No. This couldn’t go a single step further.
“It’s all for the cameras,” Beat said, desperate. Fucking desperate to keep her out of this maniac’s line of fire. “Haven’t you heard of a scripted reality show? As soon as it’s over, I’ll probably never see her again.”
The lie set his throat on fire, made his stomach pitch with nausea.
Fletcher studied him through narrowed eyes, as if trying to decipher the truth.
Despite the turmoil wreaking havoc on his insides, Beat stared back unblinkingly.
“Sorry if you thought this was some magical love story, but it’s not. You’re welcome to try and pump her for cash, but she’ll tell you to go to hell,” Beat bluffed. “And then she’ll be able to leverage that secret. It’ll lose its power and become her bargaining chip if she wants to sell the story. And you know tell-all offers are going to roll in for her. This thing is huge.”
Beat took no satisfaction in the smugness leaking from his father’s expression.
“I know what I saw. You two are the real deal,” said the drummer, but it was easy to see he wasn’t as positive as before. No, he was second-guessing the whole angle.
Good.
Leave her alone.
Don’t you dare go near my girl.
Melody walked backstage with Joseph trailing behind her, filming, but one of the Today show producers beckoned to him. Joseph looked conflicted for a moment, as if deciding whether to speak to a colleague or continue filming. In the end, he switched off the camera and approached the other crew member with a handshake. Beat dug his fingernails into his palms, drawing blood to keep from reaching for Melody. Wrapping her in a bear hug, guarding her against this man’s evil. She held up the screen of her phone so Beat could see the selfie she’d taken with Hoda and he nodded stiffly.
“She wants me to teach her how to play bocce, too! We’re going to have a lady date after the holidays.” Melody reached for Beat’s hand with her free one, natural as breathing, and he forced himself to cross his arms, avoiding it, in what might have been the single worst moment of his life. Melody blinked at him, then at Fletcher, color appearing on her cheekbones.
He’d embarrassed her.
This was a living nightmare.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “Did I interrupt?”
“Nah, honey. We’re just shooting the shit,” Fletcher said, observing them in an almost reptilian manner. “You must have another big day of filming ahead. Where are you two jetting off to next?”
Melody lifted a shoulder. “We don’t really have any plans—”
“I need to work,” Beat cut in, the backstage area closing in around him. He had to numb himself. That was the only way he would get through this. Obviously Fletcher had been watching the live stream. The more time he spent observing Beat and Melody, the more positive he was going to be that they were really in love. And he would go after Melody. Being in a relationship with Beat was a liability to her. “Actually, I’m going to be working right up until Christmas Eve.”
“Oh,” Melody said after a few seconds. “Are we . . . giving up on Steel Birds?” She nodded at the drummer. “What if Fletcher’s offer changes something?”
Beat couldn’t even look at her. “Danielle will let me know if Trina comes around.” He gave her a flat smile. “If by some miracle, she agrees to the reunion, I’ll see you on Christmas Eve.”
He could feel the hurt he was exacting on Melody and his insides were deteriorating the longer he stood there. He had to get out of there now, before he caused any more damage. Without a word, he strode for the exit that let out into the hallway.
“Beat, wait,” Melody called after him, catching up with him right before he could walk out the door. Still within spitting distance of his blackmailer. Her potential blackmailer, too, now. Because of him. “Is . . . is something wrong? You’re acting weird.”
“It’s just my turn for a break, Melody. All right?”
She jerked back like he’d slapped her. “Is this because I said we were official on the air?” she asked. “You told the crowd outside of my apartment that we’d spent the night together and I think I just . . . assumed we were . . . you were my boyfriend. Should I have spoken to you about that first?”
“Yeah,” he rasped, hammering the final nail into his coffin. “Maybe you should have.”
It was for her own good.
This was to keep her safe.
Repeating those assurances to himself, over and over, was the only thing that kept him walking upright until the elevator doors closed behind him and he slid down the wall to the floor, head buried in his hands. “Melody.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
December 22
Melody never expected to be grateful for the camera trailing five feet behind her on the sidewalk, but here she was. Without its presence, she probably would have stayed in bed for the entirety of the three days that followed Beat breaking up with her. Although he hadn’t technically broken up with her, because they’d never really been together in the first place, had they? Reconciling that fact with the aftermath of destruction in her chest wasn’t easy—they’d felt like boyfriend and girlfriend—but she didn’t really have a choice, did she?
A strong wind carried down the block lined with brownstones, whipping the ends of her white woolen scarf and tickling the newer, shorter fringe of her bangs. She’d cut them herself last night after watching two measly TikToks on the subject. They didn’t turn out terrible, but she wasn’t winning any prizes for precision, either. They only reached the center of her forehead, instead of her eyebrows, where she’d been aiming. There she was—a walking cliché. Break her heart and watch her desperately find a way to make matters worse.
Oh well.
They would grow back. Her heart probably wouldn’t. Or if it did grow back, it would be some awkwardly stitched-up Frankenstein version of it.
“Miss Gallard, the crowd is assembling quickly,” said a member of the security team. One of six who was flanking her on the way down the sidewalk after a trip to the bookstore to pick up her latest project. An old copy of The Giver that desperately needed to be restored to its former glory. “Do you mind walking a little faster?”
“Sure,” she said, looking down at her feet and ordering them to comply. They could barely manage a slow slog, let alone a brisk pace, but she did her best, everything hurting. Everything. The sockets of her eyeballs pounded, her ribs were sore, fingers stiff, skin cold. The world around her looked like fake plastic movie sets. What happened?
What happened?
Melody realized she’d stopped walking completely when Danielle left Joseph’s side and rested a palm in the center of her back. “Mel, are you okay?”
No. I can’t even feel the package in my hand.
Up ahead, a group of onlookers were taking pictures of her with their camera phones. On the way to the bookstore, she’d seen herself on television through the window of a pub under the headline, “What Caused the Split?” For the last three days, every time she ventured outside, people asked, “Where is Beat? Why did you break up?” It was constant. On the internet, theories were flying. They ranged from an unwanted pregnancy to another woman to a difference of opinion on pizza toppings.