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)
Melody was already nodding her understanding. “You know, halfway through my question, I got there. I put it together.”
Buck leaned in. “If it makes you feel better, Melody Anne, your mother is my favorite.”
“Oh, it does, Buck.” Another series of shoulder pats. “Thank you.”
Melody elbowed Beat in the ribs. “We should get a drink,” Beat suggested, recognizing her cry for help. “Trina? Buck? Would you like anything from the kitchen?”
“We’re good, thanks,” Trina said, tone overly sweet. “Do you know how to prepare your own drink, Beat Dawkins? Doesn’t the butler normally do that for you?”
It was a cheap jab, but it caught Beat in his sore spot, stiffening his shoulders.
“Mom, please,” Melody sighed.
“I make my own drinks, thank you.”
Trina snorted. “Maybe your mother wanted to raise a pampered child, but that’s not how I chose to raise mine.” She sent her daughter a pointed look. “You’re letting him make you soft, Melody Anne.”
An eruption was forming in the center of Beat’s chest. Trina was telling the truth about one thing—she definitely hadn’t raised a pampered child. She didn’t do any raising at all, because she was never there, leaving Melody to live through the torture inflicted on her by the press. Beat opened his mouth to tell Trina exactly what he thought of her parenting style, but he should have known that Melody didn’t need his help.
“Soft?” Melody breathed, her shoulders dipping and rising on a breath. “I stayed. I stayed in New York with all the cameras and scrutiny. You. Ran. You ran away because everyone was mean to you. Not me.” Beat had never been prouder of anything or anyone in his life than when Melody stepped into her mother’s personal space and lifted her chin. “If you ask me, you’re the soft one, up here hiding behind some juvenile blame game. Why don’t you write a song about that? Unless maybe you’re too afraid to get onstage and sing it.”
“Oh shit,” muttered Joseph.
“Oh shit is right,” Danielle said, reverently. “Did she throw down the reunion gauntlet by accident or is she an actual mastermind?”
Beat shook his head. He couldn’t take his eyes off Melody. Her display of courage was prying his ribs apart. “She’s not thinking about the reunion right now.”
Silence had encompassed the living room, the music having been lowered in deference to the obvious argument taking place between Trina and Melody. Beat breathed through the urge to carry Melody out of the house and take her somewhere far, far away. He quelled the impulse, stood at her back, and waited for the smallest sign that she needed him.
Buck, of all people, broke the uneasy silence. “Hell, Trina definitely isn’t afraid of being onstage. She sings for us all the time.”
“Wow.” Melody looked around. “Might as well be Madison Square Garden.”
Trina’s eye started to twitch.
Again, Buck attempted to lighten the mood. “Why don’t you sing something for us right now, Trina?” He signaled someone across the room with a wave, as frantic as possible for someone with a peace sign tattoo. “What about ‘Celebrity Skin’ by Hole? You love that one.”
A woman handed Buck a guitar and he strummed a few notes.
“Why don’t you sing something by Steel Birds?” Melody suggested.
Audible gasps went up around the room. The music cut out completely.
Melody scanned the crowd that had formed around them. “What?”
Buck coughed into his fist. “We don’t . . . we don’t play them here. Don’t talk about the band, either.” He rubbed his jaw. “It’s sort of a requirement to stay.”
“Ah.” Melody pursed her lips. “So it’s all free love and living wild on the surface. But what you’ve actually got here is a strict set of rules designed to make yourself comfortable.” Melody appeared amused by her revelation. Her chest started to rise faster, a sheen forming in her eyes. “Well, I don’t live here. These people didn’t even know I existed until today and I don’t have to follow the rules.”
Melody took the guitar from Buck and abruptly left the circle that had formed.
She stomped over to the trunk where Trina had been standing and made an attempt to climb on—and failed. She was too short. Beat was already on the move. He reached her within five seconds, prepared to boost her up onto the piece of furniture. Before he could reach her, however, she shocked the hell out of him by executing a flawless box jump.
“Oh!” She spun around, mouth open. “I did it!”
His chest felt fuzzy. “Next stop: two-year gym membership.”
“They’ll have to kill me first.”
Beat’s laugh cut off when she strummed a few notes. “Hold up. You play the guitar?” he asked, his eyes level with her stomach.
“I took reverse lessons,” she whispered, voice shaking.
He repeated that explanation out loud. “What does that mean?”
“It means that, unlike box jumping, I got worse the more guitar lessons I took.”