Page 53 of My Secret Santa Clayton

As I shifted in bed, I caught sight of Clay, his chest rising and falling with the deep, even rhythm of sleep. He looked peaceful, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. They wouldn't want thisfor me, for us, I thought. Not trapped in an endless cycle of fear and retribution. They'd want us free—alive.

I felt Clay's movement before I saw it, a subtle shift. His eyes opened, the morning light catching hints of blue as he turned his head to look at me. He raised his hand, and I braced myself for the contact, but when his fingers touched my face, they were gentle—roughened by work but capable of such softness.

“Are you okay?” His voice carried the rasp of sleep, but concern underpinned every word.

I hesitated, feeling the full weight of my next move. “Yeah,” I lied, my voice stronger than I felt. “Just thinking.”

I sat up, the sheets slipping from my grasp. Clay watched me, his face creased with concern.

“I need to do something,” I whispered.

His brow furrowed, and he waited for me to go on.

“I'm going to the police station,” I said. “It’s time for this to be over.”

Clay's eyes widened, then settled into an expression of understanding. “Yeah…yeah, I support you, Grace.”

I tossed the sheets aside and swung my legs off the bed. Clay sat up, his back straight against the headboard, watching me. “Do you want me to come with you?”

I didn't hesitate. “Yes.”

As I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, a cold knot of uncertainty settled in my stomach. I dialed Mariah's number, the rings almost too shrill to handle. I was on edge, anxious.

“Gracie?” Mariah answered, her voice laced with sleep and worry.

“Hey, sis,” I said. “Are you safe?”

“Yeah…” she trailed off, her voice getting more focused. “Yeah, I’m safe. Are you?”

“Can you meet me at the police station?” I said, keeping my tone even.

I needed to hurry, for her not to ask questions. The more interrogation I got, the faster I would lose my nerve. I hoped she would just go along with it…for all our sakes.

“Of course, I'm on my way.” Her response came quick, no questions asked. That was Mariah, bless her.

“Thanks,” I said and ended the call. Clay was already out of bed, pulling on his jeans. I drew a deep breath and reached for my own clothes.

It was time to face whatever lay ahead.

We drove through Silver Ridge's quiet streets, each turn bringing us closer to the police station. The silence in the truck grew thick, cut only by the hum of the engine. Clay would look over at me every so often. I felt his eyes on me but kept my focus on the road. Each glance was an unspoken exchange, asking if I was sure, reminding me he was there.

“Grace,” Clay finally said, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens, we'll handle it.”

“Thanks.” It was all I could manage without my voice breaking. The weight of what I was about to do sat like a stone in my stomach. I could be walking into more danger. This might all be for nothing.

But I had to try.

We parked the truck, and Clay took my hand as we walked down Main Street. The festive lights felt like a joke—they were almost sinister, like a veneer over the danger I was in. The police station stood there, small but solid against the backdrop of the waking town.

“Ready?” Clay asked, his voice steady.

“Yeah,” I replied.

We walked side by side, Clay’s hulking presence setting me at ease. The doors swung open with a creak that echoed too loudly in the quiet. Inside, the police station was just as I remembered it—cramped, with the smell of stale coffee in the air. The place was small, but I knew the people here took their duty seriously. Deputy Langley looked up from his paperwork.

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