Wreck the Halls: A Novel

They walked out of the building hand in hand and Beat squinted into the fading winter sunlight. Bells jingled somewhere in the distance. The lights strung between lampposts on the avenue were flickering on for the evening, casting the sidewalk in a muted glow. Cinnamon and sugar hung in the air, courtesy of the bakery across the street. There was something about holding Melody’s hand while surrounded with Christmas nostalgia that forced Beat to slow his step, experience it a little longer.

Or maybe he was just stalling.

An SUV idled at the curb, waiting to take them to the gala, where they would pose the possibility of a reunion to his mother. On camera. In all likelihood, the show could be done before it started. What would he do about the money then?

Melody squeezed his hand and smiled at him, like she knew his thoughts had taken a troubling turn. Christ, she looked beautiful. Soft and sexy, like a classic movie star who’d stepped straight off the screen. That gown hugged her in places he was doing his best not to notice, but obliviousness would be extraimpossible tonight. At least, for the moment, she was wearing a coat to cover the pale swells of her tits. The neat curve of waist into hips where he wanted to plant his hands and mold her. Examine her. Feel her.

His growing attraction to Melody was the exact last thing Beat needed right now on top of everything else. They were on camera; their every move was being documented. His blackmailer wouldn’t stop leaving messages. His mother might disown him by the time the night was over—and all he could think about was using his teeth to rip down the front of Melody’s dress.

“It’s going to be fine.” She inflated one of her cheeks with air and slowly let it out, so endearing his throat tightened up. “What kind of food is going to be at this party?”

“I have no idea,” he said softly.

“I thought you said you organized this gala.”

He tugged her in the direction of the SUV, Joseph walking backward in front of Beat and Melody to keep them in the camera’s sights. “I’m more of the big-picture guy.”

“You tell people the vision and they make it happen.”

“Correct.”

She laughed. “I’m sure it’s slightly more complicated than that. I’ve followed the progress of Octavia’s Ovations over the years. It’s incredible—the way the foundation finds talented kids without a lot of resources, plucks them out like diamonds in the rough and installs them in Juilliard or some other amazing performing arts school. One of the Ovations kids performed the national anthem at the Super Bowl last year, right? I mean, they never fail to blow everyone away. Whoever is selecting those kids must have sharp intuition.”

Beat helped Melody into the middle seat of the SUV, scrutinizing her face as she passed, trying to determine what she knew. But he didn’t have to study her too closely, because she wasn’t hiding anything. It was all right there on her face. “You’re . . . aware it’s me that does the selections?”

“Yes. Therefore, you’re forgiven for not knowing if there will be shrimp cocktail.”

“Oh, there’s always shrimp cocktail. That falls under the category of big picture stuff.”

“You’re obviously a visionary. What about dessert?”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

He settled into the seat beside her. “A wide selection.”

She gasped. “That’s my favorite dessert.”

Beat’s laughter boomed through the SUV and Melody smiled, a pleased flush coloring her cheeks. Even though it was a terrible idea, he wanted to study that blush closer, so he scooted over, reached up, and grabbed her seat belt, greedily inhaling her gingerbread scent while he dragged the nylon strap across her body and engaged it with a click. Then he made the mistake of looking at her mouth and the zipper of his tuxedo pants turned restrictive. Jesus.

There was a camera recording his every move and still he couldn’t quite stop weighing the pros and cons of kissing her—

“Hey!” Someone shouted into the SUV through the door, which hadn’t been closed yet. Beat turned slightly to find a woman he didn’t recognize waving her phone around. “Holy shit. I’m watching your Instagram live right now.”

A pair of young men stopped in their tracks behind her on the sidewalk, their mouths dropping open. “Oh my God,” shouted one of them, jogging toward the car, his friend close behind. “Can we get on camera?”

Stranger number one used her body to block the men from entering the car. “Where is the gala? Are you really going to reunite the band? Are you two a couple? Seems like it!”

The two men were growing impatient and began elbowing their way into the SUV around the woman. A squabble ensued and Beat took their distraction as an opportunity to reach for the handle, swing the door closed, and slap the lock down. It wasn’t until the sound of the argument cut off and the SUV roared away from the curb that he realized his pulse was drilling like a jackhammer in his temples.

When he managed to find his voice, he turned toward Danielle where she sat in the rear row. “What happened to the security you were supposed to hire?” A finger poked Beat in the ribs and he realized he’d squashed Melody into the corner, using his body as a shield. With a muttered apology, he eased away. Slightly. “What if Melody had been sitting closest to the door?”

For once, Danielle looked caught off guard. Dumbstruck, even. “I . . . the security team is meeting us at the gala. I didn’t think we would require them this quickly.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, either,” Melody murmured.

They looked at the camera simultaneously.

Beat cleared his throat. “How many people are watching now?”

“Do you really want to know?” Danielle asked after a few seconds of tapping on her phone.

“No,” Melody said, quickly.

Beat thought of how easily Melody could have been yanked out of the car. Or asked something a lot more mortifying than their relationship status. “Hire more security.”

Danielle let out a breath and lifted her phone to her ear. “Good idea.”

Not five seconds later, everyone traveling in the SUV—him, Melody, Danielle, Joseph, a lighting technician, and the driver—seemed to get a text. Then another and another, turning the interior of the SUV into an echo chamber of electronic chimes.

Beat was almost afraid to look, but he did so anyway, watching messages from his friends populate the screen, one by one. Of course, they were texting him with questions. He’d told them nothing about the live stream and they’d obviously missed any promo. In other words, they were finding out in real time on social media.

He started to pull everyone into a group chat, so he would only have to explain the situation once. A blanket message to keep things impersonal and vague, as was his modus operandi. But before Beat could tap out an explanation and get the thread started, a video clip from his buddy Vance popped up, accompanied with a text that read: someone has it bad. Beat tapped the play icon, quickly hitting pause when he saw it was a clip of Melody. Clearly, the footage was taken recently, because she was wearing the same gown.

Don’t watch it. Some intuition told Beat it was a bad idea. But when Melody turned around in the seat to speak with Danielle, Beat couldn’t talk himself out of tapping play again and holding the speaker of his phone closely to his ear.

“How well do you know Beat?” came Danielle’s voice.

“Not well. Not well at all,” responded Melody. Beat held his breath. “I-I mean, I feel like I know him. That doesn’t mean anything, does it? A lot of people probably feel like they know Beat, because he’s so personable. When he looks at you, everything just kind of fades away and . . . yeah, everything just kind of fades away when he’s around, I guess. He’s kind and thoughtful and you’ve seen him. He’s . . . beautiful.”

Those words might have been enough to tell him Melody was harboring a crush on him, but her tone of voice sealed the deal. She may as well have been a devout Catholic speaking about the Second Coming. And his behavior was doing nothing to dissuade the crush, either. Case in point, their hands were still locked together on the seat between them. Two seconds after this footage was recorded, he’d barged into the room and hugged her, because he’d been utterly compelled to . . . touch her in some way. Any way.

Safe to say they were both nursing a crush.

Might as well acknowledge the facts.

Unfortunately, Melody didn’t know his sexual interests were . . . slightly complicated. He came part and parcel with that complication, and he’d decided early in his life, before he even reached adulthood, that he would handle his particular needs privately and keep his social life separate. That included Melody. Most of all Melody.

Stop leading her on, then.

Knowing what he had to do—and doing it—were two very different things. Touching Mel came naturally in a way it never had with anyone else. It felt necessary, like he was making up for lost time. They might have grown up separately, thanks to the Steel Birds breakup, but their mothers’ past kept them tethered, along with something intangible. When they were together, his senses heightened, and his two-dimensional world expanded into three. Like it was supposed to be.

As soon as Beat let go of Melody’s hand, the tip of a blade dug into his chest and twisted. Immediately, he wanted to thread their fingers back together, but he forced himself to keep both hands on his phone, instead, tapping out a message to his friends without really processing any of what he was saying.

Minutes later, when they reached the venue, he was relieved to see a security team of half a dozen men waiting for them just beyond the valet line. But when he climbed out of the SUV and automatically turned to help Melody from the vehicle, one of the guards performed that duty instead and his stomach shrunk in on itself. Briefly, their gazes met over the guard’s shoulder and she quickly looked away, which told Beat she’d felt him withdraw on the ride over.

Of course she had.

And it was for the best, even if his stupid heart was in his mouth.

Realizing the camera was trained on his face, Beat let security sweep him and Melody toward the entrance, forcing himself to prepare for what was to come.

Nothing major. Just a little thing called Armageddon.