Wreck the Halls: A Novel

Apparently, no warnings are given before the police snap one’s mug shot.

There was barely time to register that she was standing in front of the height chart, when a camera flash blinded Melody. With the starburst still blooming in her eyes, a female officer shuffled Melody along a few feet to the right where they flipped open an inkpad and asked for her full name. This was really happening. She’d been arrested for kicking someone in the junk. “Is this something I will have to report to potential future employers?”

“That’s a question for the judge.” The officer waited for Melody’s escort to uncuff her. “Thumb, please.”

Melody barely had time to hold out the requested digit when Trina was ushered into the processing room behind her daughter, with the air of a middle schooler who had been sent to the principal’s office. Again. “Well, I’m back, Officers! How many of you are secretly going to ask for an autograph this time?” Trina singsonged to the room, in general, her bare feet slapping on the floor with every step. “Guess I can’t really fault you for taking Santa’s side this close to Christmas. If you piss him off, he might not bring you a life—and you all desperately need one. Something to occupy your time besides arresting the local legend.”

“You were a legend when you moved here. Now you’re just annoying,” drawled the officer holding her cuffed wrists behind her back. “Look straight at the camera.”

She batted her eyelashes as the flash went off. “Pretend all you want. I see your Steel Birds tattoo peeking out.”

The officer cleared his throat hard and yanked on the sleeve of his uniform, covering up a few ink spikes. “Team Octavia,” he muttered.

“Yeah, that tracks.” Trina rolled her eyes. “A couple of serial killers of joy. She’d probably love you.”

“Really?”

Trina’s head fell back on a groan. “For the love of God, put me in a cell. I’d rather be locked up than have this conversation.”

“Mom,” Melody ventured. “Let’s just get through this without them adding any charges, okay? I’m sure Beat is already working on having us released.”

“Oh. Yeah. Speaking of Octavia fangirls.” Uncuffed now, Trina averted her gaze and slapped her thumb down into the inkpad, but not before Melody saw a trace of hurt. “My own kid. Unbelievable.”

“I’m not a fangirl.” Melody would have failed a lie detector test on that one, but Trina didn’t need to know that. “I’ve only met her once.”

“Is she still a petty bitch?”

“Mom.”

The officer stepped into Melody’s line of vision. “I watched the whole meeting live, if you don’t mind me saying so. My wife and I agreed that you really impressed her. And I can’t imagine that’s an easy thing to do. I mean, she really seemed just taken with you, Mel.”

“Mel?” Trina kicked—kicked—the officer in the back of the leg. “You are not on a shortened-name basis with my daughter.”

Instead of outraged, the man merely seemed smug. “That’s what everyone’s calling her, Trina. Magnificent Mel.”

What?

Trina sputtered. “Who the hell is everyone?”

“It’s a long story,” Melody interjected quickly. Although . . . Magnificent Mel? Was it a nickname born of sarcasm or were viewers truly calling her that? “I’ll probably have time to explain everything while we’re waiting to get out.”

“Oh, there’s no probably about it,” the officer said cheerfully. “Our bail bondsman is closed today. His daughter is getting married.”

“Fuck.” This, from Trina.

Melody refused to panic. Beyond the typical dread that came with being arrested and having to explain to her mother they were in the middle of a reality show, that was. “Beat will figure it out. I know he will.”

Trina studied her long and hard. “If you tell me you’re dating Octavia’s son, I’m going to wish I’d actually been attacked with a stick by that rabid Santa Claus.”

“We’re not . . . dating.”

The officer made a choked sound. Walked in a circle with hands on his head, like he was struggling to hang on to a whopper of a secret. “Beg pardon, Magnificent Mel, but I’ve got eyes in my head. That man is wild about you.”

The pulse in her neck started to speed. “No, he’s just—”

“I already know what you’re going to say. That’s just his nature. He makes every person feel like they’re special. Yada yada yada. Well, I think—and my wife agrees—that you only say that to manage your expectations, because you have inadequacy issues.”

Melody smiled. “We’d like to be put in that cell now.”

The female officer who’d brought Melody into the processing area sidled over. “You’re going to scare her with all your babbling, Melvin. Jesus. Talking like you know someone.”

“Don’t pretend like you aren’t dissecting every second of the live stream, Deena. I saw your post in the fan forum, too. TripleDCop45 is you, isn’t it?” Melvin looked pleased with himself. “Your theory about the Steel Birds reunion only being a red herring is decent, I guess. The show might actually be about Beat and Melody at its core. But—”

“Reunion?” Trina screeched.

Melvin’s mouth snapped shut. “Oh, she doesn’t know yet?”

“Cell,” Melody whispered.

With a glare at Melvin, TripleDCop45 tugged Melody down the long corridor leading to what looked like four holding cells. All were empty, except for one in which a man was passed out on a bench, snoring with his mouth hanging open. Melody could feel Trina’s eyes drilling into the back of her neck. There would be no heartwarming mother-daughter chitchat today. They were heading straight into the fire, weren’t they?

Yup.

As soon as they were led into the cell and the door was locked behind them, Trina slumped heavily against the far wall of the cell, scrubbing at her face with her hands. “What in the sweet burning hell is going on here, Melody Anne?”

An excited whisper carried down the corridor. “She called her Melody Anne!”

“I’m putting this on the message boards. People are going to shit.”

“Guys, can we have a little privacy, please?” Melody called through the bars.

A squabbling discussion ensued. “Sure,” TripleDCop45 called back, finally. “We need to watch Beat on the live stream, anyway.”

Melvin hooted. “The poor man is fit to be tied. He wants you out of here. Now.”

“His words, not ours.” Some chairs scraped back. “Let’s go watch in the break room.”

A few moments later, a door opened and closed, leaving Melody and Trina in silence, save the buzzing of the overhead fluorescent light. Trina dropped her hands away from her face, letting out a gusty sigh. “Live stream. Message boards. Octavia’s son. Reunion. These are the words giving me an ulcer—and I’m way too young to have ulcers.”

Ulcers were more than possible at fifty-three, but now was not the time to mention it. “I agreed to be part of a reality show.” Melody took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “Beat and I are attempting to reunite Steel Birds.”

Long seconds ticked by, her mother’s expression inscrutable.

Then a laugh started to unfurl from her mouth, building slowly into a jumble of loud, hysterical notes echoing off the walls of the jail cell. “I wouldn’t appear onstage with that judgmental cow if she was the last person on earth.”

Melody already had one foot in the grave, might as well lie down in it and roll around.

“She already agreed to the reunion.”

That marked the first time she’d ever truly shocked her mother—and Melody would be lying if she said that reaction didn’t enliven her. Challenging the status quo of their relationship was one of the reasons she’d agreed to participate in Wreck the Halls, wasn’t it?

Trina pushed off the wall. “You’re telling me that old hag wants to reunite?”

“That’s what I’m telling you,” Melody deadpanned. “Christmas Eve. Are you in?”

“Absolutely not.”

While Melody had been expecting that response, she’d gotten a lot more invested in the outcome of this mission—perhaps unwisely so—and Trina’s definitive answer hit her in the middle of the chest like a hurled dagger. The blade might have lodged in deeper, but then Melody saw something beyond shock on her mother’s face. Something like . . . hope.

She could do this.

She’d found the edge of the tape, now she simply had to pry it up with her fingernail.

“The world is watching, Mom. As if people weren’t already clamoring for this reunion, now ‘Rattle the Cage’ has gone viral after three decades. If Melvin and TripleDCop are an accurate sampling, the viewership is hyped. Think of the fans.”

Trina laughed, but the mirth never reached her eyes. “The fans hate me. And they fucking love her. That’s how it has always been.”

“I . . .” Melody shook herself out of a daze. “I never knew you felt that way.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Trina rushed to add, jabbing the air with her finger. “I don’t give a shit. I’m just stating the facts.”

“Right.”

Trina definitely gave a shit.

“I don’t care if they all condemn me for what they think happened. I’m happy. I’m up here living free in the giddy mountain air while she’s down in New York, in her gilded cage, rolling around in phony frippery.”

Melody started to respond but found herself momentarily overcome.

“What?” Trina spat, folding her arms over her chest.

“Nothing,” Melody managed, after a few moments. “It’s just that sometimes I forget you were the lyricist. That you’re incredible with words.”

Trina turned away. To hide the softening of her eyes? “There’s nothing you’ll say to make me agree to reunite Steel Birds, Melody Anne. Octavia is the one who asked for the breakup in the first place.”

A sharp pang hit Melody just above the collarbone. “She is? I never knew. No one really knows what happened. I mean, speculation about a love triangle has always been there, but I’ve always wondered if the press was sensationalizing.”

“If only.” Trina didn’t say anything for long moments. “Oh, kid. It’s such a cliché. That’s what ticks me off the most, you know?” Trina faced her again, disgust evident in the brackets around her mouth. “We swore from day one, we’ll never be normal. We’ll never be normal. But look what happened. A penis came between us. A human man. Not even a half-decent one.” She appeared lost in thought for a beat. “Maybe I am the villain of her story, but I’m the hero of my own. I’m going to keep on being that for myself, if it’s all right with the world.”

This woman, her mother, had no idea that every sentence out of her mouth was a hit song. God. God, it was so intimidating. Standing in that jail cell, Melody felt like a lackluster teenage girl again, without a single merit that could bring her worldwide fame. The talent hadn’t been passed to the next generation. It ended with Trina. Melody was just a quiet echo of something extraordinary.

Melody reached down deep, trying to tap into all the lessons she’d soaked up over the last decade and a half of therapy, but all she found was a dull, monotone baseline. A dead radio station.

What had she told Beat on the plane? They get to just be people? Maybe it would be easier to remember that later, when she wasn’t staring greatness in the face.

“What’s going on with you and the son?”

She was too winded to lie. “I don’t know.”

Trina shivered. “He is her clone. I can see it. Be wise and be careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“That feeling. The one that says someone is always going to be there. In this life, Melody Anne, you can’t depend on anyone but yourself. Haven’t I told you that before?”

“No. You’ve shown me.”

Trina reared back a touch, expression turning guarded. “I’ve what?”

“Nothing.”

“No. Say it.”

It was getting harder to draw a breath. She’d never, ever been critical of her mother out loud. Who was she to nitpick a lyrical genius? Who was she to try and analyze, pin down, pigeonhole a famously free spirit? Not her. Not the sweaty girl with braces.

Melody wasn’t sure where she got the bravery now. Was it the fact that she’d taken a sword to her comfort zone and slashed it to ribbons by participating in the live stream? Was it . . . the spike of confidence she’d taken for herself on the plane by embodying a seductress? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that her voice worked fine when she said, “You’ve shown me that I can only depend on myself. I taught myself how to be okay. Being okay is goals. But I don’t think being okay means avoiding anyone who might test your version of okay. Sometimes the okay boundary changes. You have to fucking step into it. You have to find your okay again. And again and again. Until we die. Welcome to being human.”

“Wait, I thought I was the lyricist.”

A laugh puffed out of Melody. A rewarding one.

Trina half smiled, sadness dancing fleetingly through her eyes. “I’m sorry, Melody Anne. I’m done being everyone’s bad girl.” She looked around. “If I want to be bad now, it’s on my terms, you know? The crowd sang along with me for years, worshipping me with their very souls. We abandoned ourselves to the universe together. And then they turned on me. They reached in and made mulch of my guts. And she led the mob. My best goddamn friend.”

Heat pressed against the backs of Melody’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d been keeping all this locked inside.”

“It’s easier to let everyone think nothing touches me.”

Melody wanted to let her get away with that. She really did. Her mother’s explanation was genuine. Every word. And Melody didn’t want to penalize Trina for being open with her when it was so rare. But she felt stronger today than she had in the past and didn’t want to lose that. Didn’t want to have regrets later. “I get that it’s easier to let people believe you’re untouchable, but I’m not everyone, Mom. I’m your daughter.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I only make you put up with me once a year, huh?” Trina laughed, pacing barefoot to the other side of the cell, signaling an end to their heart-to-heart. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

If the jail cell floor wasn’t stained with God knew what, Melody might have lain down on it, knees to her chest. But if those splotches had managed to stain concrete, they had to be something serious, so she remained standing. Swaying a little in the wake of her mother’s hurtful statement. Trina thought she was doing Melody a favor by being absent? How was she supposed to respond to that?

Thankfully, she never had to find out.

Beat’s voice cut through the stale air like a violin string through cake. “I’ve spoken to the bondsman—he allowed me to do a wire transfer. You should have an email from him. Melody no longer has to go before a judge, because charges have not been pressed. I spoke to psychotic Santa myself.” His tone invited zero nonsense. “Let her out, immediately.”

“You mean them, Beat,” Melody called into the hallway. “Let them out.”

“Mel,” he shouted back, “are you okay?”

At this rate, she was going to turn to a fine mist of relief and drift out through the metal bars. “I’m completely fine.”

Physically.

“She better be fine,” Beat informed Melvin as they came into view.

Oh . . . my.

Her blood thickened to hot syrup at the way Beat strode toward the jail cell, hair in disarray, the sleeves of his dress shirt shoved hastily to his elbows, those forearms in a full-on irritable flex, along with his jawline. He was in shambles, and yet he looked completely in command of the situation. Melody seriously hoped her weak-kneed, total body reaction to Beat’s arrival wasn’t showing on her face. One small mercy was that the camera wasn’t there, likely forced to wait outside.

Melvin unlocked the jail cell door and Beat pulled her out by the wrist, stooping down slightly to wrap her in his arms, then lifting her clear off the floor.

“I got you out as quickly as I could.” His voice was gruff paradise in her neck. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

He settled Melody onto her feet, but kept her close, that line of concern remaining deep in between his brows. “Let me see your wrists.”

“Why?” she asked, confused but presenting them anyway.

Beat took her hands, holding them up to the light, turning them right and left. “If those cuffs left a mark on you, I’m going to fucking lose it.”

“They didn’t.”

Melvin patted Beat on the shoulder. “Relax, man, she’s been in the hands of a Melody-head. She’s been treated like family!”

“Would someone mind letting me out of jail, too?” Trina shrieked.

“Guys, my mom!” Melody wiggled out of Beat’s hold and reached for Trina’s hand through the open door, pulling her out into the open. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you want to check my wrists, too?” Trina said tauntingly, wiggling her fingers at Beat.

“Nah,” he drawled without missing a beat. “Sounds like your wrists are used to being cuffed. Hers aren’t.”

“Beat,” Melody breathed, frowning up at him. Why did he look and sound so angry?

Trina cracked a knuckle. “I see your mother has properly poisoned you against me.”

“She didn’t, actually. That’s not her style. I can make my own judgments.”

Melody grabbed his hand and squeezed, imploring him without words to look down at her. In the great scheme of things, it didn’t really matter if Beat and Trina liked each other. In fact, there was an extremely high probability that they wouldn’t. The past was already working against them. For some reason, though, every dart they threw at each other was striking Melody in the process. “Please. Please stop.”

His gaze veered toward Mel, running a lap around her face. “Yeah. Okay. I just don’t like this place.” A line moved in his cheek. “I don’t like that Melody Gallard showed up and the so-called Free Loving Adventure Club didn’t appreciate it enough.”

“I haven’t exactly had the chance, have I, golden boy? Or did you miss me getting rolled the minute she arrived?” Trina snapped, before she slowly settled into a cajoling smile, which she sent in Melody’s direction. “There’s always a little celebration back at the house when I get out of the slammer. Who’s ready to party?”

Melvin cleared his throat. “I, for one, wouldn’t mind unwinding—”

“Oh, fuck off, Melvin,” Trina scoffed, sailing down the hallway toward the exit. “You’re not invited. This one’s for my kid.” Just before she walked out of the jail, she turned. “It goes without saying that you’re welcome to stay the night. We’ve got an extra room.”

Melody followed her mother, Beat’s hand warming the small of her back. “Only one?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s a packed house.”

She could feel Beat’s gaze on the crown of her head and slowly raised her eyes to meet it. Were his pupils larger than usual or was it a trick of lighting? Melody wasn’t sure. Nor was she sure what kind of night lay ahead of them.

But odds were, it was going to be interesting.