Wreck the Halls(3)
Someone in a headset approached Beat and tapped his shoulder. “We’d like to get the interview started, if you’re ready?”
Unbelievably, he was still looking at Melody. “Yeah, sure.”
Did he sound disappointed?
“I better go, too,” Melody said, holding out her hand for a shake.
Beat studied her hand for several seconds, then gave her a narrow-eyed look—as if to say, don’t be silly—and pulled her into the hug of a lifetime. The hug. Of a lifetime. In a millisecond, she was warm in the most pleasant, sweat-free way. All the way down to the soles of her feet. Light-headedness swept in. She’d not only been granted the honor of smelling this boy’s perfect neck, he was encouraging her with a palm to the back of her head. He squeezed her close, before brushing his hand down the back of her hair. Just once. But it was the most beautiful sign of affection she’d ever been offered, and it wrote itself messily all over her heart.
“Hey.” He pulled back with a serious expression, taking Melody by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Mel. You live here in New York, I live in LA. I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but . . . I guess it just feels important, like I need to tell you . . .” He frowned over his own discomposure, which she assumed was rarer than a solar eclipse. “What happened between our mothers has nothing to do with us. Okay? Nothing. If you ever need anything, or maybe you’ve been asked the same question forty million times and can’t take it anymore, just remember that I understand.” He shook his head. “We’ve got this big thing in common, you and me. We have a . . .”
“Bond?” she said breathlessly.
“Yeah.”
She could have wept all over him.
“We do,” he continued, kissing her on the forehead hard and pulling Melody back into the second hug of a lifetime. “I’ll find a way to get you my number, Peach. If you ever need anything, call me, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered, heart and hormones in a frenzy. He’d given her a nickname. She wrapped her arms around him and held tight, giving herself a full five seconds, before forcing herself to release Beat and step back. “Same for you.” She struggled to keep her breathing at a normal pace. “Call me if you ever need someone who understands.” The next part wouldn’t stay tucked inside of her. “We can pretend we’ve been best friends all along.”
To her relief, that lopsided smile was back. “It wouldn’t be so hard, Mel.”
A bell rang somewhere on the set, breaking the spell. Everyone flurried into motion around them. Beat was swept in one direction, Melody in the other. But her pulse didn’t stop pounding for hours after their encounter.
True to his word, Beat found a way to provide her with his number, through an assistant at the end of her interview. She could never find the courage to use it, though. Not even on her most difficult days. And he never called her, either.
That was the beginning and the end of her fairy-tale association with Beat Dawkins.
Or so she thought.
Chapter One
December 1
Present Day
Beat stood shivering on the sidewalk outside of his thirtieth birthday party.
At least, he assumed a party was waiting for him inside the restaurant. His friends had been acting mysterious for weeks. If he could only move his legs, he would walk inside and act surprised. He’d hug each of them in turn, like they deserved. Make them explain every step of the planning process and praise them for being so crafty. He’d be the ultimate friend.
And the ultimate fraud.
When the phone started vibrating again in his hand, his stomach gave an unholy churn, so intense he had to concentrate hard on breathing through it. A couple passed him on the sidewalk, shooting him some curious side-eye. He smiled at them in reassurance, but it felt weak, and they only walked faster. He looked down at his phone, already knowing an unknown caller would be displayed on the screen. Same as last time. And the time before.
Over a year and a half had passed since the last time his blackmailer had contacted him. He’d given the man the largest sum of money yet to go away and assumed the harassment was over. Beat was just beginning to feel normal again. Until the message he’d received tonight on the way to his own birthday party.
I’m feeling talkative, Beat. Like I need to get some things off my chest.
It was the same pattern as last time. The blackmailer contacted him out of the blue, no warning, and then immediately became persistent. His demands came on like a blitz, a symphony beginning in the middle of its crescendo. They left no room for negotiation, either. Or reasoning. It was a matter of giving this man what he wanted or having a secret exposed that could rock the very foundation of his family’s world.
No big deal.
He took a deep breath, paced a short distance in the opposite direction of the restaurant. Then he hit call and lifted the phone to his ear.
His blackmailer answered on the first ring.
“Hello again, Beat.”
A red-hot iron dropped in Beat’s stomach.
Did the man’s voice sound more on edge than previous years?
Almost agitated?
“We agreed this was over,” Beat said, his grip tight around the phone. “I was never supposed to hear from you again.”
A raspy sigh filled the line. “The thing about the truth is, it never really goes away.”