Page 4 of My Secret Santa Clayton

Yanking the blinds shut with a swift tug, I collapsed onto the bed. My heart was hammering against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst into panic. I pressed my palm over my chest, urging the rhythm to slow down as I scanned the room for something—anything—to distract me from the clawing terror.

The bed felt familiar beneath me, the same one I’d cried myself to sleep in the night Clay broke my heart. I ran my fingers over the quilt, the fabric soft from years of washing, the sensation grounding. It was just fabric, just threads woven together; it couldn't save me from my fears, but for a moment, it was enough to hold them at bay.

My gaze flitted across the dresser, where dust didn't dare settle on my single framed photo of our family—me, Mariah, Mom and Dad. They smiled at me from behind the glass, their frozen happiness a stark reminder of simpler times.

Times before monsters were real and wore human faces.

I’d seen a lot in my career—been to war zones, covered the worst of human suffering. I’d covered wars in the Middle East; I’d photographed traumatized soldiers; I’d worked the crime beat in the underbelly of Boston. But this…it was more terrifying than anything else I’d endured. Because in those war zones, death was on the periphery.

Now, death was after me, calling my name.

And I had this horrible feeling it was here in Silver Ridge.

THREE

Clay

Christmas in Silver Ridge was a whole ordeal, and I normally stayed out of it.

Unfortunately, this year I hadfriends.

The year before, I had been stupid enough to help out some of the locals, and now they thought they were my nearest and dearest. I’d met Gabe Mitchell at a support group for vets, then his fiancée Kat through him. Kat’s niece, Livy, had latched onto me like I was her uncle.

It was a little annoying…but IsupposeI liked it.

“Can't believe you dragged me to this, Gabe,” I grumbled, pushing around the last few fries on my plate with a fork. Millie’s Diner buzzed with holiday chatter, the air thick with the scent of coffee and fried comfort.

“Come on, Clay, it's Christmas.” Kat chuckled. “You can pretend to be a grinch, but we know you've got a soft spot for Secret Santa.”

“Soft spot?” I scoffed. “More like a bruise.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “What has your panties in a bunch?”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Gabe said with a conspiratorial smile. “Did you ever figure out what had Grace so freaked out the other day?”

I tensed, the mention of her name enough to sour my mood. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” Kat asked. “She was your high school sweetheart, right?”

“Ooh…Clay had a girlfriend?” Livy said. “But he’s so mean?—”

“Cut it out,” I shot back.

“Sorry, Aunt Kat just always says that you’re?—”

“Hush, Livy,” Kat snapped, shaking her head. Distracting me from whatever slander was about to be thrown my way, Kat jerked her head toward the door. “Look who just walked in.”

I glanced up.

Shit…of course she was here.

Grace’s sister Mariah had just walked in, hand on her belly, grinning like a madwoman. Grace was with her, looking like her opposite—a scowl on her face, short hair where Mariah’s was long. Grace had a camera slung over her shoulder, just like she always had in high school.

She’d taken so many photos…and I’d thrown almost all of them out after she cheated.

“Easy there, mountain man,” Gabe said. “You’re starting to look more like a yeti than a lumberjack. Maybe you should go talk to her.”

I scowled, turning my attention back to the remnants of my meal. “Not here for a reunion tour.”

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