Wreck the Halls

“I see.”

The elevator doors opened, the guard gesturing for Beat to precede him down another hallway, until finally he was ushered into the atrium, a large, enclosed dome of glass that was lit up like the inside of a snow globe. In the near distance, he could see the row of international flags that lined Rockefeller Center. They were steps away. As one of the opening bands was finishing, the crowd was already demanding the Steel Birds make their appearance next, but he could barely register his surroundings, because he was looking for Melody—

And there she was.

Looking at him across the atrium with her fucking heart in her eyes.

God, kill him now.

Men weren’t built to withstand this kind of pain. She needed him, he was in love with her to the point of madness, yet she didn’t run into his arms. She couldn’t, because of the ditch he’d dug in between them. Despite the searing pain in his chest, Beat strode forward to join the group, nodding at Danielle and Joseph—who for once was without his camera—in greeting. Beat exchanged a measuring glance with Trina. Then he went right back to staring at the love of his life, while she stared back, utterly gorgeous in her white turtleneck dress and kelly green coat. Black boots that circled her ankles, the way his hands were dying to do.

“All right, folks. We’re just waiting on one more and then I’ll go over—”

“I’m here,” called a familiar voice.

They all turned at once to watch the original Steel Birds drummer saunter into the atrium in ripped jeans and a Steel Birds 1991 tour shirt. Trina’s quiet intake of breath was the only reaction among the group to the man’s arrival. Octavia’s smile was bland. Melody’s was bright and welcoming, as if she knew nothing, although Beat knew her well enough to tell it was costing her serious effort to smile. Rudy pretended to take a call and moseyed over to the other side of the space.

“They say a man’s wardrobe pauses on the best years of his life and never changes,” Trina said, crossing her arms. “Guess we know when you peaked, huh, Fletcher?”

Octavia hummed. “While riding our coattails.”

“Lovely to see you again, too, ladies. I’d love to make a joke about riding a lot more than your coattails, but I have more class than that.”

Red filtered into Beat’s vision and he bristled, ready to bury his fist in the center of the drummer’s face, but Melody subtly shook her head at him, anchoring him with her eyes. He could practically read her mind and it was saying You’ve been fighting the battle long enough, it’s their turn. And she was right. Tonight was for the band.

“Do you hear that, Oc?” Trina mused. “The guy who once left a puke trail from the tour bus to the stage has suddenly decided he’s classy.”

“Imagine that. People really do change.”

“Okay,” Danielle said, waving to get everyone’s attention. “As much as I would love to prolong this part of the reunion, we have a very large, very demanding crowd waiting to see the greatest female rock duo in history live onstage.”

“Notice she said ‘duo,’” Trina remarked, winking at Fletcher.

“Beat,” Danielle continued with determination. “You will go on first and introduce the band—”

“Shouldn’t Mel be with me?” he interrupted, unplanned.

That brought the producer up short. All five sets of gazes swung to him, then to Melody.

Meanwhile Melody’s heart was back to being in her perfect goddamn eyes again, her affection for him so pure and clear, it was carving him wide open. Who could survive this?

Danielle coughed. “I . . . just assumed, since Melody isn’t all that comfortable with the spotlight that she might want to stay backstage, but if I’m wrong, Melody you are more than welcome to join Beat for the introduction.”

His jaw ached from grinding his teeth. “You’re too beautiful to hide backstage.”

“Beat,” she whispered, flattening a hand over her middle. “Please.”

“Seems like a real relationship to me,” singsonged his biological father near his ear.

“That’s because it is.” He looked the man in the eye. “Always has been.”

Danielle made an uncomfortable sound. “Sorry, guys. There will be more time for conversation after the show, but right now, I’m going to need Beat to begin the introduction. And Melody, too, if she so chooses.”

Melody nodded, still staring at him. What was she thinking? He’d have crawled over ten miles of broken glass to find out.

“Beat and Melody, exit the left side of the stage. Trina, Octavia, and Fletcher, you will enter stage right and take a bow while the crowd gives you some much deserved accolades. I assume you’ve discussed the set list?”

“We have,” Octavia confirmed, trading a smirk with Trina.

“No one discussed it with me,” scoffed the drummer.

“Just try and keep up, you fool,” Trina responded without missing a beat.

“It’s time,” someone called from the tunnel at the end of the atrium.

Beat held out his hand to Melody and she took it, nearly felling him with gratitude. He savored the natural glide of her slim fingers twining between his bigger ones, barely banking the impulse to bring them to his mouth and kiss them. They walked side by side through the tunnel, flanked by security, bright lights beckoning to them from the other end. The cheering, chanting, stomping, and whistling grew louder, until they couldn’t have traded words even if they tried. So they simply stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the stage breathing in each other’s air. Melody allowed Beat to rest his lips against her forehead, their fingers tightening in each other’s grips.

“We’re back from commercial,” called a young woman in a headset. “In ten . . . nine . . .”

“Are we just winging it?” Melody shouted up at him while quickly handing her coat to someone in a headset. “Or do you have lines prepared?”

“We’re winging it.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Sort of like we’ve been doing this whole time?”

He laughed and it hurt.

We better go, she mouthed, as if she knew.

Reluctantly, he nodded and they walked out onto the stage to the roar of a seemingly endless crowd. It extended beyond the barriers of Rockefeller Center, spilling out into the avenue and side streets. People hung out of office building windows, lining rooftops, and standing on top of cars.

Someone in front of the stage signaled him, circling their finger rapidly.

In other words, hurry the hell up.

“Ladies and gentlemen . . .” Beat started.

He angled the microphone downward so Melody could reach it. “We are ever so proud to reintroduce . . .”

“The Terror Twins.”

“The Dirty Duo.”

“Our mothers.”