Page 16 of Unwrap Me After Dark
“There!” The woman points when we reach their cabin.
The tree stands about twenty feet from their porch—it’s tall, with branches stretching up into the night. I squint through the rain and spot the cat almost immediately—a small, light-colored ball of fur huddled at least thirty feet up. It’s perched near the trunk, tail wrapped around itself, clearly terrified.
“Christ,” Tyler mutters beside me. “It had to pick the tallest tree.”
I assess the situation. The branches look spindly near the top, especially where the cat is sitting. But the lowest branches are within reach, and the tree seems climbable—for someone lighter than Tyler, at least.
“I’ll do it,” Tyler says, stepping forward.
I place a hand on his chest, stopping him. “You’ll break the damn thing. I’m lighter. Let me.”
His eyes narrow. In the flickering lightning, his face is all sharp angles and shadows. “It’s lightning out here. What if it strikes while you’re up there?”
“If it hits the tree,” I say with more calm than I feel, “we’re all dead. Not just me.”
We stare at each other in a silent battle. Water drips from his eyelashes, runs down his face. Finally, his jaw tightens.
“Fine,” he says, then moves to the woman and her granddaughter. “You two should wait inside. We’ll handle it.”
The woman hesitates, but when another crash of thunder booms overhead, she ushers the little girl toward their cabin door. “Please be careful, boys,” she calls to us before disappearing inside.
Then it’s just me and Tyler in the rain.
“This is stupid,” he says, watching as I approach the tree. “We should call someone.”
“Who?” I shake my head. “Fire department isn’t coming out here for a cat in a tree during a storm.”
I grab the lowest branch and test it with my weight. It holds. With a grunt, I pull myself up, sneakers slipping on the wet bark.The branches are slick, but manageable. I climb higher, feeling Tyler’s eyes on me from below.
“Be careful,” he calls up. There’s something in his voice I can’t place. Maybe it’s annoyance that I’m not following his order.
I focus on the climb. One branch after another. The rain pelts my face, runs into my eyes. My hands are going numb from cold. The cat watches me approach, its eyes reflecting what little light there is, unblinking and wary.
“Hey there,” I murmur as I get closer. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you down.”
I step on the next branch, testing it before putting my weight on it. It seems solid. I pull myself up and then—crack.
The branch snaps beneath my foot. For one sickening moment, I’m falling, my stomach lurching into my throat. My hands scramble desperately, fingers scraping against wet bark until they catch a branch above me. Pain shoots through my shoulders as my full weight yanks on them, but I hang on, legs swinging in empty air.
“Liam!” Tyler’s shout cuts through the storm. “Get down! Now!”
I pull myself up, muscles screaming, until I can hook a leg over a branch and regain my footing. I’m shaking, but I’m not falling anymore.
“I’m okay,” I call down, not sure if he can hear me over the rain. “Almost there.”
“This is insane!” Tyler paces below, his face a pale oval looking up at me.
I ignore him and keep climbing. The cat is just three branches higher now. Its cries are pitiful, a desperate meowing that tugs at something inside me. I know what it’s like to be scared and stuck, seeing no way down.
When I finally reach it, the cat presses itself against the trunk, ears flat.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, extending one hand. “I’m here to help.”
The cat stares at me, trembling. I keep my movements slow, gentle. It takes a minute, but eventually, it allows me to scoop it into my arms. It’s freezing cold and soaking wet, but it doesn’t scratch or bite—just shakes against my chest.
Now comes the hard part—getting down.
I cradle the cat with one arm, using the other to guide my descent. The going is slow, each step cautious. When I reach the broken branch, I pause. There’s a gap now, too far to step down safely.
