Page 21 of Cross Check Christmas
"Entertainment? Plus, if Hendrix leaves, Tucker loses his partner in crime."
I bite my lip, considering. "And you really think this will work?"
"What's the worst that could happen? You fail and he stays? That's happening anyway." She leans in closer. "But if you succeed, you get your gym back, your students back, and most importantly—your sanity back."
I groan. "Fine! But I want it noted that this is a terrible idea."
"Noted. And if you succeed in getting him out of town by Christmas Eve..." She taps her chin thoughtfully. "I'll give you free cinnamon rolls for a year."
"And if I fail?"
“You won’t fail. Trust me." Daisy's smile turns devious. "By Christmas Eve, Hendrix Ellis will be running back to Toronto with his tail between his legs. He won't know what hit him."
"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
"Probably. But think of all the free cinnamon rolls!"
8
HENDRIX
I'm jolted awake by the sound of engines rumbling and voices shouting outside my window. My brain feels like it's wrapped in cotton. I fumble for my phone. 6:05 AM.
My first thought is that I'm back at the arena, but no - I'm sprawled across my childhood bed at the Big House, tangled in sheets that smell like mom's lavender detergent.
"What the..." I roll out of bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. My family home is located just outside of Brookking Sound's busier neighborhoods. We have a sprawling property on the lake providing a quiet bit of privacy.
I slip into my old bathrobe—the one my mom has been trying to get me to throw away for years—and shuffle downstairs toward the front door.
The sound of voices and metal clanking grows louder. I throw open the door, ready to chase away whatever's disrupting my peaceful morning—and freeze.
My front lawn looks like it's been invaded by an army.
A convoy of white trucks fills our circular driveway, and people in black puffy jackets are unloading equipment.
Giant lights on poles. Weird umbrella things. Cables snake across the lawn.
"Hey! You can't park there!" I yell, my voice still rough from sleep. A guy with a headset and clipboard rushes past me like I'm invisible.
"Someone get the bounce board set up by the lake!" he shouts to nobody in particular.
I rub my eyes, wondering if I'm still dreaming. Another guy, wearing all black, wheels what looks like a small crane past my bushes.
"Excuse me?" I wave my arms, trying to get anyone's attention. "This is private property! And I haven't had coffee yet!"
A man carrying what appears to be a giant fuzzy microphone on a stick pauses to look at me. "No talent allowed here. Wardrobe is that way."
He points to one of the trailers by the lake.
"Wardrobe? What wardrobe? I just woke up!”
But he's already gone, leaving me standing in my doorway like an idiot in my robe, watching strangers take over my front yard.
“Does someone want to tell me what's going on?" I hop from foot to foot on the freezing porch, clutching my robe tighter as a gust of wind threatens to give all these people a show they didn't sign up for. The wooden boards feel like ice under my bare feet.
A guy with a walkie-talkie rushes past. "We need more garland on the east side!"
"East side of what?" I chase after him until he turns the corner of my wrap around porch, but don’t get very far in my state of undress. "Hey! Garland guy!"
