The Mistletoe Melody

“No, Mel, we don’t want to upset you...” Victoria stammered. The men were still standing near the door.

Mel forced a cold smile. “Do I look upset? Please stay.”

Victoria hesitated before shaking her head. “Okay, I guess we will.”

Melody watched as Victoria approached the men, said something and practically dragged them to a booth in the corner. She slid her damp palms down her black apron and steadied her shaky knees as she went around the side of the bar.

“Where are you going?” Heather blocked her path.

“To take their order.”

“No way. I can’t believe you even let him stay. And that’s my table, anyway, so get back behind the bar.

“Seriously, Heather, I’ve got this. I’m fine,” she said firmly.

Heather touched her arm. “No one’s buying it, Mel.”

Why should they? She was not fine. Her life was slowly unraveling, and Brad Monroe’s appearance had just severed the last remaining tie.

* * *

“I THOUGHT YOU said the coast would be clear,” Brad said to Luke as he watched Melody and the other bartender talking across the room. Her cold, hard stare had rattled him. His worst nightmare had come true.

“I thought it would be,” Luke said. He helped Victoria remove her coat and hang it on the side of the booth. “Uh-oh, that’s Heather coming to serve us. She’s Vic’s New York friend.”

“She and Mel have grown close, but don’t worry, her bark is worse than her bite,” Victoria said quickly. She slid into the booth next to her husband just as Heather stopped in front of the table.

“Are you crazy, Luke?” were Heather’s first words.

“Hi, Heather. Nice to see you, too,” he said.

She placed her hands on her hips. “You need to leave. He isn’t welcome here.” She shot Brad a piercing glance.

Wow, Brad thought, her bark is pretty bad.

“Heather, this is my friend Brad Monroe,” Luke continued, unfazed.

“Well, we have the right to refuse service...” Heather said.

“Don’t worry about me—I don’t drink,” Brad said, leaning back in the seat. He brought his gaze to Mel across the bar, searching her face for any sign of peace or forgiveness, but couldn’t find even the smallest trace in her disapproving glare.

He’d often seen the same glare in the past, albeit for far less reason. She’d never fully trusted him or approved of his playboy lifestyle, and she’d been worried whenever he and Patrick had been on the road together. Like the day they’d met with the Propel Records executive in New York.

He’d been a mess of anxiety and excited nerves as they’d waited for the executive, Hank Miller, to finish listening to their demo. Six months of daily phone calls from Arnie, their manager, to the guy who had finally landed them an appointment in Hank’s New York office three weeks before Christmas.

Hank had sat quietly as the first three songs played from start to finish. There’d been no indication as to whether he’d liked or disliked them. Somehow Patrick had remained calm and cool, at least on the outside, but across from him, Brad was sweating. When the fourth song started and the executive reached forward to shut it off, staying quiet proved impossible for Brad.

“That’s the best one on the CD,” he’d said. The man had to listen to that one. Turning them down without hearing their best song would have been torture. Damn it. He’d told Pat to put that song first.

“I’ve heard enough,” Hank had said, his face still revealing nothing.

Brad had glanced at Patrick. Man, his friend should have played poker. His face, too, had been unreadable. How had those guys been so good at hiding their emotions? Brad had stood and started pacing behind their chairs.

“Brad, have a seat,” Hank had said. “Is he always this wound up?” he’d asked Patrick.

“He just needs a drink—he’ll be fine,” Patrick had answered.

The truth had been he’d already had two, compliments of the flask in the glove compartment of his Mustang. Brad had then sat down.

“I like what you guys are doing,” Hank had finally said. “It’s fresh and different.”

Fresh and different. That was good. So why had his heart begun racing even faster?

“Give me an hour,” Hank had said, “and I’ll send the contract paperwork to Arnie.”

Brad’s mouth had fallen open. Patrick had smiled. And then Hank had ushered them out of his office.

“Did that just happen?” Brad had asked as they’d exited the building on Fifth Avenue into blowing snow that had started while they’d been in the meeting.

“Yes, my friend, it did.” Patrick had hugged him.

“How are you still so calm? I was totally losing it up there. What if he’d said no? Were you really that confident?” Brad had asked as they’d made their way into a small pub a block away.

“No, but as they say, you fake it till you make it, man. And we made it.” Patrick had reached for his phone as they’d settled into a corner booth.

“Calling Mel?”

He’d nodded and a second later a wide smile had spread across his face as he’d said, “Hey, baby, we got it.”

From across the booth, he’d heard Mel’s excited squeal and then tiny voices on the line. He’d looked away and flagged the waitress.

“What can I get you boys?” the pretty redheaded waitress had asked with a flirtatious smile.

“Four tequila shots and your phone number, please,” Brad had said with a wink.

He heard Patrick say on his phone, “Yes, we’re just grabbing a quick drink and then we will be on the road...No, just one...It’s fine...”

Brad had shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d known Mel liked him enough, but he’d also known she saw him as a bad influence on her husband. Maybe he had been, but she had absolutely nothing to worry about. Patrick hadn’t been able to see past his wife and kids. It would have surprised the couple to know that Brad was jealous of what they had. Their life had seemed so perfect, and their dream of a future in music had been finally happening, as well.

“I promise you, there’s nothing to worry about,” Patrick had said. “I’ll be home soon.”

Brad had been responsible for making Patrick break that promise to his family.

Seeing Melody now made it hard to breathe. She’d been right. They should have listened to her, skipped the drink and headed straight home after the meeting. Patrick would still have been there if they had. Clearing his throat, Brad said, “I think we really should leave.”

Heather looked relieved. “I think that’s a good idea.”

A few moments later they were standing outside, Luke’s arm draped around Victoria’s shoulders as the three walked to their vehicles in the parking lot. “Sorry about that, man. We thought she was done working there.”

“Yeah, it’s strange,” Victoria said. “Heather told me her promotion with Play Hard was to take effect this week if the final exam went well.” She frowned.

“It’s my fault,” Brad said. “And I wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome from anyone in town, anyway.” He’d reached the passenger door of Luke’s truck and opened it for Victoria.

“Thank you,” she said, hoisting herself up.

He closed the door and turned to Luke. “Well, thanks for trying, man.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You’re welcome to come back to our place...”

Brad glanced to where Victoria was resting her head against the seat and closing her eyes. His friends may not have told anyone yet, but it was pretty obvious they were expecting their first child. “Maybe not tonight. She looks exhausted. I’ll stop by before I leave town,” he said.

“Okay.” Luke extended his hand. “And hey, man, I didn’t know you were sober...”

Brad gave his friend a quick hug. “Two years, eleven months and four days.” Every day brought its own challenges and rewards. Many times since the tragedy, he had been tempted to indulge the urge to drink himself stupid, to forget, to find momentary relief from the guilt. But then he’d remind himself that it was alcohol that had cost him so much. Alcohol couldn’t make anything better. “Drive safe,” he said now to Luke.

Then his friend jumped into the driver’s seat and started the truck. Brad made his way through the blowing snow to his rental car on the other side of the lot. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the less-than-pleasant greeting he’d received in the bar. He expected Heather wouldn’t be the only one with something to say...or nothing to say to him, as the case may be. He just needed to finish the filming for the TV show and get out of town before his presence hurt anyone further.

A noise at the side of the building caught his attention, and he turned. Melody was leaning against the back door of the bar, arms folded against the cold air. Something about how she was standing there filled him with a mix of anxiety and compassion. Don’t make things worse. Just get in your car and leave.

Ignoring the voice in his head, he slowly approached her. His legs felt heavy. Apprehension grew in his chest with each step across the snow-covered parking lot. Her eyes were shut, and he stopped several feet in front of her and said her name.

She opened her eyes, and the pain he saw in them mirrored his own.

The guilt he struggled with every day choked him, and he clenched his jaw as a wave of despair coursed through his body. He’d ruined her life. He’d been responsible for taking away her husband, her boys’ father. It was hard to breathe as he stared at her. What did you say at a moment like this? A moment that was long overdue, but one he knew they both wished they could have avoided forever.

“Mel, I’m sorry.” How empty the words sounded. He was sorry? Who cared? Sorry he couldn’t bring Patrick back? Sorry he’d been drinking? Sorry didn’t ease her pain.

She didn’t say anything, just lowered her head and placed her hands over her face.

Without thinking, he closed the gap between them in one quick stride. Taking her shoulders, he moved her away from the building, and then brought her fully in his arms. She didn’t fight—she sank into him, letting her weight fall against his frame. “I’m sorry, Mel,” he said again uselessly. “I’m so sorry...” He said the words over and over into her hair, holding her tight.

Time seemed to freeze in the cold evening air as they stood there, his arms around her in an embrace that should have been uncomfortable, but instead felt natural. The only sounds were her soft sobs against his chest, each one feeling like a knife through his heart. At one time, they’d been good friends. His favorite memories of making music in the small town always included her, and so much of his past revolved around her family. Now she refused to allow him to be a part of her or her sons’ lives anymore. And it was his fault—all his, no one else’s.

A long time and a tsunami of emotions later, her sobbing eased and her weight shifted. She broke away from his arms, wiping at her cheeks. Releasing her, he waited for her to break her silence, desperate to hear from her lips absolution, forgiveness, all the things he knew he didn’t deserve, to free him from his own self-loathing.

At last she spoke. Her voice strong, unfeeling, unwavering, she uttered words he knew he would never be able to forget. “I’d like to forgive you, Brad. But as hard as I’ve tried over the years, I just can’t.”

* * *

AFTER RETRIEVING THE key from under the welcome mat, Brad unlocked the back door of his family home and quietly turned the knob. It was much later that same evening. Unable to shake the feelings his encounter with Melody had left him with, he’d just driven aimlessly through whatever streets he could navigate without much attention. Trying to feel like anyone other than the worst human alive, he’d surrounded himself with landmarks that spurred memories of less complicated times—but the holiday decor on every corner only made him feel worse. This would be the Myerses’ third Christmas without Patrick. Brad didn’t imagine it ever got easier, especially on the boys.

Inside, the only light came from the living room down the hall. The house was quiet. He knew by now most everyone would be asleep, but he knew who would be waiting up for him. He removed his boots and carried them down the hall, setting them on the drying rack near the front door before heading into the living room. “Hi, Mom,” he said.

Beverly Monroe was sitting in her favorite armchair next to the woodburning fireplace, her latest cross-stitch pattern on her lap. Her warm smile of welcome did wonders for his frazzled nerves. “Hi, honey,” she said. “Everyone tried to wait up for you, but they were all too exhausted.”

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t phone. I met up with Luke and Victoria for a bit. I had planned to be here sooner.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He had seen his friends for a few minutes at least. He kissed his mother’s cheek before collapsing onto the sofa.

“Are you hungry? Do you want something? I can make you a sandwich.”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” He was starting to get a headache, and he massaged the back of his neck.

His mother studied him with keen eyes. “You’ve been in town less than a few hours and the stress is already mounting, isn’t it?”

“Nah, I’m fine—but I just saw Melody Myers.”

His mother set the cross-stitch aside. “You don’t waste any time torturing yourself, do you?”

“I didn’t mean to run into her, and I think the impromptu meeting stressed her out more than it did me.” He’d been able to dull his guilt and pain by staying away from Brookhollow, but what had given him that right to run away? Every day the people he’d hurt had to face the bitter loss of someone they had loved deeply.

“You know, son, it’s okay to acknowledge your own pain. You lost Pat, too. And you continue to suffer a lot of physical pain. It’s been three years—I think it’s time you start forgiving yourself just a little.”

He shook his head. “There’s a long list of other people who would have to forgive me before I could even start to forgive myself.”

“You made a mistake, Brad.”

“Yeah, one that cost everything.”

“Not everything. You’re still here. You were graced with another chance.”

“While my best friend died. It’s hardly a consolation that I’m still here, Mom.” How many times had he wished he’d died on the side of the highway along with his friend? Most people saw his second chance at life as a gift, but he saw it as a punishment. A lifetime to reflect on the damage he’d caused.

His mother stood and kissed the top of his head. “Well, I almost lost my son that night. I thank God every day that I still have you, even if you don’t.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE DOOR TO Leigh Norris’s home-based day care opened just as Melody raised a hand to knock on it. “Hey, Melody. David,” Leigh’s new husband, Logan Walters, said as he moved aside to let them enter.

“Hi, Logan. You heading out already?” It was just after seven. Her shift at Play Hard started at eight, and Leigh had agreed to watch David for her that day while she worked. But Melody was surprised to see Logan, a bestselling author who’d recently moved to Brookhollow, planning to start his day so early. “I thought writers slept in and wrote into wee hours of the night.”

Logan laughed. “I’m not sure about the sleeping-in part, but the staying-up-all-night part is true enough. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep at the office during the day. Good thing Ginger’s furniture is still there.”

After Leigh’s grandmother had suffered a heart attack and decided it was time to move into a seniors complex, Logan had rented her apartment. “Hi, guys,” Leigh met them in the hallway, her newly adopted baby girl in her arms. She leaned forward and kissed her husband. “See you at dinner?”

“You bet.” He bent to kiss the baby’s forehead, and with another quick kiss to Leigh, he left.

Melody touched the baby’s cheek. “Look, David, how tiny she is.”

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