Wreck the Halls

This was never going to stop. It would continue forever.

He was guarding a secret that took shape before he was even born. Over thirty years ago, when his parents were in their twenties. Octavia had been a rock star, constantly on the road—who was to say that sleeping with the drummer while in a relationship with his father was the only mistake she’d made? Maybe there was more and Rudy was aware of it all. Loved her despite everything?

Beat couldn’t know because he’d never asked.

He didn’t know how his parents would react, because he’d locked up the truth and decided to manage the blackmail situation all by himself, when it could have been over years ago. If he’d just trusted the people he loved enough to be honest with them . . .

Trust.

That was what it came down to, didn’t it? That was what Melody had taught him.

He needed to come clean to Octavia. Now. Today. His silence had cost him Melody, and the loss of his mental well-being was nipping at his heels. Octavia wouldn’t want that, especially over a secret that involved her. And he couldn’t carry the burden alone anymore. Another piece of straw added to the weight would break his back.

Or maybe it already had.

He was walking down the sidewalk to his parents’ building in a T-shirt and slippers in twenty-two-degree weather—and feeling none of the cold. None whatsoever. There was only the yawning canyon in the middle of his chest. Cars honked on the avenues as they passed, people changed directions to follow him on the sidewalk. By the time Beat reached Octavia’s high-rise, he was flanked by dozens of pedestrians, all of them wanting to know one thing.

Where is Melody?

Why weren’t they together?

Why was he doing this to them?

Every time someone asked one of those questions, a steel-toed boot stomped on his heart. Why weren’t they together? Because in his brief time with the most stunningly incredible woman in the world, he’d learned nothing from her. It was time to fix that.

Beat stared at his reflection in the elevator mirror on the ride up to his mother’s penthouse, finding himself unrecognizable. He’d be lucky if Octavia didn’t call security.

The doors opened and he entered the foyer, stopping short at the wall of silence, Ernie nearly mowing him down from behind. “Octavia?” There was no one in the opulent living space or the home gym, so he took the staircase to her office.

The moment he stepped through the entry, he knew something was wrong.

Octavia sat at her desk staring straight ahead, her face white as a sheet.

Instinctively, Beat fumbled for his microphone’s battery pack and turned it off, apologizing to Ernie as he locked him out of the office.

“Mom.” Frowning, Beat strode over and placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing back when she flinched. “What’s wrong?”

She shook herself, tried to speak, but nothing came out. Not right away.

After a bracing breath, she pointed at the screen of her laptop. “The Today show . . .” She wet her lips and started again. “Obviously I was pissed when Fletcher Carr ambushed you and Melody live on the air. I don’t want that man anywhere near the two of you, not that the Today show is required to consult me. Still, I called a producer friend because I felt like complaining. And she sent me . . . she just sent me this . . . recording.”

The hair on the back of Beat’s neck stood straight up. “What recording?”

Finally, Octavia looked up at him. “After the live segment, you had a conversation with Fletcher.” His mother looked at him like she’d never seen him before in her life. “Your microphone was still hot.”

Beat’s temples pounded, his mind sluggish while processing that information. He couldn’t remember the conversation word for word. He could only remember the parts about Melody. He could only remember the horrible things he’d said to her afterward. “Mom . . .”

“How long have you known he’s your father?”

His lungs emptied like he’d been socked in the stomach. Holy shit. He’d dreaded this moment so long, he couldn’t believe it was happening. Finding his voice was next to impossible, but he finally managed it. “Five years.”

Octavia closed her eyes. “Oh my God.”

Beat’s first instinct was to comfort her. He started to kneel beside her chair, so they could talk through the situation together and God, he hated upsetting his mother, but the relief of having this secret exposed was like emerging from a locked room after being imprisoned for half a decade. His blood rushed in a new direction, legs rubbery.

Before he could say a word, his mother’s housekeeper walked into the room. “Mrs. Dawkins, I—” She spied Beat standing beside the desk and sniffed. “I’m sorry, I was having a necessary moment in the bathroom or I would have informed you of your son’s arrival.”

“It’s fine,” Octavia said dully, dropping her head into her hands.

“But I’m afraid more guests have just arrived, Mrs. Dawkins.”

His mother’s eyebrows knit together. “Who?”

“It’s me, you old bitch,” Trina Gallard said, sailing into the office. “Before you ask, no, you’re not dreaming. I actually still have the body of a twenty-two-year-old.”

“Trina?” Slowly, Octavia rose to her feet, her eyes round in shock, fingers trembling where she planted them on the desk’s surface. “You . . . what are you doing here?”

“Livening up the place.” She sauntered around the office, leaving boot impressions on the white rug. “Jesus, Octavia, your home is the official Museum of Boring.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t know taste if it bit you on the ass.”

“Taste did bite me on the ass once. Wasn’t he the bass player from Infinite Jesters?”

“My goodness, you haven’t changed at all.”

“My goodness,” mocked Trina, pretending to clutch at some invisible pearls. “Does the mistress of the house require her smelling salts?”

“You require some manners. This is my home you’ve invaded. Uninvited!”

“I’d have turned to dust waiting for that invitation!”

“Why don’t you bite the dust instead, you vulgar, backstabbing hippie wannabe?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from—”

Melody walked into the room behind Trina.

The air around Beat’s head turned to glass and shattered, his heart breaking into a sprint. Oh . . . God. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. “Mel,” he said hoarsely, his feet carrying across the room before he could think better of his actions. Or before he could analyze the consequences. He went because he was compelled. Because he had no choice but to get her into his arms, by any means necessary.

She made a shaky sound as he swept her up off the ground in a bear hug, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent like it would revive him, a dead man—and she did. Life rushed back into his limbs, his fingertips, his chest, the simultaneous effect nearly sending him to his knees. “Beat,” she whispered into his neck.

“Mel,” he said again, more adamantly.