Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rhys
Iwait until I’m upstairs in the guestroom to ring Danny.
I could’ve talked to him in front of Stella, but I’ve got to keep a bit of distance from her.
The second she put her arms around me, I wanted to pull her in and tell her again I’m falling for her.
Reckon I must like the torture of saying “I love” her only for her to tell me she can’t say it back.
She’d rather follow some list she made when she was fourteen than what’s right in front of her.
I know she’s falling for me. But until she’s ready to be honest with herself—and with me—I’ve got to ease off. Had enough hurt the past few years to last a lifetime.
Danny takes his sweet time answering, which tells me everything I need to know. Used to pick up on the first ring. Now he makes me chase him like every other client.
“Rhys!” he exclaims after finally answering. “I’m in the middle of something, but what can I do for you?”
First time it occurs to me I’ve heard him say the same thing to other people when he’s knocking off for the day. Maybe it’s his little mind game—keep the clients chasing him so they feel like they’ve got to earn his attention.
Instead of giving him my sob story like I’d planned, I cut it short. “Weather’s got me stuck in Idaho, mate. We’ll have to push rehearsal a couple days.”
He laughs. “We’re not postponing. There’s no place we can’t get you out of. I’ll send the VibeHouse plane. Tell me where you are.”
“Yeah, nah. I’ll be back in a couple days.” I told him before I left for Italy that I’d be in Paradise over Thanksgiving. Not telling him again.
I end the call and toss my phone onto the bed. My pulse thrums. I’m on the verge of panicking when I pick up the soft hum of the radiator. The rest of the house is quiet. No sounds of cars or kids outside. No noise inside.
Dunno how old the house is, but it’s older than anything in LA. Something about that thought and the sound of the radiator grounds me. Stops the spinning in my head.
I walk to the old desk in the corner to study the photos pinned to the wall above it.
The first is a pic of a man I recognize as Mike Sparks with a little kid whose dark hair gives him away as Seb; a second photo must have been taken right after Stella was born.
The whole family’s in it, and Seb’s holding her.
Then one more of the family minus Mike Sparks.
Strange how a bloke can be gone so long and still hang over everything.
Been thinking about that since Stella told me the story of her letters. Obviously, he’s not the one writing those letters she gets every Christmas Eve, but it’s got to be more than one person. Whole town seems to be in on it, as many of them who’ve asked me if I know about it.
When she told me about the storm, my first thought was that the concert would be canned.
Yeah, Liv and Jax pulled me out of a tree, but once I told them the show was for them, I realized I wanted it to be for everyone in Paradise—to thank them for what they’ve done for Stella.
They’ve made Mike and Santa real for her.
They’ve all been part of keeping her belief alive.
Maybe this show’s my turn to return the favor.
She might not be as gone on me as I am on her, but this town’s shaped who she is. Wherever this goes between us, I’m better for it. I’m a better man for loving her. And I want to thank the people who taught her to see magic in the everyday—who taught her to be her.
Once Stella’s cleaned up, she drives us to the Garden of Eatin’ in Gia’s truck.
We go slow. Snow’s still coming down hard, but she reckons it’s not blizzard conditions.
The wipers struggle against the snow, the world outside a blur of white.
Stella hums along to the radio, calm as ever, while I’m clutching the dash like a rookie on his first driving lesson.
Not sure what I’m more worried about—whether we’ll make it there alive or if the place’ll be empty because no one’s mad enough to drive in this weather.
Five minutes later, we pull safely into the snow-covered car park, and there are cars everywhere.
When we walk inside, the place is packed.
Don’t know how many people usually show up for Adam’s gigs when it’s not snowing, but the Garden’s full tonight.
Standing room only and more coming in behind us.
The air inside’s thick with heat and chatter and the lingering tension between Stella and me.
Lights are strung through the rafters, and the smell of good burgers and fries rolls through the room.
I spot Adam and Bear setting up gear on the temporary stage opposite the entrance and weave through the crowd to reach them.
Hear my name more than once and a few squeals, but no one stops me.
“This normal for a night like this?” I ask Adam when I reach him.
He shrugs. “I think word got out that you’re here.”
“How?” I take a guitar from him and start tuning.
Adam’s lip twitches, and he nods toward Stella a couple feet away. “Stella invited a few neighbors, and apparently somebody got video of you stuck in a tree and posted it on Paradise’s Facebook page.”
Just then, Stella joins us on stage. “Everything ready to go?”
“You know there’s a Facebook post going ’round about me getting rescued out of a tree this morning?” I ask her. That’s more of a worry than her inviting a few people. Couldn’t care less about that, honestly.
“Okay. I’m on it.” Stella’s already scrolling on her mobile. In seconds she’s found the post and watches the video. “I can try to get it taken down, but that’ll stir up more interest than this video is worth. It only has a few hundred views. We’re better off spinning it.”
“Spin what, exactly?”
“What’s there to spin?” Adam asks. “You were helping a local widow put up some inflatables on her house and got stuck. You were so grateful to the firefighters who helped you down, you offered to throw a free concert.”
Stella looks from Adam to me. “True. If it gets more views or goes viral, it’ll be good press, Rhys.”
She’s right about that, but I’ve got a bigger concern. “You told everyone not to film this morning, yeah? They did anyway. They’ll do the same here, no matter what you say. If VibeHouse catches wind of me singing any version of ‘Fa-La La-La Land’ that isn’t theirs, I’m cooked.”
Stella reaches for me but drops her hand. “I can’t guarantee no one will record you, Rhys, but you know how I feel. I think you should do your songs.”
“Too risky.” I shake my head and avoid her gaze.
Behind me, Bear clears his throat. “No pressure, man, but without Seb, our playlist is pretty limited. We’ve at least practiced your songs and can get by without him on those, but the show’s going to be short unless we find songs that don’t need bass and are simple enough Adam and I can sight read or play by ear. ”
“Or, we can cancel if you want,” Stella adds quietly. “You don’t need to risk your career to thank a couple of people who were only doing their job.”
Adam and Bear nod in agreement. I look from them to the people sardined into this space—the smallest venue I’ve ever played. Folks who came here in the middle of a major snowstorm to hear me sing. People who’ve been nothing but decent since I’ve been in Paradise.
“Yeah, nah, let’s do it.” I give them a list of my songs they can play by ear or sight. “But I’m steering clear of ‘Fa-La’ or ‘December Dreams,’ all right?”
In less than twelve hours, I’ve been very publicly rescued from a tree and then confessed my love to my girlfriend, who “likes” me. Not exactly a banner day for the ego. If I could go back and do things differently, I would.
But deciding to play this show—that’s the one good call I’ve made today. I might be humiliated and heartsore, but the buzz in this room’s enough to jolt me back to life. If I can’t fix what’s broken, I can at least sing it out.
After tonight, maybe I can move on. Keep things professional with Stella while she figures out what she wants. Get the career back on track. Focus on what I can actually control. But tonight…I’m giving these people the best show I’ve got.
Half an hour later, I stand at my mic. The crowd quiets, but the room still buzzes with electricity.
“Cheers for coming out tonight,” I tell them. “My name’s Rhys James.” The crowd roars, and I wait for them to quiet. “Reckon most of you came to see Seb Sparks…” Laughter, hoots, and hollers bring a smile to my face.
“He’s snowed in down in Florence, and I can’t play bass to save myself, so if it’s all right with you lot, I’ll fill in with a few of my own tunes.”
The crowd cheers, setting me at ease. I spot Liv and Jax and wave. “Got a few requests from our local firies—Liv and Jax—who you’ve probably already heard dragged me out of a tree today.”
The crowd laughs again. I’ve never done this in front of people before—joking around, just being myself. Usually, every moment of my set is scripted to the second. That’s how Danny likes it. It’s how I thought I liked it, too.
But this—this feels really good.
“They’ve requested ‘Pretty When You Lie.’ Everybody okay with that?” The crowd erupts. Above all the voices, I hear Stella cheering. I play the first few chords on my guitar.
“You got it, mates?” I ask Bear and Adam.
They answer by jumping right in, and I start to sing. They make a few mistakes, but no one in the crowd seems to mind—or even notice. They’re singing along, and I don’t know if they can hear anything but themselves.
After that song ends, we play a couple of Adam’s and Bear’s usual numbers, some classics I know and love but have never actually played.
Stella watches from the crowd, and even with the lights in my eyes, I can see something in hers that gives me more hope than I had this afternoon…or even a few minutes ago. Then I remind myself I’m on stage. This is the Rhys she’s always been in love with—the fantasy.
After a few songs, some of the more vocal folks in the crowd call out my old hits: “Forever Starts Tonight,” “Heartquake,” and “Electric Touch.” So we sing those next. I know them so well, I could do them in my sleep, including the choreography. It’s all muscle memory, going through the motions.
My eyes, though—along with my head and my heart—follow Stella. She walks through the crowd, reminding people to put away their phones, still doing her job even after we fought. On her way back to her spot directly in front of me, she catches me watching her.
Her mouth spreads into a soft smile. Not the polished one she gives the world. This one’s only for me, and it’s stronger than any spotlight. When she cups her fingers into a heart, it hits deep. That’s all I need to know. I can wait for her to catch up—to realize she’s in love with me too.
When I hit the last note of “Electric Touch,” the crowd chants for “Fa-La La-La Land.” I’m sure Adam and Bear could play the original version—it’s easy enough. But Adam strikes me as a bloke who can hold a grudge, and I’d like to stay on his good side. I like him.
And I especially like his cousin, and I know which version she wants to hear. I step up to the mic, heart thudding. “I’ll give you that one—but I’ve got to tell ya, there’s another version. Mine. Wondering if you’d rather hear that and tell me what you think.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then one person yells, “Let us hear it, Rhys!” Then everyone joins in, chanting, “Rhys! Rhys! Rhys!”
I sit at the piano, fingers hovering above the keys, trembling at the risk I’m taking. I glance at Stella. She looks as nervous as I feel, but she shoots me a confident grin, like we’re in this together. I guess that’s all that matters.
The crowd goes quiet when I begin. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or if they’re shocked it’s so different from the original. It’s slower, moodier. They can’t sing along like they would’ve with the pop version, or with any of the other songs I’ve played. So I can’t tell if they like it.
But when I look at Stella, I realize it doesn’t matter. She’s the only one I’m singing for. Even if everyone else hates it, at least she loves it. She believes in it.
When I finish, there’s a long silence. Then the room erupts with cheering, shouting for more.
The applause crashes like a wave, then stops cold as every mobile in the room buzzes at once.
I don’t have mine on me, but Stella pulls hers from her bag, reads it, then looks at me.
I know right away the predicted blizzard’s hit.
She walks up to the stage and whispers to me and Adam and Bear.
“Storm’s here. We’ve got to end now. Everyone needs to get home.”
Adam steps to the mic. “Guess you’ve all heard a storm’s coming. We’ve got to shut it down. Let’s give a big round of applause to Rhys James. Thank him for coming out, giving us this concert, and being here in Paradise.”
I stand, ready to help move people out. But no one wants to go. They start chanting, “One more! One more! One more!”
I look at Adam. He looks at me and shrugs, like it’s my call whether these people all get snowed in because they want to hear one more tune.
And I decide—these are the kind of people I wouldn’t mind being stuck with. “All right, I’ve got something new for you. Let’s see what you think.”
I don’t even have to tell Adam and Bear what it is. They’re already playing before I sit at the piano, look at Stella, and start in on “December Dreams.”