18. Clay

EIGHTEEN

Clay

I woke up to the last breaths of the fire, just a glow of embers now. The cabin was silent except for the hum of the heater that must've kicked back on while we were asleep. Grace was still beside me, her brown hair framing her face in sleep, and Bear was curled up like a furry question mark a little ways off.

I took a moment, just watching her breathe.

I didn’t want this moment to end.

With care not to wake her, I peeled the blanket back and stood, stretching out the stiffness from sleeping on the rug. A look outside told me the snow hadn’t let up all night, but it was just flurries now—nothing the cabin couldn't handle.

The chill from the dying fire nipped at my skin, so I tossed a couple more logs onto the coals and breathed life back into them with a few good puffs. Flames licked up, eager to chase away the cold. It felt good, to tend to something, to see immediate results.

Life’s rarely that simple.

I padded over to the kitchen, moving quietly, and went about making coffee. The grinder was loud, probably enough to wake the dead, but Grace slept through it. It must have been easy for her to sleep through noise, given she’d spent time in Afghanistan. I got that.

The coffee started to drip, rich and dark, and the scent filled the room, cutting through the smoky wood smell. I found two mugs and poured us both a cup.

“Come on, sweetheart,” I said, nudging her shoulder gently with a free hand. “Day's wasting, and I made you something to kickstart your engine.”

She groaned, batting my hand away, and Bear lifted his head with a lazy huff. For a moment, I just stood there, caught in the quiet bubble of the morning, knowing that outside, beyond the snow and the warmth of this place, real life was waiting.

But right here, right now? It could wait just a bit longer.

Grace stirred, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal those deep brown eyes that seemed to see right through me. She sat up, the blanket falling away from her shoulders, and took the mug I offered.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she inhaled the aroma. “You know the way to a girl's heart.”

“Only if that girl's you.”

We sipped our coffee in comfortable silence for a few moments before I broke it. I had to; if not now, then when?

“Grace, about before...” I started, watching as she placed her mug down and turned to face me fully. “I've never regretted anything more in my life.” My voice was rough with emotions I'd kept at bay for too long. “You deserved better.”

She blinked slowly, processing my words. Her sarcasm, her armor—all of it melted away, leaving raw vulnerability in its place.

“Clay, why did you really leave?” Her voice was steady but I could see the hurt buried in her eyes. “Was it just because you thought I cheated? Why didn't we ever talk about it?”

I sighed. “It wasn't just about you,” I said, my throat tightening. “There was...so much more.”

“Like what?” she pressed.

“Michael.” The name felt like a shard of ice in my mouth. “After we took that boat out, after…fuck, after he fell in. After he died right in front of us, I don’t think I saw a way forward.”

Her hand found mine this time, gripping it tight. “Oh, Clay.”

“Everything changed that day,” I admitted, feeling the old pain mingling with the warmth from her touch. “We shouldn't have taken that boat. I was too cocky, I thought we were invincible.”

“Clay,” she whispered, squeezing my hand tighter. “You can't blame yourself for what happened.”

“Can't I?” It was a whisper, a question meant more for myself than for her. “I was supposed to have his back. He was my twin, for fuck’s sake.”

“Stop it.” Her voice cut through my self-pity. “Accidents happen. You couldn't have known.”

“Maybe.” I finally faced her, seeing the determination in those deep brown eyes. “But he died, Grace. And part of me died with him.”

Her fingers traced the lines of my palm, a silent support. “And so you left?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a gravelly murmur. “I left because every corner of this town, every glance in the mirror showed me a life Michael would never get to live. So I bailed—on you, on Dad, on everything that reminded me of him.”

“Clay...” she didn't finish, but her eyes said it all. They held a depth of understanding that made the tightness in my chest loosen ever so slightly.

“Guess I thought if I put enough miles between me and Silver Ridge, I could outrun the guilt.” I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. “Turns out, your own head is one hell of a place to get lost in.”

“Sierra did what she did because we were all broken, Grace. And my dad…fuck, he was even worse.” I reached up and squeezed the bridge of my nose, wincing. “He even told me he wished I was the one who died.”

She gasped. “He said what?”

I nodded, eyes fixed on the smoldering coals. “Yeah. One night, he was deep into a bottle of whiskey, and out it came. Felt like a punch to the gut.”

“Clay, that's...” she trailed off, struggling to find the words. “Nobody should ever have to hear that from their parent.”

“Welcome to my world,” I said with a dry chuckle, devoid of any real humor. “It's why I couldn't stay here, couldn't be the person everyone needed me to be.”

Grace's hand found mine again, her grip firm and unyielding. “You were just a kid, Clay. You didn't deserve any of that.”

“Didn't stop it from happening, though.” I glanced at her, the firelight flickering in her eyes. “But I guess we've both had our share of tough breaks.”

“More than our share,” she agreed, squeezing my hand.

I took a deep breath, the weight of years heavy on my chest. “And that's why I had to leave...and why I had to let you go,” I confessed. “I had to get away from him, from everything about the life I'd had before Michael died. I hoped the army could be my escape and my redemption. But it turns out, they were neither.”

Grace was quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. When she spoke, her voice was soft but steady. “I understand why you left, Clay. I don't blame you. It's just...”

“Go on,” I urged, turning to face her more directly.

She met my gaze, her eyes a pool of empathy and lost chances. “I just wish things could have been different for us, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I ran my other hand through my hair, feeling suddenly restless. “I do too, Grace. Every damn day. You know, you were...”

I trailed off. I didn’t know if I was ready to say it, wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear it.

The love of my life .

“I was what?” she pressed.

No, it wasn’t time.

“The best thing in my life,” I finally said. A short, humorless laugh escaped me as I shook my head. “I can't count the number of times I closed my eyes during training and thought of you. You got me through some tough nights in Afghanistan.”

“Clay...” her voice trailed off, heavy with unspoken questions and years of silence between us.

“And when I let you go...christ, Grace, it wasn't because I didn't care. You were everything to me, even then. Especially then.” I reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Even after I thought you'd betrayed me.”

Her breath hitched, and she leaned into my touch just slightly. I looked over to find her eyes brimming with tears—Grace Gibson, who was tough as nails and rarely cried, if ever. She sniffled, and I hated myself for being the cause of it.

“Hey, I didn't mean to make you cry,” I murmured.

She shook her head, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. “I'm not upset, Clay.” Her voice was soft, but steady. “I've waited a long time for closure. And this...it feels good.”

“Good,” I exhaled, relieved. Our eyes locked, and something passed between us—a spark reignited. Leaning in, I captured her lips with mine in a gentle kiss that said all the things I couldn’t find the words for. It was sweet and slow, a contrast to the storm of emotions raging within me. As we pulled apart, I could see her smiling through the remnants of tears—a sight that filled me with an unfamiliar warmth.

“Look at us,” Grace chuckled. “Just like two teenagers again, huh?”

“Better than that,” I responded with a grin. “We're two adults who have been through hell and back.”

“Sounds about right.” She said as she looked out the window. Morning had broken, and the sun was trying its best to peek through the gray clouds. “We should probably start digging ourselves out, huh?”

“Suppose so.” I stretched, every muscle in my body reminding me of the night spent on the floor by the hearth. “Although…I think we’ve got time for one more round, huh?”

She bit her lip. “Yeah,” she said. “I think we’ve got time.”

An hour later, we stepped out into the chilled air, our breaths puffing out in front of us. I handed Grace her coat, watching as she shrugged it on, her movements efficient and no-nonsense. The quiet of the world blanketed in snow was the only peace I'd found in years.

“Let's see if we can unearth your truck,” I said, heading toward the mound of white that had swallowed up the vehicle overnight.

“Lead the way, mountain man,” she quipped, a smirk playing on her lips as she followed.

The snow was deep, coming up to our knees in places, but we trudged through it with determination. I grabbed the shovel propped against the wall as we went, and I began to dig, clearing a path to the driver's side door.

“Hey, Clay?” Grace called from the other side, her voice steady. “You might want to see this.”

I rounded the truck, stopping dead in my tracks as I caught sight of the tire—or rather, what was left of it. It hung limp and lifeless, completely flat.

“Damn,” I muttered, kneeling by the flat tire, the cold seeping through my jeans.

“I’ll check the other side,” Grace said. “Damn, damn, damn…”

I looked carefully at the tire, checking out what the hell had happened. At first I thought it had to be from our close call on the icy roads, but the rubber was shredded—not just punctured. Dread crawled up my spine as I looked at it, recognizing the clear signs that these tires had been slashed.

“Grace…” I started.

That's when the scream hit me.

Whatever had done this, it was still here.

And it was after Grace.