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)
Some of the smugness fled from Fletcher’s face.
He leaned forward to speak into the microphone, but he only got out one word before the sound miraculously cut off. The cheers died down, the crowd sensing the gravity of what was taking place.
“When Trina and I started Steel Birds, we vowed we’d never fall victim to the jealousy and inflated egos that break up nearly every great band, but that promise got lost somewhere along the way. I guess we got a little lost ourselves.”
“It took our kids to come along and pull our heads out of our asses.” Trina punctuated that statement with a low chord on her guitar, the audience whistling and clapping at the mention of Melody and Beat. “Can I say ass on television?”
“We’re fifty-three. We can say whatever the hell we want.”
Trina smiled. “I like that.”
Octavia hummed into the mic while the laughter rose and faded. “Bottom line is . . . we let a man come between us. And we’re never going to do that again.”
“Especially not this one,” Trina added, calling, “Security?”
Melody watched with her jaw on the floor as two security guards wrestled Fletcher backward out of his seat, whisking him off the stage in Melody’s direction while he sputtered. Before he could disappear into the backstage area entirely, Octavia stepped into his path, her expression a combination of cold and righteous.
“My family knows the secret of Beat’s paternity now. And I’ll quite happily tell the whole world before you see another dime that you didn’t earn. Your power is gone, do you hear me?” She flicked him a disgusted look, as if he was nothing more than a piece of lint. “Now go fade into obscurity where you belong.”
A sound that could only be described as a victory screech rent the air and Melody realized it had come from her own mouth. She’d also thrown her arms up like a referee announcing a touchdown. The only thing missing was Beat. And the lack of him was like a giant hole in the atmosphere.
Swiping at her dampening eyes, Melody took out her phone and started tapping out a text to him, but she couldn’t see the screen. Too blurry.
“Ladies and gentleman, please welcome Hank Turin to the stage,” Trina said into the microphone, gesturing to a small man with a ponytail who was making his way to the drum kit, the spotlight following his progress.
“He was with us on that final, disastrous tour and he was a gentleman the entire time,” said Octavia. “Even when we were fighting like a couple of alley cats.”
“Well.” Trina winked at the new drummer. “He wasn’t a gentleman the entire time.”
Octavia belted a laugh. “You could never leave those drummers alone.”
Trina gave the lead singer a pointed look. “Neither could you.”
The women were sharing a laugh with the audience when Danielle came up beside Melody. “They are absolutely killing and they haven’t even played a song yet.”
“They’re really special, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are,” Danielle agreed, putting an arm around Melody’s shoulders. “Look what you pulled off.”
“I didn’t do it alone.”
Before Danielle could respond, Octavia spoke again, her voice carrying through the plaza, backstage and beyond. “We’d like to open the show with a tribute to Beat and Melody.” Once again, the cheers rose to a deafening level. “Somehow, we don’t think you’ll mind.”
The stage went dark.
Danielle squeezed Melody’s shoulder, then stepped away, leaving her standing alone to watch the screen behind the stage light up. A movie began to play. No . . . not a movie. It was Melody and Beat. They were sitting at a table. Was it the day of the initial meeting with Danielle? Yes. There were beignets between them. Coffee.
But they weren’t supposed to be filmed. The conversation had been private.
Or so they’d thought.
Obviously Danielle had pulled a fast one.
My God, the way they looked at each other. The way he stared at her, not breathing, like she was operating on his heart. The way she gazed back at him, like she couldn’t believe the honor. Witnessing that visible connection from this point of view, from the outside, was like jumper cables clamping around her heart, electrifying it in her chest.
“Do you need me to do this show with you, Beat?” murmured on-screen Melody.
Beat shook his head. “I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on you.”
“Do you need me?” she asked again.
He hesitated. “There isn’t a single other person in the world I would ask.”
Color bloomed madly in her cheeks. “Then, okay.”
Scenes played one after the other, their initial on-screen interview about Steel Birds, dancing at the Christmas party, Melody falling on her butt, Beat all but carrying Melody out of jail, him arriving shirtless at bocce with a giant “M” on his chest, the snowball fight, the morning after. She blinked back tears, trying desperately to take in every second, all the ways they quietly communicated with each other. Through touches and looks, a language only they recognized.