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—”