Wreck the Halls

Beat’s top layer of skin was on fire, head to toe. This shit was manageable when Melody was around. They were in it together. But doing it alone made him feel like a clown. “I’m sorry about this,” he said to Vance. “I tried calling you to explain . . .”

“Shit. I’ve been running around for the last few hours. My place was an actual pigsty until about ten minutes ago. No bullshit.” Vance gaped as the line of guests formed, his gaze swinging back to Beat. “I have ten thousand questions. And I’m not going to ask you any of them.”

Beat’s breath escaped like helium from a balloon. “Thank you.”

“But someday you’re going to get drunk and tell me everything.”

“Sure. I’m going to sing like a canary.”

Vance laughed, studying his face closely. “No, you’re not.” He opened his mouth, closed it, and started again. “I always had this weird intuition that I didn’t know the real Beat Dawkins, you know? Now I know it wasn’t just a feeling. It’s true. After seeing you with Melody . . .” Someone across the room called both their names and Vance turned to wave, Beat following suit even though his arm suddenly weighed a hundred pounds. “You’ve kept a lot of yourself hidden, haven’t you?”

Any other night, Beat would have pretended not to see the hurt and confusion in his friend’s eyes, made a joke, and veered the conversation into a different lane. But Vance was the second person to call him on his behavior in the space of thirty-six hours . . . and Beat couldn’t run from the accusation anymore. Had he taken his quest for privacy way too far? Was he now driving people away by keeping his hopes and fears and secrets buried under the surface?

It seemed so. His friend was looking at him like he barely knew him.

Melody wasn’t standing at his side where she belonged. And yet she guided him now, her voice in his head, always revealing herself with such bald honesty. No pretense. No fear. God, he wanted to be more like her and holy shit, he missed her so much his bones ached.

“It’s habit, you know?” Beat coughed into his fist. “I had to keep things to myself growing up to maintain Octavia’s privacy. Later on, I sort of realized that when I spoke about my life to other people . . . my advantages became very obvious. I guess I just started keeping things to myself out of habit. I didn’t mean to be . . . hidden.”

Vance nodded slowly. “And with Mel . . .”

“With Mel, it’s like we’re both . . . in the same hiding spot. Together.”

His friend visibly suppressed a laugh. “I have terrible news, man, you’ve been doing the opposite of hiding.” He squinted an eye. “How drunk do I have to get you to find out—”

“The attic? There isn’t enough alcohol in New York City.”

“Had to shoot my shot.”

“But did you?”

That was their last private moment before friends and acquaintances joined them, having finished signing the waivers. Ernie fired up the camera, the red light blinking, lens trained on Beat as he made forced small talk with friends of friends who obviously wanted to ask him about Wreck the Halls and the status of the reunion . . . and Melody.

What was she doing right at that moment? If she were here, he would trade a knowing look with her, because she would understand how everyone he spoke with wanted to pry and was valiantly holding themselves back. How he felt like not enough on his own, not enough without the juicy information about his famous family. How they were hoping Beat would offer a tidbit without them having to ask. He and Melody had performed these steps since they were children and in a short space of time, he’d gotten used to dancing with her, not without.

Half an hour into the party and Beat was no longer hearing the conversation around him. His gaze continually strayed to the window facing east—toward Brooklyn. Melody’s bocce match would be starting right now. He’d called Danielle this afternoon to ask about the security they planned on providing and she’d been cagey, mumbling under her breath that the network was working with the NYPD to control the expected crowd.

Thinking about tiny Melody in the middle of all that mayhem caused a bead of sweat to roll down his back. She was dealing with Magnificent Melody Mania while he was in this private apartment without any need for security. She’d asked for space, but this was just wrong. Even if they’d hired enough security to protect the pope, no one could care for her like Beat.

“Excuse me,” Beat murmured to the couple telling him about their first concert in a crystal-clear effort to broach the subject of Steel Birds. “I have to make a call.”

That wasn’t true. He’d just reached his breaking point. He’d made it thirty-six hours without watching Melody’s live stream and that was all he could handle.

Beat closed himself in the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the bathtub, phone already in hand. He tapped the network app and opened the split screen, laughing without humor over the surreal quality of watching himself in conversation with party guests on one side, while Melody rode in the back of a dark SUV on the other.

In seconds, his palms were clammy, his pulse struggling to remain even. His breathing became ragged at the sight of her. God almighty, she looked beautiful. No, she was beautiful. Her Melody-ness didn’t require any effort—she simply embodied it. Breathless vulnerability meets poise. Charm and bravery. Kindness with the right amount of skepticism. There was nobody like her in the entire world. And he wanted her sitting in his lap so he could tell her.

But he’d lost that privilege. She’d been clear.

Friends. They were going to be the best of friends.

If only his heart could get on board with that reality.

Beat watched Melody on the screen of his phone, watched her eyes widen in alarm as she turned the corner onto the block of her bocce bar venue. Red and blue lights reflected in the inside windows of the SUV and Mel shrunk down into the seat, the bodyguard sitting beside her shifting, preparing. Jesus, what was she walking into?

Whatever it was, he needed to be there.

Yeah, she’d asked for space. But she’d also called Beat her best friend. She wanted that, right? If he couldn’t be more to her than a friend, he would ignore the catastrophic yearning in his chest and he would be the best goddamn friend she could ask for.

Maybe . . . he’d even find the courage tonight to give Melody the remaining portions of his trust, which he’d been guarding so long he probably wouldn’t know where to begin.

She’ll help. She makes everything easier.

“I have to go,” Beat said to the empty bathroom. Then to the phone, “Mel, I’m coming.”

Beat lunged off the toilet and threw open the bathroom door, dodging the line of people waiting to use the toilet. Urgency throbbed in his temples. He really didn’t have time to stop and say goodbye, but after his earlier exchange with Vance, he owed it to his friend not to bail without a word.

It took Beat a moment to locate Vance and when he did, what he saw in the living room took a moment to register. Everyone at the party was gathered around a laptop watching Mel on one side of the screen, him on the other. They all turned slowly. Guiltily.