Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Are they dating?” Beat’s father asked, followed by a hearty laugh that filled the coat check closet. “Wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass?”
“We’re not,” Melody said as quickly as possible. Mainly, because she didn’t want to hear a vehement denial from Beat. She wiggled and ducked until she’d extricated herself from his hold, noticing that Beat only looked perplexed over the way he’d been hanging on to her in the first place. “We’re not dating, but we are on a mutual mission.”
Speaking in front of such an intimidating group made her feel as though she could break out in a million hives at any second, but Melody forged ahead. After all, she’d been the one to spout the lie about Trina requesting the reunion. She’d steered the adventure in a whole new direction, she couldn’t very well let go of the wheel now, could she?
“There are thousands of people watching, Octavia,” Melody started.
“Millions,” Danielle corrected in a whisper.
“Millions.” Melody breathed through a wave of dizziness. “They’ve waited—we’ve waited—thirty years for a Steel Birds reunion. Sure, there are recordings, songs that can be downloaded. But there is nothing like hearing your favorite songs live. You and Trina have the power to make it happen. To give fans that moment they’ve been dreaming about since ninety-three.”
Beat settled a hand on the small of Melody’s back. “You miss it sometimes. Don’t you, Mom? The crowd belting ‘Rattle the Cage’ at the top of their lungs. Feeling it. You miss that long, drawn-out break before the key change. That final, blood-pumping solo.”
“The rotisserie chickens,” Melody murmured, pressing a hand to her heart.
“Never forget,” Beat deadpanned.
A tiny, bemused laugh bubbled out of Octavia’s mouth. “You know . . . when Trina and I were pregnant with you two, Stevie Nicks blessed our bellies backstage at a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Sly and Family Stone was being instated, right? Yes. And Stevie, she recited an old proverb and waved a bundle of burning sage, which she was literally carrying in the pocket of her dress, and she said the two of you would always be . . . was it protected or connected? I can’t recall.” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Steel Birds broke up six days later. I’ve always wondered if she cursed us, instead.”
“We could call her and find out,” Danielle suggested, discreetly steering Joseph’s elbow. “On camera.”
Octavia scoffed. “Stevie Nicks doesn’t have a phone.”
“Wow,” Melody whispered.
“Look.” Octavia waved her hands. “It’s almost time for my champagne toast and I am going to sing ‘Santa motherfucking Baby’ tonight, whether or not anyone wished for it . . .” She sent a sniff in Beat’s direction. “Let’s wrap this up. If you two manage to bring Trina to New York, I will perform one song with her onstage. But there will be no communication between us beforehand or afterward. This isn’t going to be some big, emotional reunion where we lament the three decades we’ve lost being enemies and plan an international tour. If that’s the ultimate goal here, you will all be sorely disappointed.”
“Understood, Mom,” Beat said with a nod. “One night. One song. No chitchat.”
“Send it to my manager in writing, please,” Octavia added, sailing for the door with a cigar-puffing Rudy in tow. “Son, I love you dearly, despite this total nonsense.” She stopped midway through the exit to the ballroom where guests were already beginning to cheer over her reentry to the gala. “And Melody . . .”
“Yes?”
“Next time the spotlight lands on you, sucker-punch it back.”
Chapter Thirteen
For the last hour, a lead weight had been sitting in Beat’s gut.
It was a cross between dread and urgency.
Something about the way everyone at the bottom of the staircase had looked at Melody troubled him. They got it. They saw what he did. And part of Beat really enjoyed the fact that people seemed to be recognizing Melody’s uniqueness. Celebrating those special quirks that made her so . . . Mel. Because it was about damn time.
The dread kicked in when he realized all her earnest, vulnerable charm was being broadcast in real time to millions of people, apparently. So, when it came time to leave the gala, the protective instinct that had been rising inside of him all night started to hum. Louder and louder, until he could barely hear the security team’s instructions over the noise.
Beat stooped down to catch the view from the front of the venue—and his stomach dropped through the floor. The crowd waiting outside stretched down the block.
He couldn’t even see the end of it.
The live stream had only been going for a matter of hours and somehow viewers had already found the time to make signs. Vaguely, he registered his name on a handful of them, but he was far more concerned with the ones that mentioned Melody.