standing right in front of her, bringing the day down to a whole new level of awful.
No one moved. No one spoke for a long moment.
Heather broke the silence. “He shouldn’t be here,” she hissed to Victoria.
“I know. We’re leaving.” She looked at Melody. “We didn’t expect you to be here, Mel.” Her tone was apologetic.
Tearing her gaze from Brad’s and remembering to breathe, Melody said, “No, it’s okay, really. Stay.” The words were said through clenched teeth. She picked up three menus and slapped them onto the counter in front of Victoria. The bar was a public place, after all. Brookhollow was Brad’s hometown—this had been bound to happen someday. She’d have preferred it not be today, but she refused to give Brad Monroe the satisfaction of seeing her become frazzled by his sudden appearance.
“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
