Page 42 of My Secret Santa Clayton

No, it wasn’t time.

“The best thing in my life,” I finally said. A short, humorless laugh escaped me as I shook my head. “I can't count the number of times I closed my eyes during training and thought of you. You got me through some tough nights in Afghanistan.”

“Clay...” her voice trailed off, heavy with unspoken questions and years of silence between us.

“And when I let you go...christ, Grace, it wasn't because I didn't care. You were everything to me, even then. Especially then.” I reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Even after I thought you'd betrayed me.”

Her breath hitched, and she leaned into my touch just slightly. I looked over to find her eyes brimming with tears—Grace Gibson, who was tough as nails and rarely cried, if ever. She sniffled, and I hated myself for being the cause of it.

“Hey, I didn't mean to make you cry,” I murmured.

She shook her head, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. “I'm not upset, Clay.” Her voice was soft, but steady. “I've waited a long time for closure. And this...it feels good.”

“Good,” I exhaled, relieved. Our eyes locked, and something passed between us—a spark reignited. Leaning in, I captured her lips with mine in a gentle kiss that said all the things I couldn’t find the words for. It was sweet and slow, a contrast to the stormof emotions raging within me. As we pulled apart, I could see her smiling through the remnants of tears—a sight that filled me with an unfamiliar warmth.

“Look at us,” Grace chuckled. “Just like two teenagers again, huh?”

“Better than that,” I responded with a grin. “We're two adults who have been through hell and back.”

“Sounds about right.” She said as she looked out the window. Morning had broken, and the sun was trying its best to peek through the gray clouds. “We should probably start digging ourselves out, huh?”

“Suppose so.” I stretched, every muscle in my body reminding me of the night spent on the floor by the hearth. “Although…I think we’ve got time for one more round, huh?”

She bit her lip. “Yeah,” she said. “I think we’ve got time.”

An hour later, we stepped out into the chilled air, our breaths puffing out in front of us. I handed Grace her coat, watching as she shrugged it on, her movements efficient and no-nonsense. The quiet of the world blanketed in snow was the only peace I'd found in years.

“Let's see if we can unearth your truck,” I said, heading toward the mound of white that had swallowed up the vehicle overnight.

“Lead the way, mountain man,” she quipped, a smirk playing on her lips as she followed.

The snow was deep, coming up to our knees in places, but we trudged through it with determination. I grabbed the shovel propped against the wall as we went, and I began to dig, clearing a path to the driver's side door.

“Hey, Clay?” Grace called from the other side, her voice steady. “You might want to see this.”

I rounded the truck, stopping dead in my tracks as I caught sight of the tire—or rather, what was left of it. It hung limp and lifeless, completely flat.

“Damn,” I muttered, kneeling by the flat tire, the cold seeping through my jeans.

“I’ll check the other side,” Grace said. “Damn, damn, damn…”

I looked carefully at the tire, checking out what the hell had happened. At first I thought it had to be from our close call on the icy roads, but the rubber was shredded—not just punctured. Dread crawled up my spine as I looked at it, recognizing the clear signs that these tires had been slashed.

“Grace…” I started.

That's when the scream hit me.

Whatever had done this, it was still here.

And it was after Grace.

NINETEEN

Grace

What the…what the hell was happening?

My head throbbed, a drumbeat gone rogue inside my skull. Everything was pain and spinning, a carousel ride from hell that I hadn't signed up for.

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