Chapter 21 #2
“We’ll be here all day if you don’t pick up the pace, son. Ladder’s hooked to the roof. It’s not coming down,” Mr. Sparks calls up to me.
I pretend not to hear him and stay at the same slow, careful pace.
When I reach the top, I take a deep breath, then step into the roof valley thing.
I toss one end of the rope down to Stella and Mr. Sparks, then climb at an angle to the far upper corner of the roof.
By the time I reach it, they’ve secured Santa and his eight tiny reindeer to the other end of the rope.
I sit down on the steep, pitched roof to let my breath normalize.
The view is amazing. Gia’s house is surrounded by tall trees.
Some have lost their leaves, and they reach toward the roof with outstretched arms, offering a friendly handshake.
If I look over my shoulder—which I do very, very carefully—Lake Smuk greets me.
A ribbon of wind riffles the reflection of a pale winter sun on its blue surface.
It’s not my worst day ever.
A tug on the rope signals Santa’s journey has begun—this one by way of winch and pulley instead of flying reindeer. Luckily, inflatable Santa is a lot lighter than real Santa, and he’s on the roof in the blink of an eye. The snow, unfortunately, is quicker and comes down in swirling flurries.
Considering I’m used to wearing a guide wire and harness when I’m this far above the ground, I make quick work of unrolling Santa and his reindeer mates across the roof hip. I secure them at regular intervals until I reach the chimney, where the main tether will go.
Despite the snow coming down harder now, as long as I don’t look down, I’m okay.
Feeling more manly by the second, to be honest. Doesn’t mean I’m not eager to be done with this job.
I move slowly, tethering Santa around the chimney, then give Stella the signal to plug him in and let the inflating begin.
As the first reindeer fills, a high-pitched, music-box version of “Up on the Housetop” begins to play from the inflatable.
I suppose one of my jobs is making sure Santa doesn’t have any leaks and inflates all the way.
I could yell down to Stella to ask, but if she could hear me over the music, I reckon I could also hear Jim Sparks muttering something about me being an idiot city boy.
Roof seems safer than her grandpa’s ire, but not while I’m standing, so with my back against the chimney for balance, I slide to my arse.
The air travels at a snail’s pace from one reindeer pair to the next, making its way to Santa.
Stella yells something to me, but I can’t make out what she’s said over the music and the sound of the fans forcing the air through the blow-up.
“What’s that?” I call back, but I don’t hear a reply, so I stay put.
The larger Santa and his reindeer keep growing, taking over the roof like they own the place, leaving me less and less room to move.
The wind’s blowing hard now, turning the snow into icy snakes slithering over the shingles, making every foothold a slip hazard.
While I’m trying to figure out how to get back to the ladder without dying, Santa finishes inflating, and I realize I’m about to be squeezed right off my little patch of roof.
I edge my back up against the chimney and risk a glance down it. Too narrow, and I’m fresh out of Santa’s magic dust or whatever it is he uses to squeeze through.
A squirrel chatters nearby. I look around the chimney to see a tree stretching toward me, its branches close enough to almost count as an invitation. Maybe the squirrel’s offering me a hand…or laughing already. Hard to tell.
The roof behind me is a mess of tethers, and the sleet’s only making it worse. I haven’t climbed a tree since I was a kid, but that still makes me more qualified for it than this rooftop nonsense.
“Careful,” I mutter to myself, inching around the chimney and gripping the edge until I’m close enough to grab a branch.
I swing one leg over and hug it tight, shimmying toward the trunk.
The bark bites into my palms, and twigs scratch my jeans.
One catches my coat, ripping at the fabric as the wind picks up and shakes the branch like it’s trying to throw me off.
I freeze, holding on for dear life. Snow drifts down from the upper branches, dusting my jacket and clinging there.
Then—a sharp snap. Something slaps my calf. I squeeze my eyes shut, certain the branch has cracked and I’m about to plummet. When nothing happens, I breathe again and glance back. A tether cord is flapping around my ankle, knotted tight around a twig.
“Brilliant,” I mutter, tugging my leg. The cord only tightens, throwing me off balance. I flail for a second before the branch slows its shaking. No luck freeing myself, though. I give my leg one more yank and nearly pitch myself out of the tree.
“Rhys, where are you?” Stella calls.
“I’m in the tree!” I look down to see her far, far below and squeeze my eyes shut again.
“How’d you get up there?” she calls.
“It was the only way I could find down,” I shout back, my voice cracking like I’m fifteen again.
“Did you forget about the ladder?” Mr. Sparks bellows.
That blasted squirrel chatters again, louder this time—definitely laughing now.
“I couldn’t get to it,” I say weakly. “My foot’s caught. Little help?”
“We’ll bring the ladder around!” Stella yells.
“Don’t bother,” Grandpa Sparks cuts in before Stella can move. “There’s no safe place to lean the ladder, even if he could reach it. Go call the fire department.”
Brilliant.
For the next fifteen minutes, I endure squirrel heckling and Stella’s constant encouragement, telling me, “You’re doing great!
” When the fire truck finally arrives, they send up the bucket, and a firefighter in full gear helps me untangle my foot and crawl inside.
I collapse on the floor, legs shaking, heart pounding, as the bucket lowers me back to blessed solid ground.
“Thanks, mate,” I tell my rescuer.
“No problem. Just doing my job,” he says, pushing back his helmet—revealing she’s a woman. “Hey, you’re Rhys James, aren’t you?”
I drop my head and nod. Of course.
We stop a few feet off the ground. Stella and Grandpa wait nearby, and I can practically hear the old man’s sigh.
“Now that’s over, I’d better skedaddle. Granny’ll be expecting me for lunch.”
Mercifully, he leaves seconds before the firefighter steps out of the bucket and offers her hand.
“I’m good, thanks,” I say, but she takes it anyway.
“It’s regulation. I can’t let you step out by yourself…but I can’t believe I’m holding Rhys James’s hand!” Her voice jumps an octave. “Can I get a picture? My friends won’t believe I rescued you! We’re huge fans!”
I glance helplessly at Stella before turning back. “If you don’t mind… sorry, what’s your name?”
Before she can answer, Stella does. “Rhys, this is Liv. We went to school together.”
“Stella! You didn’t tell me it was Rhys James stuck in your tree!” Liv whips off her helmet, grinning. “Hey, Jax,” she calls to the guy on the ground. “It’s Rhys James!”
“Hey, Liv, we’re actually trying to keep that on the down-low,” Stella says, nodding to Jax, who already has his phone out. “So, no pics, please.”
“Sure, sure. Of course,” Liv says, disappointed, as Jax shoves his phone back in his pocket.
“How about an autograph—and tickets to Winter Lights Live in LA? I can throw in backstage passes,” I offer. Liv’s earned it. Jax…not so much.
“Really? I’d love to! When is it?” Liv bounces on her toes while Jax manages a half-smile.
“Christmas Eve in LA.”
Both faces fall. “We’re working that night,” Liv says. “Rookies don’t get holidays off.”
“Thanks, though, man,” Jax adds. “Would’ve been lit to see you live.”
Liv’s momentary disappointment shifts to surprise, and she turns to Stella. “Are you going to be in LA on Christmas Eve?”
Stella’s gaze darts to mine, then back to Liv’s. Slowly, she nods.
“What about your letter?” Liv shoots me an accusatory glare. “She’s told you about the letters from her dad, right?” Then she’s right back to Stella, all concern and care. “How will you get it?”
“I guess I won’t this year,” Stella answers with a false cheer, but her face gives away how wrecked she is about missing her letter from Santa this year.
Guilt hits me square in the chest. She’ll miss Christmas Eve and her letter because of me and Winter Lights. Yeah, it’s her job—the show’s gotta go on my socials—but the sacrifice is too big. I dunno how I’ll make it up to her.
When I glance at her, the answer comes to me. I’ve got to take Adam up on his offer. I’ll not only be giving Stella something she wants but also thanking Liv and Jax at the same time. The least I can do for all three of them is sing a few songs.
“What time do you two finish up?” I ask Liv and Jax as they head back to their truck.
“Five,” Jax answers.
“Come to the Garden. I’m playing there tonight.”
“You are?” Stella sounds as surprised as I feel.
“I am,” I sigh.
“I’ll let Adam know.” She’s already texting before she finishes the sentence.
“Seriously?” Liv squeals. “Can I bring some friends?”
“Go ahead, but no video, no pictures. I’ll play some new stuff I don’t want out yet. This one’s just for you lot. A thank-you.” My eyes drift to Stella. She’s the one I want to sing for…sing to. Then I nod toward the bucket. “But maybe keep this whole mess between us, yeah?”
“We’ve gotta file a report,” Jax says.
Stella steps in. “Say his name’s Rhys Smith. It’ll be more accurate anyway.”
Liv grins. “Right. Rhys Smith.”
They hang around long enough to jot the report, get my signature, and hand me a list of song requests. By the time the truck pulls away, a half dozen neighbors have gathered, asking what happened.
I retreat to the backyard to grab more inflatables—and mostly to avoid being recognized—while Stella tells everyone, “My guest got stuck in a tree putting up Mom’s Santa, and we’d like to keep that private.”
I’m too far away for her to hear my muttered, “Yeah, right,” but I keep it under my breath anyway. Everyone in town knows who her “guest” is after the parade yesterday.
I may not believe in Santa, but I really want to believe this little town will keep my humiliation under wraps.