Wreck the Halls: A Novel

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.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

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.”

“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.”

“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.