Page 73 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“I’ve got you,” I told her, focusing on the task at hand. My fingers worked quickly, undoing the tight knots that held her captive. The ropes had left angry red lines on her wrists, and I felt rage rising in my gut.

The police were handling it, though.

Grace needed to be my priority.

“Almost got it,” I said, feeling the last loop give way. The ropes fell away, and I helped her straighten up. Her breathing was shallow, her body shook, but the resilience that defined Grace Gibson was as present as ever.

“Hey, it's okay,” I told her. “I've got you.” Her gaze met mine, tears still shimmering on her lashes but a flicker of awareness brightening her brown eyes just a bit. She was in shock.

“Clay…” The sound of my name came out faint from her lips, and something in my chest tightened. She seemed so vulnerable, a stark difference from the firecracker journalist I knew so well. It pained me to hear her sound defeated.

“Stay strong,” I said, keeping my voice steady for her sake. “You're safe now.”

Grace’s eyes filled with tears once again—then she crumpled, falling towards me. I caught her, pulling her close. Her body was light in my arms, too light. She had always been solid, a force of nature, but now she felt like a shadow of that strength.

This ordeal had sapped her, left her vulnerable in ways I never wanted to see.

“Clay,” Grace murmured against my chest. Her voice held that familiar edge, despite everything. “You always did have terrible timing.”

“Timing is my specialty,” I replied, trying to coax a hint of a smile from her. She didn't disappoint; the corners of her mouth twitched upwards fleetingly. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

“Mariah...” she mumbled, her voice rough and uneven. “Is she okay?”

“She's fine,” I said, even though I was sure she was far from it. Grace wasn’t the only one who’d had the fight of her life today. “We'll get you to her.”

I hefted Grace up and lifted her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. She shuddered against me, and I tightened my grip. No words passed between us; none were needed. A few cops looked up at me, asking if we needed help, and I just told them I was taking her to the hospital.

No one else was going to touch her.

I couldn’t let them.

Sheriff Callahan stood by the nearest vehicle, his posture rigid. He caught sight of us and walked over, eyes assessing Grace.

“We've got Rob,” he said as we approached. “And his men. They're not going anywhere.”

“Good,” I managed to say.

Callahan looked at one of the cops still standing by his car. “Get these two to the hospital. Fast.”

The cop nodded and rushed to get a car ready. I carried Grace to the back seat. She settled in with a groan, her breaths coming out in short bursts. I slid in next to her, pulling the door closed behind us.

As the car pulled away, the cabin receded into the background. It became just another shadow among the pines. Grace's hand found mine, her grip tight. She leaned into me, her head resting against my shoulder. The road was uneven, and every jolt sent a shudder through her body.

“Keep breathing,” I said. “You're safe now.”

She nodded, but didn't reply. Her eyes stayed fixed on the passing trees, the fading light.

The deputy drove fast, sirens off but the urgency clear in the way he maneuvered around bends and down the mountain roads. I kept my arm around Grace, trying to steady her, to be something solid for her to hold onto.

“Almost there,” I told her as we neared the bottom of the mountain.

“Okay,” she said.

Her voice was small, but it was there.

That was something.

We reached the valley and the ride smoothed out, but Grace's tremors didn't stop. I held her closer, feeling the fight in her body, the struggle to stay present after what she'd been through.

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