December 17
Melody wanted her bed.
She wanted her flannel pajamas and her loofah and her secret fruit snacks drawer.
She wanted to go home.
When she’d agreed to Wreck the Halls, she’d decided to take the adventure as it came. Not to worry about the outcome or ruminate over every little decision until she was blue in the face. She’d intended to shatter the walls of her comfort zone. Stir everything up so it would land differently. She’d wanted a new okay.
And she was feeling the consequences of being reckless now.
Emotional whiplash was her unofficial diagnosis and the symptoms were sitting in the back seat of the SUV that would transport them to the airport, staring straight ahead. Too dumbfounded by the last twenty-four hours to do anything but replay her uncharacteristically hasty decisions over and over again.
Not the least of which was having sex with Beat.
Although could one actually refer to what they’d done as sex?
It had been more like . . . mating?
There was none of the awkward pawing and requesting of boundaries and laboring to find the correct rhythm. She’d had an animal mindset. Give, receive, don’t think, get pleasure, give it back. Give, receive, give until the very sky was coming down. She’d expected sex with Beat to be amazing, unforgettable, orgasmic. And she’d severely underestimated it.
Shouldn’t she be glowing and blushing and preening this morning?
She’d woken up wrapped in Beat’s arms and something inside of her had been off. And being off with Beat around? That was new. It was usually the opposite.
Danielle turned in the front seat of the SUV, giving Melody a speculative once-over. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
Several seconds passed.
Danielle checked her watch. “The plane should be ready and waiting. You said Beat is still upstairs sleeping?”
“Yeah.” Melody shook herself out of her stupor. Somewhat. “Yeah, we went back down to the party for a while after you left for the motel last night.” Lie. “Too much tequila.”
“You mean, after you belted ‘Rattle the Cage’ and brought the house down?”
Melody forced a laugh. “Yes. After that.”
Danielle studied her. “Are you sure that’s all that happened?”
Before Melody could locate an answer, the front door of the house opened and Beat blew out into the early morning light, his hair in ninety directions, shirt still unbuttoned. His turbulent gaze searched the immediate area and homed right in on Melody where she sat in the back row of the SUV. They stared at each other through the glass for a handful of heavy seconds until she swallowed and looked away, her chest twisting like a pretzel.
Should she have stayed in bed? Been there when he woke up?
They might have made love again. God knew she would have enjoyed it.
So what was wrong with her?
Please just get me home.
A moment later, the back door of the SUV opened, shooting Melody’s heart into her mouth. Beat climbed in beside her, his inviting smoky fireplace scent filling the vehicle’s interior. If she glanced over, she would find him staring at her with that singular intensity. The warmth on her cheek and some unnamed intuition told her so.
Joseph settled in the middle row, hefting the camera up onto his shoulder. “Starting the live stream in three—”
“Wait,” Beat clipped, tipping up Melody’s chin. “Hey. Look at me.”
She steeled herself before doing as he asked.
Whatever Beat saw caused some of the color to leave his face. “What’s wrong, Peach?”
“I don’t know,” she said, honestly.
“Okay.” He lowered his voice another octave, so it would only reach Melody’s ears, a flicker of dread in his gaze. “Did I hurt you last night?”
“No. God, no. Nothing like that.”
Air escaped him in a gust.
All right, she was worrying him. Being vague and evasive, which wasn’t fair when he was clearly worried. What was wrong? She needed to figure out a way to say it out loud, put it on the table. “I guess . . . I loved what we did last night. Every second. It was perfect. But . . .” Hyperaware of the other two people in the SUV, she leaned over to speak near Beat’s ear. “You told me on the plane that you don’t want to let anyone in . . . at the end. And that’s your right. That’s totally okay, but I didn’t expect it to make me feel so . . . lonely.”
Devastation rolled off him in such thick waves, she almost wanted to take back her explanation. “I made you feel lonely?” he asked, sounding hollow.
“Maybe it’s me.”
“No. Never.”
“I mean, maybe I need to be let in. Maybe I need that trust. From you. With you. Or . . . nothing at all.” She swallowed a rock. “There’s nothing for either of us to be sorry about. There’s no blame to cast. We decided to try—and we did.”
Beat said nothing, continuing to stare out the car window on the other side of Melody.
A full minute of silence ticked by in the car before Danielle gently broke it. “Did you want to say goodbye to your mother, Mel?”
“No. I did that last night,” she said, lips feeling stiff. “All set.”
“Should I start the stream now?” asked Joseph.
Beat and Melody took a deep breath in tandem and nodded.
She watched the red light jump to life in the rearview mirror, watching the numbers multiply on Danielle’s phone, though she was too far away to read them clearly. How many people had witnessed their impromptu show last night? How many people were wondering what happened after they left the room, obviously heading upstairs?
Melody almost laughed. Even the best guesses would be wrong.
“So I am going to go out on a limb here . . .” Melody started. “And say that we have a better chance of John Cena performing on Christmas Eve than Trina Gallard. Unless I misread her, there’s no way she’s going to do it.”
“Where does that leave us?” Beat asked Danielle, while still looking at Melody.
The producer hummed. “Don’t worry, I have a trick up my sleeve.” She shimmied her shoulders. “Something to keep the conversation on the table . . .”
“Ooh.” Melody produced a smile. “Does it involve me getting arrested again?”
“It better not,” Beat said.
“No, it doesn’t. But I need a couple of days to pull everything together.” Danielle steepled her fingers as she spoke. “In light of Trina’s refusal yesterday, I spent some time last night outlining our next approach. For now, we’re going to split up for the next two days. With all the attention we’re getting, the network approved a second cameraman.”
“They won’t be as good as me,” Joseph rumbled.
Danielle’s mouth twisted. “Do you want me to hold your camera so you can stroke your ego with both hands?”
Joseph glared at the producer. “Been doing more than enough stroking since I took this job.”
If looks could kill, he would have been dead. “Of all people, you know we’re live.”
“You brought it up.”
Danielle tipped her face up toward the ceiling. “I love my new plan. I can’t wait to split up.”
“If you think I’m letting you film with another cameraman, baby, you’re sorely mistaken.”
The producer was on the verge of arguing, but visibly swallowed her rejoinder. “As I was saying,” she said, with a pointed look at the camera. “We’re going to split up for two days. Beat will be with one of the cameramen and an associate producer. I’ll stay with Mel and the other cameraman. If all goes according to plan, we’ll reconvene on Tuesday morning . . .” She executed a mini drumroll on the back of the seat. “On the Today show. Bright and early.”
“The Today show?” Melody exclaimed. “They want to bring us on?”
Danielle scoffed. “Melody, everyone wants to bring you two on. And I mean everyone.” She left that grand statement dangling in the air. “Over the next two days, while I pull my plan together, just try and go about your normal lives. While being filmed, of course.”
“Of course.” Beat sounded dry, casual, but every muscle in his body was visibly unsettled. “How are we going to split up if Melody is staying at my place?”
“I’m not. I really need to go home.”
He tensed further. “I thought we decided it wasn’t safe.”
“Then I’ll collect some things and go to a hotel. I just . . .” Emotional exhaustion was beginning to creep up on her, making her eyes feel hot and gritty. “I just think a couple of days to regroup is a good idea.” As lopsided as things were between herself and Beat at the moment, she didn’t want to add to his stockpile of guilt, so she tacked on, “I have a bocce game tomorrow night, anyway. I should . . . mentally prepare.”
“Ooh!” Danielle produced her clipboard seemingly from thin air. “I’ll contact them today about filming and release forms.”
Melody sputtered. “You’re going to film my bocce game?”
“Yes, of course.” Danielle’s pen scratched on the clipboard. “Viewers will love it.”
Beat leaned forward. “Is that going to be safe for her?”
Frustration welled in Melody’s chest. “I can take care of myself. Stop worrying about me.”
His voice rose. “Do you think I can just turn this off? Carve you out of my chest? I can’t.”
Melody remained unmoving in the wake of that statement, but her pulse rollicked at the pace of a racehorse rounding the bend. Danielle’s gaze cut to Joseph, then away—because, oh God, they were streaming. The silence that followed was deafening. And Melody didn’t know how to feel, either. Elated to be so important to Beat. Curious enough to read further into what he’d said. Or just plain sad because she couldn’t simply enjoy mind-blowing sex without yearning for more. Most frustrating of all was the wretched ache inside of her, demanding she unfasten her seat belt, crawl into Beat’s lap, and remain there forever.
Finally, Beat broke the uncomfortable silence he’d created. “Please just make sure she has the security team with her, all right?” he said, gruffly.
“Of course,” Danielle murmured.
Nobody spoke for the remainder of the drive to the airport.
* * *
After an eerily silent flight, the foursome was woefully unprepared for the mayhem that greeted them back in New York. They deplaned and got into another waiting SUV, everything seemingly normal. But when they pulled through the exit gates of the tarmac, thousands of people were waiting.
At their appearance, a roar moved like a waking beast through the crowd, erupting in a deafening wail of cheers. Melody sat straight up in the rear seat, Beat sliding close and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, tugging her protectively to his chest. “How did they know where we were landing?”
“Either it was a lucky guess or the flight crew leaked it,” Danielle responded, staring out the front windshield at the sea of bodies, their gloved hands holding up signs, their excited breaths vaporizing in the air. They beat the windows of the SUV with their fists, cupping their hands in an attempt to see inside, screaming Melody’s and Beat’s names.
Totally dumbstruck by the sight, Melody labored to fill her lungs.
“This is crazy. I don’t understand it.”
Danielle made a wishy-washy sound. “You asked me to keep the viewer count to myself, but, uh . . . you sort of broke the internet last night singing ‘Rattle the Cage’ in front of the woman who wrote it. And now refuses to perform it. And her much younger boyfriend. Basically, what I’m trying to say is—”
“It was good TV,” Melody breathed.
The producer sighed. “That would be an understatement.”
They passed a sign that read: MELODY GALLARD IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE.
Another one read: THEY’RE TOTALLY FUCKING.
Last: THE “ONLY ONE BED” TROPE IRL! MY LIFE IS COMPLETE.
Huh?
Police sirens cut through the quiet midmorning air, officers wading through the crowd to push the mass of bodies to one side or the other, allowing the SUV to drive through the exit. Several members of the crowd chased after the SUV, one of them holding out an open ring box, though Melody wasn’t sure if they were proposing to her or Beat.
Danielle clapped her hands together. “Now that we’ve escaped Belody Mania—”
“What was that?” Beat interrupted.
“Belody is your ship name. It’s what they’re calling you.”
He fell back against the seat, taking Melody with him. They were still being filmed.
What had her life become?
“Beat, do you have any plans over the next couple of days? I just want to make sure we get the itinerary straight before communicating it to the associate producer.”
“Plans.” He raked a hand through his hair, looking over Melody, as if to determine whether or not she’d escaped the mob without a scratch, even though they were inside the vehicle. “I . . . yes. Based on the number of missed calls on my phone, I’m guessing my mother either caught some of the live stream last night or heard about it. I should probably do some damage control there. Other than that, I have a Christmas party tomorrow night at seven. Small one at my friend Vance’s place.”
“Ahh, I see. Two events at once.” Danielle chewed her lip and made another notation. “Maybe we can do a split screen, Mel at bocce, Beat at the party—”
“Ma’am, we’re here,” said the driver.
“Thank you.” Danielle started to gather her things, gesturing for Melody to do the same. She’d been so caught off guard by the crowd she’d been slow to recognize her surroundings, but realized now that they’d stopped at the rental car section of the airport. “Melody, our driver and the new cameraperson are meeting us here.”
Beat sat forward. “She’s leaving now?”
“I’m leaving now?” she said at the same time, stopping just shy of reaching for Beat’s hand. Which was ridiculous. She needed time and space to get her infatuation under control. Not to mention, come to terms with everything that had happened last night with her mother, like finding out Trina never even spoke about her. Maybe her mother loved her in some backward way, but Melody mostly felt like a bill that needed to be paid while Trina played make-believe with the adventure club—and that wasn’t what Melody wanted. Or needed. Whether or not Melody earned the million-dollar payout from Wreck the Halls, she didn’t want to be supported by her mother any longer. It didn’t mean she wouldn’t mourn the loss. For that, she needed time.
This break from Beat was good. This was healthy.
She turned to Beat and kissed his cheek. “See you in two days.”
His voice was like gravel when he responded, his big chest lifting and falling. “Yeah.”
If she left things unsettled between them, she’d regret it for the next forty-eight hours. Melody turned to look at the camera, then back at Beat, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “I think you hold yourself back, because you were taught—we were taught—that the truth is ugly and should always be private. Suppressed. I think you hold yourself back because you were outcasted by those kids after you opened up to them,” she whispered, wetting her lips. “What you enjoy is beautiful if it’s for the right reasons. But if it’s for the wrong reasons, I’m just not sure I can . . . do what happened last night . . . again. No matter what, though, Beat, we’re best friends. I think maybe we have been this whole time without even seeing each other. If we can still be best friends after one crazy night, I think that means we’re in it for the long haul.” She searched for the right words. “Maybe we just needed to get it out of our systems?”
He huffed a sound. “You’ll never leave my system, Mel. You’re one-half of it.”
Again, she had to resist crawling into his lap and wrapping herself around him like a bow, but she remembered the jarring loneliness of last night too well. Not being trusted with all of him was worse than having none of him, wasn’t it? Yes, it was. Especially when she wanted to give him everything. All she had. “It’s not possible to get you out of mine, either. But maybe if we pretend long enough, we’ll start to believe it.” She savored the graze of his lips on her cheek. Accidental? “I don’t want to go back to never seeing you.”
Joseph cleared his throat.
They both reared back slightly, Beat visibly resentful of the interruption.
She slipped out of the SUV, feeling his gaze on her back while they met up with the new driver and drove away, knowing he watched until she disappeared.
But she didn’t allow herself to look back once.
