My Secret Santa Clayton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

9. Clay

NINE

Clay

I didn’t mean to scare her, but she was so on edge I didn’t think it was possible not to.

I’d followed Grace out of Millie’s—not because I wanted to be a creep, but because she looked scared…and now I needed to know what was going on. I couldn’t just let her walk out alone.

What if she got hurt?

I would never forgive myself.

I watched as she struggled to get the truck to start, and as she finally gave up. I walked up, trying to make noise so she knew I was coming, then I rapped on the glass, a simple tap-tap to snag her attention.

But hell, Grace jerked back like I'd lobbed a brick at her window, her brown eyes ballooning in pure fright. She took a heavy breath, then she cranked down the window.

“Jesus, Clay,” she gasped, voice ragged as if I'd just crawled out of a crypt instead of walked over from the diner.

“Grace, you look like you just had a heart attack,” I managed, though my own pulse hammered something fierce. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“Sorry, I…wasn't expecting anyone.” Her words stumbled out, guarded. “Especially not you.”

And there it was, the knife-twist reminder of the chasm between us. Except now wasn't the time for old wounds. I had bigger problems…

…like the fact that I was the total creep who’d tailed her here.

“Look, I saw you leaving the diner and…” shit, how could I explain without setting her off? “I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Smooth, Hawthorne. Real smooth.

“Everything's fine, Clay. You don't need to play hero,” she shot back, the snarky edge I remembered so well slicing through the tension.

“Playing hero is the last thing?—”

“Look, I appreciate the knight-in-shining-flannel act, but I can handle this.” She motioned to her stubborn truck with a jerk of her head, all bravado now. “Go home.”

“Handle it?” Now that was a stretch. Last time she 'handled' a flat tire, she'd ended up hitching a ride on a hay wagon. Suspicion tightened its grip on me. If everything was as fine and dandy as she claimed, why did she jump a mile high when I showed up?

“Grace, come on,” I said. “Last time I helped you with a broken down car, I asked for a wrench and you handed me a screwdriver. Let me help.”

“Clay, I said I've got it.” Her tone was sharp, but the tremble in her voice gave her away.

“Sure you do,” I muttered—but I was already walking around the front of the car. “Pop the hood. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

The night was already biting as I opened the truck up, taking a peek at the engine. Grace got out and looked with me, though I figured she didn’t know fuck all about what we were looking at. Snowflakes started to fall, catching on her dark hair like tiny stars against the vast night sky. We both flicked on our phone flashlights, but the beams were pathetic against the darkness that had settled over the engine.

“Come on,” I grumbled, squinting at the mess of metal and wires before me. “You know I can't see jack with this.”

“Neither can I, Sherlock,” she shot back, the light from her phone casting eerie shadows across her face. “I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Fix-It around here. I’m just your beautiful assistant.”

I glanced up at her, then back down at the stubborn engine. “Alright, enough is enough. I'll take you home, Grace. The truck can wait until morning.”

“Like hell you will.” Her voice was firm, laced with that stubborn pride I remembered all too well. Even now, with her hands jammed into the pockets of her coat and her brow furrowed, she was every inch the defiant woman I'd once known.

“And what? You'll freeze out here waiting for a miracle?” I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest. “Mariah's not leaving anytime soon, and neither is this snow. It's twenty minutes to your place or hours here.”

“Fine.” The word was clipped as she turned off her phone light. “But this doesn't mean anything, Clay.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” I muttered, closing the hood with a thud that echoed in the quiet night.

We headed to my truck, the silence between us edged with past hurt. She climbed in without a word, and I followed suit, starting the engine and cranking up the heat. The windshield wipers began their monotonous dance, clearing away the steadily falling snow as I pulled onto the road. Grace sat stiff as a board, her gaze fixed on the dash, the tight line of her mouth telling me she was about as thrilled with this situation as I was.

“Look,” I said, pulling onto the main road, “I'm not keen on sticking around either.”

“Fine,” she muttered, folding her arms across her chest.

“Great,” I replied, keeping my tone flat. No point in stirring up old drama.

The dashboard clock glowed 8:02 PM as we drove in silence through Silver Ridge. The Christmas lights draped across every storefront and lamppost should've felt cozy, familiar. Instead, they cast long shadows that played tricks on my eyes, making me see things I'd rather forget.

“Remember when you used to love this?” Grace broke the silence, her voice almost wistful.

“Used to,” I admitted. My brother had loved Christmas. Without him, the festive cheer just felt like salt in a wound.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, turning away to look out the window, her breath fogging up the glass.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” I said, focusing on the road ahead. The snow had started to fall harder now, the flakes swirling in the glow of the streetlights.

“Right.” Her reply was short, clipped.

Once we got out of town I flicked on the high beams, cutting through the thickening snowfall. The road ahead was almost deserted, save for a few tire tracks that were quickly filling in.

“Mariah says you're playing hero around town these days.” Grace's voice was quiet, hesitant.

“Hero's a bit strong,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the road. “Just picked up some useful skills in the Marines. Got lucky with a business venture or two. Made sense to give back where I could.”

She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her usual bite was gone. “For what it's worth, I'm proud of you.”

My throat tightened. When we were kids, we’d talked about getting out of the gutter together. Both of our families had been poor, but Grace had big dreams…and I loved her. All I wanted to do was support her.

The military had never been part of the plan.

Not until she cheated.

I glanced at her briefly, catching her eyes darting away. “You should be proud too. Not everyone breaks free from the mud they grew up in.”

We fell back into silence, the wipers keeping time with my heartbeat, or so it seemed. With every sweep of snow from the windshield, I felt the distance between us grow, measured not just in miles now, but in years and unspoken words.

I snuck a glance at Grace, her face caught in the glow from the streetlights we passed. She had that same look she used to, staring out the window like she was trying to solve some puzzle only she could see. It was like I was caught in a time warp, seeing her at eighteen—hair shorn into a pixie, big brown eyes staring at me, pink gloss on her lips.

Fuck, I loved that girl.

I wondered if the girl she was had vanished completely…or if she was still in there.

“Almost there,” I said. We were in her neighborhood now, the same neighborhood she’d lived in when I drove her home after football games and movie nights.

“Thanks, Clay.” Her voice was soft, maybe grateful, but it was hard to tell with Grace.

I couldn’t help myself, now that we were actually talking, I blurted out a memory, instantly chastising myself for it. “Remember that summer when my truck broke down? You nearly throttled me.”

“Ha! How could I forget?” She laughed, and it was like music, like it was back then. “You were so damn cocky. 'It'll hold up,' you said. And where did that get us? Stranded in the middle of nowhere, soaking wet after an impromptu swim.”

“Hey, you agreed to come along. Besides, wasn't all bad, was it?” I ribbed her, nudging her shoulder lightly, trying to keep the mood light.

“Sure, if you ignored the mosquitoes and the fact that we had to walk five miles back to town.” Grace snorted, her breath fogging up the windshield. “That rust bucket had been making that rattling sound for weeks, and like…obviously, I couldn't fix it. Then you drive us out to the middle of nowhere, and your damn truck breaks down with us half-naked and soaked.” She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. “Maybe I should've…”

Her voice trailed off, and she turned her head towards me, her eyes locking onto mine. Something flickered in those brown depths—a spark of the old fire, maybe. We were in her driveway now, but she wasn’t getting out of the car.

Her lips parted slightly as if she was on the cusp of letting something slip.

Fuck, I wanted to kiss her. Wanted to grab her and pull her in, make her forget whatever was scaring her. No one was around. I could take her inside, show her what she’d been missing all these years.

But neither of us moved.

“Maybe you should've what?” My voice sounded rough even to my own ears. She took a heavy breath, eyes flickering away, then back to me.

“I um…”

We both jumped at the shrill ring of her cell phone, the moment shattered.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, fishing the vibrating phone from her pocket. She glanced at the screen, and her eyes went wide—wider than I’ve ever seen them. “Sorry, I have to take this,” she said, then answered. “Rob?”

‘Rob’ pierced something inside me, leaving a raw, jagged hole where hope used to be. Fists clenching on the steering wheel, I stared out at the falling snow, pretending it didn’t sting. Pretending I didn't care.

“Hey,” she said, her voice now tight, all traces of earlier warmth gone as if snuffed out by the blizzard outside. “Yeah, I'm just getting home. No, no, everything's fine.” She wasn’t talking to me anymore; she was somewhere else—with him, whoever he was. She opened her door and slipped out of the truck with barely a glance at me.

“Thanks, Clay,” she threw over her shoulder, her focus riveted to the damn phone. A distracted, half-hearted thanks, not much different from the chilly breeze that followed her exit.

“Sure thing,” I managed, but she was already shutting the door, sealing off her world from mine.

I watched her for a second longer, the way her shadow moved against the backdrop of her house, illuminated by the porch light in the drifting snow.

But there was nothing more to see here.

Nothing but a lonely drive home.