Wreck the Halls

“When,” she whispered. “When. You’ll have to trust me on that.”

Beat sucked in a breath and nodded, falling back against the elevator wall to watch her leave through bloodshot eyes.





Chapter Thirty-Two





December 24



Beat watched his parents embrace from the opposite end of the limousine and felt a multitude of knots loosen in his chest. He hadn’t been privy to their conversation, but their body language throughout the ride to Rockefeller Center told him exactly what they were discussing. Octavia was making her confession. His mother shook as she spoke, his father reaching out in concern. Offering forgiveness and comforting Octavia.

Just like that.

A thirty-year-old secret, shame, and regret abolished by love.

Even as the relief swept Beat, he couldn’t appreciate it to the fullest. Not without his heart. That thing that used to beat inside of his rib cage was walking around outside of his body, probably in her kelly green coat. Maybe she’d already made it to Rockefeller Center with Trina, where they would meet with the production team and Steel Birds would take the stage.

The city passed in a blur outside, snow beginning to wander down lazily from the sky. New Yorkers were doing last-minute shopping, tourists posed for pictures in front of Radio City Music Hall, Santa rang a bell for the Salvation Army on the corner, sirens blipped every so often, and steam rose from the edges of a manhole cover. Was Melody seeing all this? What did she think about the city this time of night? Was she smiling at that very moment?

Beat’s fingers dug into his bent knees and tried to slow down his pulse. Not easy, knowing he’d be seeing her in a few minutes. Although, honestly, he’d been seeing her everywhere he looked for the last forty-eight hours. It didn’t matter that they’d ceased the live stream, due to a lack of bandwidth to support the viewership, and he could no longer watch Melody on his phone. She was tattooed on the back of his eyelids.

The determined curl of her upper lip as she sang “Rattle the Cage” at the compound.

That giggle she let loose sometimes when she wasn’t prepared to laugh.

Her beautiful eyes full of tears, happy and sad and angry ones.

Her flushed face as he fucked her two days ago.

Everywhere. She was everywhere. And that was where he wanted her. He didn’t want a single ounce of her to slip free, so he endured the ice pick that buried in his chest every time another memory presented itself and made him miss her even more.

More and more and more.

Bring it on.

The limousine came to a stop outside of the Applause Network building on Forty-Ninth Street, located a half block from the Rockefeller Center stage where the reunion would take place. Beat could hear the crowd from there—and obviously, so could Octavia. She pressed a hand to the center of her chest and sucked in a long breath through her nose.

“Wow,” she said, laughing. “I’d forgotten what this feels like.”

“You’re going to knock them dead, darling,” Rudy said, his voice laden with more emotion than usual. “Just like you always did.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing her husband. “Beat, you’re still okay with introducing us?”

He cleared the rust from his throat. “Are you kidding? It’s an honor.”

The limousine door opened, the driver’s hand appearing inside to help Octavia step out of the vehicle, but she didn’t take it right away. Instead, she tilted her head at Beat, her expression brimming with sympathy. “I have a good feeling about tonight,” she said. “No one can stay mad at anyone for long on a snowy Christmas Eve.”

“She isn’t mad at me,” he rasped, losing his breath just by talking about her.

She simply couldn’t be with him.

He’d been careless with the world’s most priceless treasure. Melody’s heart. And she didn’t trust him with it anymore.

Beat’s eye sockets burned like they’d been freshly branded onto his face. He dug his thumbs into them to counteract the sting, but it only got worse. His reflection in the window of the limousine was haggard and drawn. Sunken, lifeless eyes and a bristled jaw. Rudy called his name and he realized it was their turn to exit the limousine. A crowd had assembled on the curb and they screamed, some of them being physically restrained by security as Octavia passed through the parted sea of people and disappeared into the building.

“Beat,” his father said again.

“Yes?”

Rudy tapped an unlit cigar on his thigh, turning it over end by end. “I just wanted to say . . . you’re my boy, you know. I was there the day you were born.” He ceased his nervous movements. “You’re still my son. Right?”

Physically, Beat could not handle this moment, but he tried; he dug deep and found the strength because he sensed how important the answer was to his father. “I’m your son,” he said firmly. “You’re the only father I need or want. In this case, a bond is stronger than blood.”

Rudy ducked his head swiftly. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you for being so understanding about this. I’m sorry I kept the truth from you. From Octavia. I didn’t give either of you enough credit.”

“You were protecting your mother. I’ll never find any fault in that.”

Beat took a deep breath to compose himself and let it out fast, his father mirroring the move in the exact same manner, at the exact same time. And they laughed.

“Into the fray once more, young man,” said his father, lighting his cigar and heaving himself out of the limousine. Beat listened to shouts of his father’s name, the increasing demands for Beat to make an appearance. Through the window, he read the signs being held aloft and his stomach flipped over.

Beat + Melody = Couple Goals

Put a ring on it, Beat

If they only knew he was burning alive with the need to propose. Christ, at this point, he would be happy with a text message from her. A smile. Anything.

A security guard stuck his head in through the open door of the limousine. “Mr. Dawkins, we can’t control the crowd indefinitely. You’re needed inside.”

“Right. Sorry.” He crouch-walked to the other side of the vehicle and forced himself out into the cold, buttoning his suit jacket as he straightened, the blast of cheers nearly knocking him back a step. The metal barriers holding the crowd at bay scraped forward on the concrete, more signs popping up, pictures of him and Melody taped to them. One had Melody lying on top of him in the snowbank and he slowed his step to look at it, his lungs burning on a harsh intake of breath. Take him back to that night. God, he would give anything.

“Mr. Dawkins,” said the security guard, more impatiently this time, and they moved in tandem through the open side door of the building. They traveled through an ornate lobby, to an elevator that took him to the second floor. “We’re using the atrium as the backstage area. It exits into the plaza where the band will be performing.”