My Secret Santa Clayton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

10. Grace

TEN

Grace

I slammed the door shut, my back against it, heart racing. Three locks clicked: deadbolt, chain, and a flimsy slide lock. I took a breath, but it shuddered out like I was freezing.

I'd let Mariah in later. For now, I needed to feel safe.

“Grace, you there?” Rob's voice crackled through my phone, grating on my nerves.

“Here,” I said, dropping my keys. They clattered too loudly. “I'm safe.”

“Good,” he replied, but his voice was uncertain. “One of our contacts said people know you skipped town.”

“Really?” I paused, eyes darting to the window. “Damn it…I really hoped I would have more time.”

“Shit, Grace. You think you were followed?”

“I've had better days,” I forced a laugh, but it sounded rough. “Probably nothing. Just nerves.”

“Damn straight it's something,” he insisted. “You don't rattle easy.”

“Maybe. But I can't jump at shadows.” I moved away from the door and turned on a lamp. Its light left dark corners in the room.

“Grace, talk to me,” Rob urged. “What happened? You were threatened. It's time to spill the beans.”

“Rob, I don’t want to put you in danger, too.”

“Stop, Gibson,” Rob said, using my last name like he always did when he was in boss mode. “I'm your editor, not a child. You need to fill me in.”

“My last piece ruffled the wrong feathers.” I tapped my thigh. “Poking the bear brings trouble. This bear has claws.”

“Jesus, Grace. I’m sorry…”

“It's not your fault.” I sank onto the couch, feeling the weight of my reality. “We knew digging into corruption was risky.”

“But you're scared,” he pushed, knowing me too well.

“Terrified,” I admitted. “Haven't finished the article. But if I stop now, they win. I can't let that happen.”

“Grace—” His voice was low and concerned.

“The truth has to come out, Rob. It just does.” I stood up, shaking off the fear. “I owe it to the story, to myself. And…”

“Yes?”

“It wasn’t just the note,” I admitted. “My informants, Greg and Jessica—they got killed because of the story. It wasn’t a drug deal gone wrong.”

Rob went quiet, and we both sat there in stunned silence for a second.

“Well, fuck me,” Rob muttered. “Grace…maybe you should just let this one lie. You know the risk?—”

“Risk be damned!” I cut in. “They had families, hopes...they trusted me. No justice? I'm finishing the piece. They deserve that. I need that.”

“Grace—”

“This isn't just another story,” I said, my voice cracking. “This is it. This is the one that counts.”

“Grace, you need to sit on this one. No story is worth your life.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, pacing. The darkness outside pressed against the windows. “You're not the one they're after.”

He hadn’t faced this kind of danger before. This kind of dealing…it killed my dad and destroyed my family.

Seeking justice was all I had.

I had to do this.

“That’s exactly why I can see things clearly,” Rob went on. “You're too close to it, Grace. You're playing with fire here.”

“Fire seems to be my element these days.” I stopped by the window, watching snowflakes drift down. The world outside looked peaceful.

I knew better than that.

“Dammit, Grace! Listen to me. Lay low. Let us handle it,” he insisted.

I sighed. “Fine. For now. But if you don't find anything soon?—”

“We will. Just...stay safe, okay?”

“Always do,” was a lie. I ended the call.

I moved through the house, fingers trailing along the mantel. I switched on the Christmas tree lights. The room lit up. Colors danced on the walls.

I paused, savoring the moment.

The tree, with its baubles and tinsel, symbolized normalcy. A simple red ornament caught my eye. It reflected the lights, the room, and me.

But I was just a shadow of my former self. I looked...haunted.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

Shaking my head, I headed to the bedroom. I texted Mariah to call when she was near. Sleep seemed unlikely. I just wanted to rest. Lying in cold sheets, my mind replayed Rob's warning about a lurking threat.

“Damn it,” I muttered, punching the pillow.

Then Clay popped into my mind.

His strong arms and that infuriating yet endearing smile. His protective presence offered comfort.

He'd asked if I remembered that summer when his truck broke down.

Of course I remembered.

It was when we lost our virginity.

I turned on my side, shutting my eyes against the darkness. My mind drifted back to that day. The heat was unbearable.

We jumped into his old truck, escaping the heat. It rumbled, taking us far from the world. That truck, more hope than mechanics, reached a secret lake.

“Race ya!” I shouted, already shedding my sundress. The water called. I couldn't wait.

“Cheater!” he laughed, no anger in his voice. Just the thrill of freedom as he quickly shed his clothes.

We jumped into the water together. The cold took my breath away. It was icy, from melting snow. We didn't last long. Our teeth chattered, limbs numbed. Yet, the cold couldn't touch the warmth between us.

“Come here,” he said, pulling me close. Despite the sun, his skin was cold. His lips met mine urgently.

“Clay,” I breathed, laughter bubbling up as he kissed me deeper. His soft, short beard scratched my cheek. I clung to him, his strength a comfort in the cold water.

“Grace,” he murmured, his hands exploring my back, tracing my curves. It was playful yet tender. A moment I'll never forget—his blue eyes, the way they crinkled when he smiled, how he held me tightly.

“Too cold,” I finally said, but the chill was fading.

“Let's warm up then,” he suggested, his voice sending a different shiver through me.

We forgot our towels and climbed into his car, cold and wet. Then, the sound we dreaded. The engine coughed, sputtered, and died.

Silence hung heavy, broken only by my breathing.

“Seriously, Clay?” It felt more like an accusation. I wanted to scream, to let out my frustration.

“Hey, it's part of the adventure,” he said, raising his hands with that annoying grin. “It could be worse.”

“Could be worse?” I was incredulous. “How could it possibly be?—”

But Clay leaned in, close enough for me to see silver flecks in his blue eyes. Then he kissed me.

It was a confident, desperate kiss. His warm lips made me forget the cold, the broken truck, and being far from help.

In that moment, I realized I loved him. He was everything.

The kiss ignited our connection. I forgot the cold and the truck. His lips on mine made me feel alive. All our teasing led to this moment, just us and the wilderness.

“Clay,” I whispered, pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss, his hands on my back, sending shivers through me.

In my dark bedroom, the memory jolted me.

I climbed onto his lap in the driver's seat, feeling his need. We hadn't gone all the way, just exploring, but I craved him.

“Grace,” he gasped, eyes full of desire.

“Shut up and kiss me,” I interrupted.

Now, our kisses claimed each other. His hands on my hips urged me closer. I moved, lost in the moment.

“God, Grace.”

“Feels good, doesn't it?” I teased, breathless, moving with him.

“Too good,” he groaned, gripping me tighter.

We kissed again, messy and urgent. I felt his heartbeats and breaths, as if they were mine. Our playful moment turned serious. We couldn't deny it.

We craved each other.

I recalled Clay's shaky voice, “You sure about this?” His worried brow showed concern.

“Clay, relax. I'm on the pill.” My voice was breathless, hovering over him, feeling his warmth. I didn't care. We were in love and planning a future. A baby? We'd handle it.

He nodded but said, “Okay, but if there's any?—”

“Shh,” I interrupted, placing a finger on his lips. “You won't hurt me.”

His hands were gentle, hesitant yet eager. His touch soothed my inner chaos. I lowered myself onto him, feeling him fully. Our kiss muffled my gasp of relief and joy.

It hurt…then it didn't. He connected with me, unlike anything before.

The memory sparked desire. My fingers traced where his once were. I felt him again, guiding me, grounding me, his touch was vivid.

“Grace, you're beautiful,” he'd said, eyes full of sincerity. “There's no one else for me.”

In the dark, I touched myself, already aroused by the memory. I wished those stroking fingers were Clay’s.

“Clay,” I breathed, almost shouted?—

I peaked quickly, gasping. His words pulled me in. I felt his imagined touch, igniting desire.

“God,” I breathed out, feeling heavy. I wondered if he thought of me too.

Did he remember us, or bury the past in regret?

“Still got it bad for him, don't you?” I scolded myself, covering up. “But does he...would he still...?”

Despite the confusion, I knew.

I never stopped loving Clay Hawthorne.