Jennifer Snow - The Mistletoe Melody

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.