Beat and Melody stood side by side, staring down at the twin-sized bed.
Correction: mattress. It was a mattress. On the floor in the corner of a room at the highest point of the house. The attic, if you will. There was no other furniture, except for a row of potted house plants lined up in front of a giant, circular window. The sun had set while Melody and Trina were in jail, leaving the sky a pitch-black canvas full of stars that seemed so close Beat felt he could reach out and rearrange them.
The celebratory music downstairs played loud enough to shake the floorboards beneath their feet. Madonna followed by Skynyrd followed by Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas.” They’d been welcomed back to the house by a boisterous round of applause, and the alcohol had started flowing. Danielle ran around getting release forms signed while whiskey was poured into Solo cups with beer chasers and limes were sliced in the kitchen in anticipation of tequila shots.
There wasn’t a chance in hell Beat was drinking tonight. Too many variables. Their main mission was to reunite Steel Birds, but his side mission was to get Melody back to New York without any further mishaps or harm.
And he was growing extremely skeptical of his odds of success.
Mainly because of the bed. Mattress.
The twin mattress they were expected to share.
Hyperaware of the camera filming behind them, Beat forced a laugh. “Bet you wish you’d stayed in jail.”
Her sides shook with mirth. “It was quieter.”
“Less of a seventies cultlike atmosphere?”
“You don’t think my mother’s living situation holds a certain . . . charm?”
“No.”
“Correct.” She glanced at the door. “I guess we better show our faces downstairs. After all, they’re holding the party in honor of the outlaws. Of which I am now one.”
“Yeah.”
Neither Beat or Melody made a move for the door.
More than life itself, he wanted the camera to leave so he could put his arms around Melody and run his palms over her hair, her face, her back. Put his mouth on her skin and inhale her, just to get her into his lungs. They hadn’t been alone since he’d bailed her out, and he had no idea what took place inside the jail. He only knew a little bit of the sparkle was gone from her eyes and he wanted it back ASAP.
He also knew if he touched her, there was a very good chance they’d end up on that mattress. And the outcome of them getting physical could mean robbing even more of that twinkling life force from Melody’s eyes. That left Beat trapped between a rock and a hard place. His need to touch Melody was a yawning physical ache and yet, if he gave in, she could end up hurt.
In other words, this was about to be the longest night of his life.
“Listen, I’ll sleep against the wall. I’m tired enough to knock out in any position.”
Melody’s face became a mask of horror. “What? No.” She wet her lips and made a fluttery-fingered gesture at the mattress. “We’ll go back-to-back. Or I’ll face south and you face north?”
Beat raised an eyebrow. “Feet to face?”
“Why yes,” she purred theatrically. “That’s how I seduce all my men.”
He laughed, even though it hurt. To be seduced by Melody. Christ, he wouldn’t withstand five seconds before he started begging. No persuasion required. Watching her get arrested had been the cure for the hunger she’d incited on the plane, but hell if it wasn’t back now, bigger and badder than ever. How was he supposed to combat it when the universe was throwing twin mattresses into his path?
“We’ll figure it out,” Melody said with a quick glance at the camera. “Just a friendly sleepover. Nothing to see here.”
Nothing but my multiplying obsession with you.
“Nothing at all.”
She rolled her lips inward and nodded. “Should we join the debauchery for a bit?”
Beat shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants to prevent himself from reaching for her. “What’s the holiday season without a little debauchery?”
When she walked by him, his lungs filled themselves with air made so much sweeter with the scent of her, and he followed, Joseph taking up the rear. Danielle, who was waiting in the hallway furiously tapping away on her phone, smiled when they emerged and joined their slow-moving procession toward the earsplitting music, descending three staircases to the main level of the house. All four of them stopped at the bottom, surveying the scene in front of them. They’d only been in the attic for ten minutes and already, shit was getting wild.
Based on the number of occupied rooms in the house, at least a dozen people lived here with Trina. More than that if those individuals were sharing rooms. Based on the make-out session taking place in the shadowed nook beneath the staircase, at least two of Trina’s guests were . . . roommates. It appeared every member of the household was in attendance at the celebration, and none of them seemed fazed by the camera or the quartet of strangers in their midst. Some of them even waved, Purple Bandanna man flashing a peace sign.
A Christmas tree decorated with big, vintage bulbs sat in one corner. Beyond that, there were only two lamps providing light to the downstairs space and their shades had been draped with colorful scarves, casting the room in a festive red and green glow. The pungent scent of marijuana hung in the atmosphere, but the house was so big and airy that it wasn’t cloying. Beat was relieved to find that, in keeping with the bizarre throwback hippie compound vibe, everyone seemed relaxed and welcoming. Not quite relieved enough to let Melody out of his sight, though. Not after how quickly things had shifted that afternoon.
Melody tapped his elbow and pointed across the living room to where Trina stood on an old trunk, a bottle of Southern Comfort in one hand, a lit joint in the other, dancing to Wilson Phillips. The four of them took a collective step in Trina’s direction when a man in ripped white jeans jumped up onto the trunk beside Melody’s mother, grabbed the back of her neck, and planted a kiss on her mouth.
Melody skidded to a halt, blinking several times. “That’s one way to meet my new dad.”
Trina noticed them out of the corner of her eye and broke the kiss with a laugh that momentarily drowned out the music. Then she hopped down from the trunk and signaled for White Jeans to do the same. Once he’d done so, Trina clasped his hand and guided him through a group of dancing housemates toward Beat, Melody, Danielle, and Joseph.
“Hey you!” Trina shouted to Melody over the music. “This is Buck. Buck, this is my daughter, Melody Anne.”
“So nice to meet you.” Melody held out her hand for a shake, but Buck released Trina’s hand and pulled Melody in for a shirtless hug instead, tensing every muscle in Beat’s body.
Trina watched Beat’s face the entire time, slowly sipping from the bottle in her hand.
Finally, Melody wiggled out of the young man’s embrace, giving Buck an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Buck, you seem to be about my age, so I’m not sure about fatherly hugs from you, okay?”
“God, I fucking love her,” Danielle growled, behind Beat.
Yeah. Beat was beginning to grow very familiar with the feeling.
“Have you been seeing my mother very long, Buck?” Melody asked.
Trina and Buck traded an amused glance. “In a manner of speaking,” replied Melody’s mother. “We don’t necessarily confine ourselves to relationships in this house.”
Melody was already nodding her understanding. “You know, halfway through my question, I got there. I put it together.”
Buck leaned in. “If it makes you feel better, Melody Anne, your mother is my favorite.”
“Oh, it does, Buck.” Another series of shoulder pats. “Thank you.”
Melody elbowed Beat in the ribs. “We should get a drink,” Beat suggested, recognizing her cry for help. “Trina? Buck? Would you like anything from the kitchen?”
“We’re good, thanks,” Trina said, tone overly sweet. “Do you know how to prepare your own drink, Beat Dawkins? Doesn’t the butler normally do that for you?”
It was a cheap jab, but it caught Beat in his sore spot, stiffening his shoulders.
“Mom, please,” Melody sighed.
“I make my own drinks, thank you.”
Trina snorted. “Maybe your mother wanted to raise a pampered child, but that’s not how I chose to raise mine.” She sent her daughter a pointed look. “You’re letting him make you soft, Melody Anne.”
An eruption was forming in the center of Beat’s chest. Trina was telling the truth about one thing—she definitely hadn’t raised a pampered child. She didn’t do any raising at all, because she was never there, leaving Melody to live through the torture inflicted on her by the press. Beat opened his mouth to tell Trina exactly what he thought of her parenting style, but he should have known that Melody didn’t need his help.
“Soft?” Melody breathed, her shoulders dipping and rising on a breath. “I stayed. I stayed in New York with all the cameras and scrutiny. You. Ran. You ran away because everyone was mean to you. Not me.” Beat had never been prouder of anything or anyone in his life than when Melody stepped into her mother’s personal space and lifted her chin. “If you ask me, you’re the soft one, up here hiding behind some juvenile blame game. Why don’t you write a song about that? Unless maybe you’re too afraid to get onstage and sing it.”
“Oh shit,” muttered Joseph.
“Oh shit is right,” Danielle said, reverently. “Did she throw down the reunion gauntlet by accident or is she an actual mastermind?”
Beat shook his head. He couldn’t take his eyes off Melody. Her display of courage was prying his ribs apart. “She’s not thinking about the reunion right now.”
Silence had encompassed the living room, the music having been lowered in deference to the obvious argument taking place between Trina and Melody. Beat breathed through the urge to carry Melody out of the house and take her somewhere far, far away. He quelled the impulse, stood at her back, and waited for the smallest sign that she needed him.
Buck, of all people, broke the uneasy silence. “Hell, Trina definitely isn’t afraid of being onstage. She sings for us all the time.”
“Wow.” Melody looked around. “Might as well be Madison Square Garden.”
Trina’s eye started to twitch.
Again, Buck attempted to lighten the mood. “Why don’t you sing something for us right now, Trina?” He signaled someone across the room with a wave, as frantic as possible for someone with a peace sign tattoo. “What about ‘Celebrity Skin’ by Hole? You love that one.”
A woman handed Buck a guitar and he strummed a few notes.
“Why don’t you sing something by Steel Birds?” Melody suggested.
Audible gasps went up around the room. The music cut out completely.
Melody scanned the crowd that had formed around them. “What?”
Buck coughed into his fist. “We don’t . . . we don’t play them here. Don’t talk about the band, either.” He rubbed his jaw. “It’s sort of a requirement to stay.”
“Ah.” Melody pursed her lips. “So it’s all free love and living wild on the surface. But what you’ve actually got here is a strict set of rules designed to make yourself comfortable.” Melody appeared amused by her revelation. Her chest started to rise faster, a sheen forming in her eyes. “Well, I don’t live here. These people didn’t even know I existed until today and I don’t have to follow the rules.”
Melody took the guitar from Buck and abruptly left the circle that had formed.
She stomped over to the trunk where Trina had been standing and made an attempt to climb on—and failed. She was too short. Beat was already on the move. He reached her within five seconds, prepared to boost her up onto the piece of furniture. Before he could reach her, however, she shocked the hell out of him by executing a flawless box jump.
“Oh!” She spun around, mouth open. “I did it!”
His chest felt fuzzy. “Next stop: two-year gym membership.”
“They’ll have to kill me first.”
Beat’s laugh cut off when she strummed a few notes. “Hold up. You play the guitar?” he asked, his eyes level with her stomach.
“I took reverse lessons,” she whispered, voice shaking.
He repeated that explanation out loud. “What does that mean?”
“It means that, unlike box jumping, I got worse the more guitar lessons I took.”
“I see.”
“I was remembering what your mother said about sucker-punching the spotlight back next time. But with everyone looking at me, I’m suddenly regretting getting up here.”
“No regrets.” He squeezed her waist. “You’re going to absolutely slay.”
Her fingers strummed a couple of the strings, the notes perfectly familiar to him. “You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.”
Was this what it was like to be 100 percent willing to die for someone?
Out of the corner of his eye, Beat could see the camera’s blinking red light and, honestly, it just didn’t mean a goddamn thing in that moment. “You’re my best friend, too, Peach.”
“Best enough to sing with me?”
Was he supposed to be breathing right now? “Best enough for anything.”
Melody shifted side to side, released a long, shuddering exhale. “Okay, here goes.” And to Beat’s utter shock, her upper lip tugged into a snarl, the opening line of “Rattle the Cage” bursting out of her in a sold-out stadium-worthy growl. “Well, you can’t get to heaven raising this much hell!”
He only had a split second to overcome his shock before she widened her eyes at him, begging him to join in. Don’t leave me hanging.
Beat climbed up onto the trunk beside her, angling himself so he wouldn’t disrupt her guitar playing. “Fingers wrapped tight around the bars of your cell,” he shouted. Terribly. He couldn’t sing for shit. “Now shake those motherfuckers, show them how they offend!”
They both held up a middle finger, as was tradition at this stage of the song.
“Rattle the cage,” they sang together. “They won’t keep us penned.”
Danielle was the only one in the room cheering them on—and she did so with enthusiasm. Joseph stood in front of them filming, a grin splitting his face beneath the viewfinder. The inhabitants of the Free Loving Adventure Club looked distinctly uncomfortable, although a couple of them sang along under their breath. None of them existed, though, after the first verse. There was only Beat and Melody, trapped in this moment of time that felt fated. Someone had written it into their story a long time ago and they’d finally found their place on the correct page, so they could follow along.
She was glorious. Brave and uninhibited and a little sad. A lot wise.
Even as he sang, Beat’s throat burned with the need to reach back into the past and rearrange every hour of his life, so it could have been spent with her. Knowing her.
He wished for it so vividly that he didn’t even realize the song ended until the guitar dropped to Melody’s side, remaining there until White Jeans collected it without a word. She was staring back at Beat in a way his body understood. Responded to.
Voraciously.
It was pure lust. It was I need you now. With them on the same page, he could do nothing but keep reading. Unable to stop himself, too hungry for his counterpart to second-guess his actions and their consequences, Beat jumped down off the trunk, helping Melody down and leading her behind him toward the staircase by the wrist.
Melody tugged him to a stop in front of Trina who was looking at her daughter with an impassive expression. “We’re leaving in the morning,” Melody said quietly. “And I’d rather you didn’t come visit me in February.”
“Done,” Trina drawled into a sip of whiskey.
But Melody was already walking away, Beat at her side.
Wisely, Joseph didn’t follow with the camera.
