Page 29 of My Secret Santa Daddies

He wasn’t just drunk; he was reckless. He had to know that I wouldn’t have a damn thing to say back to him—not there, not with all those eyes on us.

But that’s Griffin for you. Always thinking he can waltz back into my life after all this time, expecting me to just forgivehim for everything. For Anna. For leaving me behind. For... for everything that came after.

God. I hate how good he looked. His jawline and eyes shouldn’t be allowed to enter a room.

The shrill ring of my phone cuts through my thoughts, startling me. I glance at the screen—Mom—and groan inwardly. I swipe to answer, bracing myself.

“Hey, honey!” Her voice is too cheerful for this early in the morning. “How was the Secret Santa last night? Did you have fun?”

I force a smile before I remember she can’t see me. “Hi. I’m doing good. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh, honey. I know you, but I want to know how it went! This is the first year your father and I didn’t make it.”

“It was the same as every year.”

“Who’d you get?”

I hesitate, my grip tightening around the phone. “It’s supposed to be asecret. I can’t tell you.”

Her laughter is light, teasing. “Oh, come on. I won’t tell anyone.”

But the memory of Griffin’s voice, slurred and raw, crashes over me again. “It really doesn’t matter.”

“You’re being awfully cagey about this,” she presses, her tone turning suspicious. “You didn’t draw someone… awkward, did you?”

“Awkward? No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just… you know how it is.”

“Well, you don’t sound too convincing,” she says, sounding more curious now.

“How’s your vacation?”

“Hot. Your father’s already burnt himself into a lobster.”

“Make sure he wears sunscreen.”

“Yeah, right, you know he won’t listen to anyone. Did you get your tree up at least?”

“No. Not yet.”

“It’s not going to put itself together, you know.”

“I know.”

“Love you, honey,” she says gently.

“Love you too, Mom.”

I hang up the phone and grip the little slip of paper in my hand, the name staring up at me like a taunt, like some twisted joke played by the universe.Griffin Truitt.The letters blur for a second. But it’s impossible. My hand trembles, the slip of paper crinkling beneath my grip.

Whyhim? Of all the people in Silver Ridge—why did it have to be him?

How do I find a gift that means something, when all I want is to forget that he ever meant anything to me at all?

The answer is simple;I can’t.

I wad up the paper and toss it onto the floor.

Fuck it.

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