Page 74 of Merry Me
I lay back down slowly, the sheets cool against my bare skin, and stared up at the ceiling.
The dream wouldn’t let go. The way he’d saidforever. The way I’d believed him.
Maybe I still did.
That was the scariest part.
My eyes had just drifted shut again—only half-heartedly, like my brain knew I wasn’t really going back to sleep—when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
The shrill ring that accompanied the vibrations shattered the quiet, slicing through the morning hush like it had a personal grudge.
I reached over, bleary-eyed and half-draped in the comforter, and squinted at the screen.
Unknown Number.
My heart gave a little stutter.
I stared at it, a frown tugging at my mouth.
It could’ve been a spam call. Some cheerful robot trying to offer me a new car warranty or tell me I’d won an all-expenses-paid cruise to somewhere I’d never asked to go. But something about the timing…something about the way my stomach clenched on instinct, made me freeze.
I didn’t answer.
I let it ring until it stopped, the silence that followed somehow louder than the ringtone.
Still frowning, I set the phone back down and pushed the covers off. My feet hit the floor with a softthud, the hardwood cool against my skin. I padded toward the bathroom, rolling my shoulders, shaking off the remnants of the dream, of the ache in my chest, of the call I hadn’t picked up.
It was time to face the day.
Whatever it decided to throw at me.
EASTON
The suite was dark when I walked in.
No sign of Natalie.
No coat on the hook. No heels by the door. No light left on.
My chest tightened instinctively, the calm I’d finally found somewhere during hunting in the snowy woods with Levi and the rest of his groomsmen—and swearing at frozen bootlaces—vanishing in a heartbeat.
She wasn’t here.
The echo of our last conversation replayed in my head. Her avoidance of me all day yesterday. The pain in her eyes when she’d come into the room last night. All of it twisted into something too loud in my ears.
I set my gear down slowly, tugged off my gloves, and scanned the room again like she might suddenly materialize from behind a lamp.
She didn’t.
Then I noticed it—her phone was on the nightstand.
A rush of relief hit me hard and fast. She hadn’t left for good. She wouldn’t go anywhere without that thing.
She was still here. Somewhere.
I exhaled, my fingers tightening on the doorframe as I turned back around.
Everything had that late-night stillness to it—like even the walls had gone to sleep. The only light came from the occasional holiday garland strung along the railing, the tiny white bulbs casting soft halos intermittently across the hallway like breadcrumbs.
