Page 66 of My Secret Santa Clayton

“Grace, watch out!” Mariah screamed.

Then it hit me. A jolt of pain so intense it knocked the breath out of me. I rocked to the side, my head pounding as I crashed to the floorboards. I heard Mariah scream my name again, hervoice cracking in desperation. She was up, though…and I did the last thing I could think of.

I tossed my keys at her and told her to run.

A struggle above me…Mariah fighting to get to the door. I thought she got out, but I couldn’t be sure.

Through blurring vision, I saw him—Rob, looming over me with anger etched across his face. “You shouldn't have done that,” he said, his voice low and steady.

His words were the last thing I registered before the darkness swallowed me whole.

THIRTY

Clay

The road stretched ahead, the afternoon sun climbing higher as I steered my truck back to the cabin. I couldn't believe what had happened with Sierra…with my dad.

I needed to call Grace.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for her to pick up. I needed to talk to her. My old man had caught me off guard today, his gruff exterior cracking just enough to let a sliver of hope wedge between us.

“Come on, Grace, pick up,” I muttered under my breath.

The phone continued to ring, unanswered. Her absence from the other end of the line gnawed at me. Something about today made me want to share it all with her—the kind of day that reminded me why I couldn't quite shake the memory of Grace Gibson, no matter how hard I tried to banish her from my thoughts.

“Grace, it's Clay. We need to talk. Call me back.”

My words came out clipped, frustration seeping through.

Because this was off.

I hit redial, and the phone rang until her voicemail greeted me again. I let out a sigh and leaned back in my seat.

“Grace, it's me,” I said after the tone. “Just wanted to chat about some stuff. Call me when you can.”

I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and turned the truck onto the next bend. Out here, with the dense forest flanking either side of the road, the silence felt heavier than usual.

She's probably outside, I thought. Sitting with Bear, having coffee, waiting on the front porch. I knew I was being clingy, but anxiety gnawed at me.

I picked up the phone and typed a message with one hand, steering with the other.

Nothing urgent. Just wanted to talk. Let me know when you're free.

I waited, but the screen stayed dark. No immediate reply came, which was odd for Grace. She lived by her phone, always ready to catch the next big scoop.

But maybe today was different. Maybe today she'd taken a break from all that.

Minutes passed, and the silence from my phone started feeling personal. I glanced at it again, willing it to light up with her response. It remained stubbornly inactive.

“Come on, Grace,” I muttered to myself. “Where are you?”

Unease knotted in my stomach. I tried to dismiss it. She's busy, right? I told myself. But that nagging sensation wouldn't leave. My hand reached for the phone as if on its own accord, and I dialed her number once more. Three rings, then voicemail.

“Hey, Grace, it's Clay again. Everything okay there?” I spoke clearly, trying not to let concern seep into my voice. “Hit me back when you get this.”

I hung up the phone, frustration creeping in. This was call number three to Grace with no answer. She always had her phone on hand, said it was a reflex from her reporting days.

The silence didn't sit right with me, and I couldn't shake off the unease.

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