Wreck the Halls: A Novel

An hour later, when they reached the compound, they did not find a cult worshipping a statue of Chester Cheeto. Arguably, the sight that greeted them was worse.

The SUV that had met them at the small airfield pulled up to a three-story house that stood in a cluster of trees at the edge of an expansive field, the ground of which was frozen and stark looking beneath a gray sky. None of them made any move to leave the warmth of the still-running vehicle. Instead, they all leaned to the left in unison to stare up at the haunted-looking Victorian, searching for indications of life on the inside.

There were none. There was, however, a painted, wooden sign over the door that read THE FREE LOVING ADVENTURE CLUB.

And Beat already wanted to take Melody back to New York.

This morning, when Melody voiced her fears of finding a cult, instead of the innocent-sounding Free Loving Adventure Club, he’d thought she was exaggerating. Now he wasn’t so sure. He could easily see the Manson family dropping acid on the porch of this place.

Beside him, Melody fell back against the seat, chewing her lip. That soft, beautiful lip. Beat had to curl his fingers into his palm to prevent himself from reaching over and saving it from getting teeth marks. Damn. He’d barely kissed her on the plane. That had to be why he was now starved for the taste of her. That—and the ungodly blue balls she’d left him with.

A lot of men would be miserable in his current state of suffering. Not him. His blood pumped, heavy and hot. He could feel every breath that entered and exited his lungs. Everything was heightened. His hearing was sharper, the textures encountered by his fingertips became more interesting. Sensual. Running them over the slight perforations of the leather seat made his muscles contract, because it reminded Beat of her nipples. Her goose bumps.

Man, he was in deep lust with Melody. Really, extra deep.

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Every time he remembered her whispering that breathy command back at him, he stiffened up all over again. The only thing that could put a damper on his hunger was Melody’s obvious anxiety about seeing her mother, and now that the moment had arrived, she was sinking down farther and farther into the seat. Beat took a deep breath and let the desire ebb from his body, his focus narrowing down to her in a different way.

“Hey. It’s going to be fine.” He raised a hand to brush back her hair, but he realized the camera was trained on them and let it drop. According to Danielle, the public were already pushing for them to be a couple. But something stopped him from touching her on camera. Maybe he wanted to keep the most intimate parts of Melody all to himself. Or maybe because he knew he should fight the physical pull between them. Because if he hurt this perfect person, he would never, ever forgive himself.

“Should we get out and knock?” Danielle asked.

No one moved.

“No one seems to be home. No cars in the surrounding area,” Beat pointed out. “Unless . . . do they drive?”

“They bike everywhere. I remember my mother telling me that.”

“Okay.” Beat squeezed her hand on the seat. “I’ll get out and check for bikes.”

“No.” She grabbed his wrist to prevent him from opening the door. “Can you ask the driver to please honk the horn or something?”

Beep beep.

Silence.

The driver, a man in his sixties with a low-brimmed ball cap, took his time turning around in his seat. “Far be it from me to alarm you city folks, but I thought you should know. We get a lot of police activity up here.”

Melody’s back straightened. “What kind of police activity?”

“The sirens and flashing lights kind,” the man drawled.

“Yes, but why are the cops called, sir?”

The driver gave a head tilt. “Do you know who you’re up here visiting, girl?”

“My mother.”

“Oh.” He winced. “Is she the old rocker gal always walking around town in angel wings and combat boots?”

Melody covered her face with her hands. “Undoubtedly. Unless there are two people who fit that description.”

“The locals don’t like her much. None of her friends, neither.” He gave Beat a pointed look. “They don’t place much importance on hygiene.”

Beat opened his mouth to ask the driver to please stop upsetting Melody, but he never got the chance to say anything. Because the peal of a police siren rent the air.

“That’d be them, now, probably,” sniffed the driver, turning back around.

Joseph started to laugh.

“Shut up,” Danielle whispered at him. Then to Melody, “I’m sure that’s just a coincidence. Let’s just get out and have a look around, shall we?”

As soon as the producer opened the rear passenger door, the sound of beating drums could be heard in the distance. Danielle turned, looking back at everyone with a raised eyebrow, then climbed out, followed closely by the cameraman. “Hey,” Joseph grumbled at her. “Stay close.”

“Oh stop.”

“I mean it, woman.”

Danielle looked ready to reprimand him. Unfortunately, another siren joined the first and cut her right off. Beat resisted the urge to slam the door closed and ask the driver to return them to the airfield, but he got out of the SUV instead, turning to help Melody. She settled her hands on his shoulders and he tugged her out into his arms, allowing himself an extra second of holding her before letting her feet touch the ground. Taking her hand, they walked around the side of the house—and that’s when the bonfire came into view.

About a quarter of a mile into the field, flames rose a story high, whipping and licking against the dull winter sky. Several figures surrounded the fire and appeared to be moving in a measured circle, some of them beating on drums. Although the police vehicles arriving one by one were definitely putting a damper on the proceedings.

“Enough with the drums,” came a stern voice through a loudspeaker. “Put them down in front of you and keep your hands where we can see them.”

The drumbeats grew louder. A familiar, defiant shout went up.

“Oh boy,” Melody said, gulping. “That’s Trina.”

“Are you getting this?” Danielle asked Joseph. “How close can you zoom in?”

“It’s like I’m there,” answered the cameraman. “There are seven of them playing drums. Bongos. One of them is Trina. It’s thirty-five degrees and not one of them is wearing a goddamn jacket.”

“By all means, tell us the important parts,” Danielle deadpanned.

Joseph cleared his throat. “Do you want me to tell you about the three men dressed like Santa Claus that just arrived?”

“What?” Beat, Melody, and Danielle shouted simultaneously.

“You heard me.”

“We need to get closer.” Danielle was already jogging for the SUV. “Let’s go.”

When Melody started to take off after the producer, Beat caught her around the waist with his forearm, drawing her to a quick stop. “I’d rather keep Melody away from the police activity than go toward it.”

“For better or worse, she’s my mother.” Melody squirmed against him. “What if I can help?”

“Sounds like if she wanted help, she’d stop playing the drum.”

“Beat.”

Against his will, he released Melody, stalking in her wake toward the SUV. Once they were all piled in and the driver was cutting across the field, Beat cupped Melody’s chin and lifted it until they locked eyes. “Stay with me, okay? Please?”

“Okay.”

“Notice the way he says please,” Danielle said, poking Joseph in the shoulder.

A snort was all he offered in reply.

At any other time, Beat might have speculated more on the relationship between Danielle and Joseph, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the scene that greeted them when they pulled up at the drum circle.

Because it was a sight to behold.

Trina Gallard stood in front of the bonfire wearing angel wings, but they weren’t the pink, sparkly kind that came with a child’s Halloween costume, like he’d wrongly pictured. No, they were black and purple, spanning at least six feet. Doc Martens were laced up to her knees. She wore spandex shorts and something he thought might be called a bustier. Or a corset, maybe?

“Miss Gallard . . .” The cop’s exasperation came through the speaker. “I’m not going to ask you again to put down the drum.”

“This is the great outdoors, Officer! Man has no jurisdiction here.”

“Except you’re on my land once again, Trina!” shouted one of the Santa Clauses, stabbing the air with his finger. “I’ve got the right to hold a peaceful gathering at my home without you hippies worshipping the sky or whatever weird shit you’re up to this week.”

“You heard him, Miss Gallard,” the officer said. “You’re trespassing. Again.”

The former rock star blew a raspberry. “We’re not bothering anyone.”

“You’re bothering me! You’ve gone too far this time, making a bonfire on my side of the property line. Officer, I want them arrested.”

“Oh no,” Melody said, groaning. “There has to be a way to mediate this.”

“Melody, stay in the car, please,” Beat said. “I’ll handle it—”

She was already sliding out of the backseat and taking off after Danielle into the field. “So much for please making a difference.” Joseph sighed, following the women. Beat exited into the icy air right behind him, striding after Melody.

Stress level: high.

The scene was already dissolving into chaos, but at the appearance of Melody, Danielle, Beat, and the man carrying a camera, everything only got worse. “Who the hell is this now?” a second Santa wanted to know, visibly incited by their arrival. “Not only did you neglect to ask permission to be on our land and start a fire, now you’re filming?”

“They’re not with us!” snarled a man with a purple bandanna tied around his head.

Trina’s hands dropped away from her bongos, surprise transforming her features. She took a step away from the bonfire and stopped, shielding her eyes. “Actually, that’s . . . my daughter. That’s my kid.”

Purple Bandanna wheeled around. “You have a kid?”

Melody came to a jarring stop, as if she’d run into an invisible barrier. Beat couldn’t see her face, but he knew exactly how it would look. Blank everywhere but her eyes. They’d be turbulent. Knowing that, anger flooded Beat at such a wild pace, it was a wonder he was able to keep walking, but somehow he did until he reached Melody, letting her feel his heat against her back. He slipped their fingers together and held tight.

Trina’s eyes narrowed, ticking from her daughter to Beat, some of the color leaving her face. “That better not be who I think it is,” she said, audibly short of breath.

Now the Santas were getting impatient. “Officer, when can we expect these hippies off our property? We’re having our annual Christmas party and I know they timed this damn drum circle so it would interfere. I know they did.”

Santa #2 stepped forward. “Is this because we didn’t invite you?”

“We hate you! That’s why!” This, from Santa #3.

Trina ignored them. “Answer me, Melody. Is that her son?”

“Yes, Mother. This is Beat Dawkins.”

A sound of outrage slowly rose in volume until it was a full-on screech. “You would bring him here? To my home?”

“Technically, you’re in our home,” barked Santa #1.

Trina hauled back and threw her bongo at Santa #1—and it was a direct hit. The drum caught him in the dead center of his forehead and he staggered back, clutching the impact point, his bearded chin quivering in shock.

That’s when all three Santas charged the bonfire.

The police officers, who were clearly not expecting a physical altercation, were slow to act, fumbling their radios and bumping into the open doors of their patrol cars, before running toward the bonfire in an effort to intercept the fight. Beat watched in disbelief as Trina’s posse threw their drums in solidarity with their apparent leader and clashed head-on with the trio of Santa Clauses. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting—but it wasn’t this.

And he especially didn’t expect Melody to run straight into the fray.

“Mom!”

His legs went so numb, it took Beat a second to take off after her. “Mel!” Pulse jackhammering in his temples, he watched Santa #3 snatch up a stick from the ground on his way to Trina. A long, gnarled one that maybe they’d been using to poke the bonfire. He thrust that thing up over his head like a spear, his mouth open on a high-pitched yell. Beat was still a good ten yards from reaching Melody when, to his utter horror, she stepped between Trina and Santa #3, balling her fists and preparing to defend her mother.

He’d never been so awed by anyone or so fucking panicked in his life.

Trina had just been outed as someone who never even spoke about Melody. To people she apparently lived with. She had this incredible daughter and didn’t bother to claim her? She didn’t deserve this type of loyalty, but Melody was giving it to her anyway. There wasn’t a chance in hell, however, any of it was going to happen while Beat had breath in his lungs.

He made it to Melody’s side, just in time for the stick to come down, his fist closing around it in midair. Two inches from the crown of Melody’s head.

Teeth clenched so hard that his head ached, Beat looked Santa #3 in the eye and snapped the stick over his knee. “Back away from her or I swear to God, the next siren you hear will be your ambulance.”

“Beat,” Melody gasped behind him, distress in her voice, and he quickly saw why.

Santa #1 had reached Trina and a shoving match had ensued.

Once again, despite Beat’s effort to reach the argument in time, Melody found her way in between them, pushing the man back. Santa #1 reached over Melody’s head and jabbed Trina in the forehead with his index finger, prompting Melody to knee him hard between the legs.

The Santa doubled over and howled.

And finally, far too late, the cops reached the fray. “All right, you’re both under arrest.” One of the officers wrestled Trina to the ground. Beat assumed the second one would wrangle Santa #1, but to his horror, the officer jerked Melody’s wrists behind her back instead, snapping a set of handcuffs closed with a metallic zip.

“What the hell are you doing?” Beat demanded, pulling a bound Melody up against him. “Why are you arresting her?”

“She just assaulted the man on his own property.”

“He was attacking her mother!”

“He has a reasonable right to defend his own property and her mother started the damn thing by clocking him with the drum, in case you missed it.”

“I’m bleeding!” Santa #1 added.

This wasn’t happening. No way. Melody couldn’t be arrested.

It vaguely occurred to Beat that all this was being fed out into a live stream, but honestly, that was the last goddamn thing on his mind. “Can you take me instead of her?”

“Ain’t that sweet,” crooned the officer, his lips flattening. “No.”

Beat dropped the broken stick in his hand and plowed five fingers through his hair. The thought of Melody being taken into jail alone was causing an acid storm in his gut. “Should I get arrested, too?”

The police officer looked at Beat over the top of his aviators. “I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I were you, son.”

“Beat. Do not get arrested.” Melody went up on her toes and pressed their cheeks together, making him feel like he’d swallowed a starfish. “We’re going to need you to get us out.”

With those words ringing in his head, Beat watched helplessly as the officers loaded his Melody—and her spitting mad mother—into the back of a patrol car. “Please,” he rasped to no one in particular. “Please.”

Danielle and Joseph flanked him, Joseph filming, Danielle punching madly at the screen of her phone. “I’m already searching for the closest bail bondsman.” She squeezed Beat’s shoulder. “We’ll get her out. As soon as I get some release forms signed.”

The hippie in the purple bandanna blocked his view of Melody, his teeth exposed in a broad grin. “Welcome to a typical afternoon with the Free Loving Adventure Club, man.”