the attic.” She hesitated. “Just blink twice if there was nudity.”

“Really, Mom.”

“I’m a rock star! Nothing shocks me!”

If he didn’t turn the tables, this conversation was going to venture further into the place he didn’t want it to go—definitely not publicly. “Are you still in for the reunion?”

Octavia’s smile froze over. She reached for her glass. “Moot point, isn’t it? Trina said no, didn’t she?” Adding in a mutter, “Petty old witch.”

Beat couldn’t help but remember the look on Trina’s face last night when Melody was singing. Even before that, when Melody stood up to her, she’d been almost . . . transfixed. Thoughtful. Like she’d been trapped in a time capsule and someone had finally opened the hatch. “I don’t know. Danielle has us booked on the Today show Tuesday morning and apparently has a ‘trick up her sleeve.’ Although something tells me Trina is still considering the reunion, despite her unequivocal no.”

“The way Melody took her to task . . .” Octavia stared off into the distance, a bemused smile on her face. “That was something to see, wasn’t it? You were both off-key in the second verse of ‘Rattle the Cage,’ but nobody noticed. And I didn’t post about it on the message boards.” She scratched her eyebrow. “That definitely wasn’t me.”

“Right.”

“It was me.”

“Yes, I know.” He tapped a finger against the open file. “Can we discuss these applicants now?”

“One more thing. I gathered during my many hours of Melody viewing today that she’s very nervous about this bocce match tomorrow night.” She gave Beat a pointed look. “Perhaps she could use some moral support.”

The very idea of Melody nervous about anything made Beat want to sink down onto the floor and never come up. Still . . . “She doesn’t want that from me right now.”

“Oh, darling.” Sympathy shone in his mother’s eyes. “Didn’t I mention? She’s not being subtle about her feelings, either. Friends shmends.”

“It’s complicated,” he said, hoarsely.

“Are you in love with her?”

His heart answered for him, pounding behind his jugular. “Yes.”

Tempered joy flooded Octavia’s expression. “Then perhaps you should uncomplicate it.”

*


December 18



The following night, Beat walked into his friend’s party, handing over the bottle of champagne he’d brought—and he tried valiantly to pretend like the entire proceeding didn’t screech to a standstill at his appearance.

“Beat . . .” Vance greeted him at the door looking like he’d seen a ghost. “We . . . I . . . you’re here? I didn’t expect you to come.”

“Really?” He leaned in for a backslapping hug. “I RSVP’d in November.”

“That was before you were a worldwide sensation.”

Vance’s eyes widened as the associate producer, Steve, ducked into the apartment, further drawing the attention of every guest in the room. “Sorry to interrupt, folks, but I’m going to need everyone to sign a waiver. If you choose not to be on camera . . . what’s wrong with you? But okay. I’ll need your name and the official diagnosis. Just kidding. But seriously. I’m sure everyone here is excited to be on the live stream. Please step this way and sign the waiver, one by one. As quickly as possible, please, so we can get filming.”