Page 65 of My Secret Santa Daddies

I take a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel tightly, and drive away.

The house is exactlyas I had left it; cold, dark, and empty. The front door creaks as I push it open.

I flick the light switch, shrug out of my coat and let it fall to the floor, not caring about the mess.

I slowly walk into the living room, feeling the cold hardwood beneath my feet, my breath still visible in the chilly air. I set my things and Buddy down on the coffee table.

It’s too quiet.

The realization slams into me as I stand there, staring at the empty room. I’ve gotten used to the hum of activity at the lodge, the sound of Jack’s laughter, the steady rhythm of the three men moving around me, even when we weren’t speaking. It was messy, chaotic, filled with unresolved tension—but it was alsoalive.

Here, it just felt like… nothing.

I fuss with the thermostat for a moment and the furnace knocks several times before firing up.

I glance over at Buddy, lying on the coffee table where I set it down when I first came in. He looks as out of place here as I do. I pick him up, hugging him to my chest, feeling the rough texture of the worn fur against my skin.

“Guess it’s just you and me now.”

I tilt my head back.

The thought hits me suddenly; the Secret Santa reveal is next week!

I can practically see it in my mind—the twinkling lights, the excited buzz, Betty Thompson’s booming voice announcing names and gifts.

And me, standing there with a forced smile, pretending like everything is fine, when it’s anythingbutfine.

No. I can’t do it.

The decision settles in my chest, heavy but clear. I’m not going. I’m not putting myself through that, not when everything feels so raw and tangled. I don’t want to see Griffin’s guarded expression, Wyatt’s searching eyes, or Cody’s steady gaze that seems to see right through me.

I just can’t do it.

I look at Buddy, his worn eyes staring back at me like he’s silently urging me to reconsider, and not give up so easily. But I set him down gently on the table, shaking my head.

“No, Buddy,” I murmur, my voice soft but firm. “Not this time.”

I make up my mind right then and there, I’m not going to the Secret Santa. I’m not going to pretend everything’s okay when it wasn’t.

17

GRIFFIN

The roads are slushy, and the sidewalks are slippery, but people are out and about again, shaking off cabin fever and trading stories about the blizzard. The town’s pulse, steady and familiar, starts to beat again.

But the lodge… It's quieter than ever.

I’m in the kitchen, staring blankly into a mug of black coffee that’s already gone cold. Cody and Wyatt are arguing in the background, their voices a low hum of irritation. I don’t have the energy to break it up.

We haven’t stopped working the last several days. None of us want to admit it, but we’re scared that the moment we stop moving the reality of Sierra’s absence will hit us hard.

“Man, can you just hand me the damn wrench?” Cody asks.

“Hand it to you? It’s right there, two inches from your foot,” Wyatt retorts.

“My hands are full.”

“The hell do you think I’m doing? I’m in the middle of laying a tile.”

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