Wreck the Halls: A Novel

When they returned to Danielle’s office, they were already being filmed.

With Melody walking at his side, Beat’s first instinct was to swat the lens away and hustle her out of there, but Jesus, this is what they were signing up for. Life under the microscope, even for just a brief period of time. Just under two weeks remained between now and Christmas Eve, when this supposed Steel Birds reunion would take place. If he and Melody were going to deliver their best effort, they needed to start immediately.

But God, he already didn’t like this.

Melody knew. She knew he needed the money, even if she didn’t know why. But Beat knew the blackmailer wasn’t going to be his only problem over the next thirteen days.

Beat rarely spent that much time with anyone outside of his immediate family. He kept things surface level. Casual. Spending long lengths of time one-on-one with someone meant getting personal. It was why he vacationed in large groups of coupled-up friends. Why he always snuck out of the party earlier than everyone else. To avoid those booze-soaked moments where a longtime buddy was expected to open up.

He’d learned the hard way that if he allowed himself to be vulnerable, people didn’t always like what they saw.Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

Everything had been handed to Beat. Not only was he born into wealth and tangential fame, but people naturally took a shine to him. He’d assumed it was normal, the way everyone seemed to be smiling at him everywhere he went. Paparazzi would compliment his clothes. If he didn’t have a chance to study for an exam at the private Hollywood school he’d attended, the date simply got switched. His mother and father never stopped telling him he was special, that he made them proud.

But life wasn’t like that for everyone.

At age thirteen, Beat had been sent to summer camp for two months, at the behest of his father. Rudy Dawkins had grown up in rural Pennsylvania and believed a break from the LA smog would do his son good. Being in nature, breathing fresh air, crafting things with his hands. Sounded interesting. How hard could it be?

Over the course of that summer, living in cabins with boys who didn’t have famous parents, Beat had been smacked in the face with the knowledge that he led a ridiculously charmed life.

Money and his mother’s notoriety had essentially handed Beat anything he needed on a silver platter, right down to his six-hundred-dollar sneakers. These kids made their own breakfast. No teachers gave them special treatment. They wore knockoffs and shared bedrooms with siblings. Their parents had sent them to summer camp because they worked and needed childcare, not on some nostalgic whim.

At first, camp went great. He got along amazingly well with his fellow campers, just like he got along with virtually everyone else. They’d talked about girls by the campfire, traded embarrassing stories, swapped dreams for the future.

But once they’d realized who Beat was, they’d slowly started to resent him, feeling as though he’d misrepresented himself. Pretended to be just another kid roughing it, when in reality, he’d be returning to a life of luxury they’d never experience for themselves. He’d spent over a month cleaning the cabin and mustering up his best jokes to win them back over.

For once in his life, however, charm—and his name—held no sway.

It was shortly thereafter that he’d started enjoying when things were difficult for him.

By the time he’d met Melody at sixteen, he’d gone through puberty, and this emotionally charged transformation, at the exact same time, leaving him in a place that still confused him sometimes, even though he enjoyed it. Quite a lot.

A place where he liked to be denied.

Loved when things weren’t so easy for him.

The flashing red light of the camera distracted Beat from his thoughts and on reflex, he put his arm around Melody’s shoulders, tugged her up against his side, and ushered her into the office, trying and failing not to glare at the cameraman who patiently shifted to keep them in his sights. “You were so confident we would both agree to this?” Beat asked Danielle.

“If the best-case scenario happened, I simply wanted to have the footage.”

“This isn’t live?”

“No.” Danielle’s smile stretched across her face. “Not yet.” Her gaze ticked between Beat’s and Melody’s faces. “But like I said, we need to move quickly to make this happen by Christmas Eve. My vision is a sudden social phenomenon that will captivate even the most casual consumer of pop culture. None of the usual advertising for eight months until everyone is bored with the concept by the time it’s out of postproduction.” She planted both hands on her desk and leaned forward. “All we need is Joseph and his camera, platforms, bandwidth, and a plan. If the answer is yes, we will film some testimonials for promo on Wednesday and go live at the end of this week.”

“Our answer depends on a few important details,” Beat said.

“It does?” Melody whispered up at him from the corner of her mouth.

He squeezed her. “Yes.”

Beat really needed to remove his arm from Melody’s person, especially now that they were being filmed, but he couldn’t seem to make his body cooperate. And he really needed to stop thinking about the way her fingernails had briefly dug into his wrist back in the cafeteria. Damn, the memory made him hang heavier inside of his briefs.

Stop right there.

They were going to be spending a lot of time together over the course of the next thirteen days and he could not, would not, lay a fucking finger on Melody. She claimed she was participating in this sideshow to separate her finances from her mother’s, but . . . he had strong suspicions that Melody was also doing this for him, too. Which meant he needed to be grateful and protect her at all costs. In other words, keep his hands to himself.

Personal life and sex life. Never the twain shall meet.

Now was not the time to start breaking his own rule.

“What important details?” Danielle asked, clapping once. “Let’s knock this out.”

The cameraman chuckled.

Danielle shot the man a pointed look.

Was there a little . . . tension in the room between Danielle and Joseph? It appeared so, but Beat didn’t have time to focus on it now. “First off, I want security for Melody. A lot of it.”

Melody poked Beat in the side. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” She tried to protest, but he spoke over her, though he gave her a quick shoulder squeeze to apologize. “Filming stops at night. We’re going to need downtime.”

Danielle nodded. “Like I said, we’ll be shooting you twelve to fourteen hours a day.”

“Great.”

“And I think I speak for both of us when I say, make sure you book a backup act for Christmas Eve, because if our mothers agree to share a stage again, we will have witnessed a divine miracle.”

“There are four other acts to carry the show, if the reunion doesn’t happen. Not that they’ll live up to Steel Birds, but the show must go on.”

“Good, because seriously, Beat is right about us performing a miracle. They haven’t seen one like this since the Bible,” Melody said, backing up Beat. “Growing up, my mother had a Steel Birds accolades room and Octavia’s face had been slashed to ribbons in every picture. A veritable museum of hatred.”

“My mother took ten years of primal scream therapy after the Concert Incident. In the house. We had a scream closet. I have actually never said Trina’s name out loud, because it was forbidden in our home.” He pointed at his mouth. “That was it. First time I’ve ever said it.”

Melody tilted her head at him. “How did it feel?”

“Like . . . relief. I always assumed it would set off a plague of locusts or cause mountains to collapse.”

“Quick. Someone check on Machu Pichu,” Melody said, pointing to the desk phone.

“This is going to be gold,” Danielle breathed, shoving the cameraman’s shoulder. “You keep filming. We can use the footage as promo. You two—keep talking. There has been so much speculation about the Steel Birds breakup, but since none of the finer details were ever made public, those details are largely guesswork.”

Beat looked down at Melody. She met his eyes, searched them.

How deep were they willing to let people in?

“Thirty years have passed since it happened,” Danielle said, speaking with her hands. “Thirty. Years. The public’s adoration for this band knows no bounds and they—we—have never been given a satisfactory explanation. Granted, we might not be owed one. But it would be a shame to leave it a mystery forever. Was a love triangle the culprit? Some other kind of betrayal?” Slowly, Danielle came around the desk, the cameraman stepping out of her way without looking. “You never asked to carry around the burden of this knowledge, but you’ve been pestered about it your whole lives. Day in and day out for three decades. You have the power to release yourselves from that.”

Him? Burdened? Try the opposite. Blackmailer notwithstanding, Beat had everything he could ever want. Friends who cared about him, a thriving career, comfort, opportunities. However, he couldn’t discount Danielle’s words entirely, because he had more than just himself to consider. He and Melody had been placed in a position to be questioned since birth about why the band broke up. And while he could take it, could handle the constant badgering for the rest of his life, he wouldn’t have minded ending it for Melody, right then and there.

The thought of making life even a fraction more enjoyable for her made him feel a hell of a lot lighter. But more than likely, the live stream could have the opposite effect and create an entirely new thirst for details. Oh, and his mother would probably stab him, so there was that.

“That’s not our story to tell,” Beat said finally, looking at Melody and winking where the camera couldn’t see. “But we have others.”

So easily did she read his meaning. Stories. They could get through this without revealing too many truths while still keeping things interesting, couldn’t they? It might even be fun. “Oh yeah,” Melody said, winking back. “Stories you won’t believe.”

“Cut!” Danielle squeaked. “Get it to the team,” she whispered to Joseph. “We’re going to get this up on all network socials immediately with a drop-in about the live stream starting Friday. That was our hook—and it was more like a harpoon.”

The cameraman lowered the piece of equipment from his shoulder and Beat and Melody got a look at the guy’s Gerard Butler look-alike face for the first time. Joseph gave Danielle a once-over, a succinct nod—and then he threw a fond grin at Melody.

Melody smiled back.

“One more condition,” Beat said, without thinking. “I want a different cameraman.”

Joseph laughed on his way out the door.

Danielle watched him go with a cross between hostility and reluctant interest. “Don’t worry, he’s professional to a fault. The best in the business if you disregard his cynical ogre vibe. He gets the work done and goes home, wherever that may be.”

Beat suspected Danielle might have an idea where Joseph lived, but he’d be keeping that theory to himself. Or so he thought. Melody subtly elbowed him in the ribs and gave him a tiny eyebrow waggle, to let him know she’d picked up on the romantic tension, too. How did they seem to be on the same page so easily?

What if the next thirteen days weren’t such a hassle after all?

What if he . . . enjoyed them because he was with Melody?

Just don’t enjoy them too much.

“So . . .” Melody started, blushing. Probably because he was staring at her like he was trying to count her eyelashes. Did she know how pretty she was? “What’s next?”

Danielle let the silence stretch until Beat managed to stop actually counting Melody’s eyelashes, the producer not quite managing to hide her amusement. “Go home and get some rest. Meet back here on Wednesday morning for your promotional confessionals. I’d planned to do them separately, but I’ve changed my mind. We’re going to do a joint interview. You’re incredible together.” Danielle didn’t break for air while Beat and Melody traded a fleeting, but heavy, look. “Due to simple geography, Beat, I think we should approach your mother about the reunion first.”

“Fuck.”

Melody giggled.

The producer picked up her phone and tapped a few times on the screen. “According to Octavia’s social media, she has a gala Friday evening to benefit her foundation.”

“Yeah,” Beat confirmed with a sigh. “I should know. I’m the one who organized it.”

“That’s where we’ll strike.” Danielle smiled, waved her hands innocently. “Or get the show on the road. However you’d like to term it.”

“Tempt death,” Beat suggested. “Inflict betrayal.”

“Wreck the halls?” This from Melody. “Too bad my mother isn’t a nudist anymore. There would have been nowhere to hide weaponry.”

A cough snuck out of him, then expanded into a full-on belly laugh. How was he laughing right now? He’d just agreed to his—and Melody’s—privacy being invaded straight through Christmas Eve.

“I wish I hadn’t sent the camera away,” Danielle mused.

“Why?” asked Melody quietly, wetting her lips.

And Beat watched it happen, because he couldn’t get his attention off her mouth.

Danielle hummed, her gaze ping-ponging between Beat and Melody. “No reason.” She tapped a finger to her mouth. “Wreck the halls. Is that what you said, Melody? Forget The Parents’ Trap. I think we have our new name.”

“I’ll accept all future royalties in beignets,” Melody said, seeming a little flummoxed over her offhand idea being deemed network-worthy. “Uh. There is one little problem with Friday’s plans.”

What was it? He’d fix it for her right now.

“I don’t have anything to wear to a gala.”

Danielle picked up her office phone and hit a button, her eyes twinkling with something that made Beat’s stomach churn. Mischief. Anticipation. Plans. “Oh, I think I can help with that.”