Wreck the Halls

“Steel Birds,” they shouted into the same microphone, their lips brushing together due to the proximity and Beat’s body quite simply took over, demanding to kiss the mouth that would torment him for the rest of his life. He planted one on her, oblivious to the crowd—at least until their approval turned deafening. To the point that security had to surround them behind the microphone and ferry them toward stage left.

Beat’s whole body throbbed to continue that kiss, but he couldn’t physically touch her another second without having everything. Being with her. Knowing they would be together every single morning, every single night. Anything less was painful, so as soon as they came off the stage and she disconnected their fingers, he kept walking.

And he didn’t stop.





Chapter Thirty-Three




Melody pressed her fingers to her lips as Beat walked away.

The crowd continued to go wild and her heart did the same. It vacillated between hurt and elation and conflict, going haywire.

She should go after him.

She had to go after him.

She’d needed time to regain her trust in him, but she’d never wanted a breach between them and it seemed to be widening by the second.

“Beat!”

The volume of the cheers was too loud—he couldn’t hear her. She could barely hear herself. Although her legs were still wobbly from the kiss, she turned to follow him, but Steel Birds took the stage at that moment—and the ground started to pulse. Fletcher emerged first and took a quick seat at the drums, picking up his sticks, followed by Trina and Octavia walking out into the open side by side, continuing until they were at the very edge of the raised platform. They basked in the white spotlights for a full minute while the audience screamed. Octavia flipped her hair and Trina flexed her biceps, ratcheting up the noise another degree.

And then they joined hands, raising their tightly clasped fists to the sky and the spotlight turned an electric shade of blue. The crowd’s enthusiastic response had Melody slapping her hands over her ears to muffle the noise. She could almost see the high decibels rippling the air around her, the hair raising on her arms.

They were riveting.

Melody couldn’t take her eyes off them. Especially when Trina picked up her guitar, strummed a single note, and shot Melody a wink. As badly as she needed to go after Beat, she couldn’t miss this moment for her mother. For them. She’d accomplished what she’d set out to do and her relationship with Trina would never be the same. It would be better.

Melody’s eyes watered, blurring the last remaining sight of Beat’s back. He’d been swallowed up by the chaotic backstage crowd. She could almost feel it in her stomach the moment he left the building. Where was he going?

Melody was distracted when Octavia picked up her guitar, lifted it over her head, and approached the microphone. “It might be Christmas Eve, but that’s not going to stop us from causing some trouble, is it, Trina?”

“Nothing has ever stopped us before,” purred Trina.

Fletcher laughed into his microphone, as if he was in on the joke, slowly turning the heads of both women. They looked at Fletcher, before returning their attention to each other. Nodding. “For thirty years, people have been asking us the question, ‘What broke up the band?’” Octavia tipped her head toward the drummer. “Well, you’re looking at him.”

Some of the smugness fled from Fletcher’s face.

He leaned forward to speak into the microphone, but he only got out one word before the sound miraculously cut off. The cheers died down, the crowd sensing the gravity of what was taking place.

“When Trina and I started Steel Birds, we vowed we’d never fall victim to the jealousy and inflated egos that break up nearly every great band, but that promise got lost somewhere along the way. I guess we got a little lost ourselves.”

“It took our kids to come along and pull our heads out of our asses.” Trina punctuated that statement with a low chord on her guitar, the audience whistling and clapping at the mention of Melody and Beat. “Can I say ass on television?”

“We’re fifty-three. We can say whatever the hell we want.”

Trina smiled. “I like that.”

Octavia hummed into the mic while the laughter rose and faded. “Bottom line is . . . we let a man come between us. And we’re never going to do that again.”

“Especially not this one,” Trina added, calling, “Security?”

Melody watched with her jaw on the floor as two security guards wrestled Fletcher backward out of his seat, whisking him off the stage in Melody’s direction while he sputtered. Before he could disappear into the backstage area entirely, Octavia stepped into his path, her expression a combination of cold and righteous.

“My family knows the secret of Beat’s paternity now. And I’ll quite happily tell the whole world before you see another dime that you didn’t earn. Your power is gone, do you hear me?” She flicked him a disgusted look, as if he was nothing more than a piece of lint. “Now go fade into obscurity where you belong.”

A sound that could only be described as a victory screech rent the air and Melody realized it had come from her own mouth. She’d also thrown her arms up like a referee announcing a touchdown. The only thing missing was Beat. And the lack of him was like a giant hole in the atmosphere.

Swiping at her dampening eyes, Melody took out her phone and started tapping out a text to him, but she couldn’t see the screen. Too blurry.

“Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Hank Turin to the stage,” Trina said into the microphone, gesturing to a small man with a ponytail who was making his way to the drum kit, the spotlight following his progress.

“He was with us on that final, disastrous tour and he was a gentleman the entire time,” said Octavia. “Even when we were fighting like a couple of alley cats.”

“Well.” Trina winked at the new drummer. “He wasn’t a gentleman the entire time.”

Octavia belted a laugh. “You could never leave those drummers alone.”

Trina gave the lead singer a pointed look. “Neither could you.”

The women were sharing a laugh with the audience when Danielle came up beside Melody. “They are absolutely killing and they haven’t even played a song yet.”

“They’re really special, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are,” Danielle agreed, putting an arm around Melody’s shoulders. “Look what you pulled off.”

“I didn’t do it alone.”

Before Danielle could respond, Octavia spoke again, her voice carrying through the plaza, backstage and beyond. “We’d like to open the show with a tribute to Beat and Melody.” Once again, the cheers rose to a deafening level. “Somehow, we don’t think you’ll mind.”

The stage went dark.

Danielle squeezed Melody’s shoulder, then stepped away, leaving her standing alone to watch the screen behind the stage light up. A movie began to play. No . . . not a movie. It was Melody and Beat. They were sitting at a table. Was it the day of the initial meeting with Danielle? Yes. There were beignets between them. Coffee.

But they weren’t supposed to be filmed. The conversation had been private.

Or so they’d thought.