21. Grace

TWENTY-ONE

Grace

It could be my last night on earth.

Yeah…maybe I was being dramatic, sure. But I’d seen my informants killed, seen horrible things. I knew there was a good chance the mob would find me and I would be done for.

That was why I was trying to enjoy it—this transient sensation of safety.

I sat on Clay's couch, ceramic mug warm in my hands. Bear lay at my feet, his breathing steady and deep. Through the window, frost etched delicate patterns on the glass, obscuring the clear night beyond. Inside, the fire crackled in the hearth.

It all felt so peaceful, like a snapshot of normalcy that I hadn't realized I'd been craving.

“Looks like the power’s holding up,” I murmured to myself. That was good; I didn’t know if I could handle another outage, not when the threats to my life had gotten so intense. Last night had been different; now, I knew there were people in Silver Ridge who wanted me dead.

The story hung over me, an axe about to drop. I knew the risks—knew them intimately. The moment my words hit the press, it would be like sounding an alarm for the vultures circling my life.

I could already imagine the chaos, the danger that would follow.

It would drag anyone around me in, too. I’d put the people I loved in danger by coming here.

I was so, so stupid. But desperation can make you lose sight of what’s right.

“Once it's out, they'll have to help,” I whispered to Bear, trying to convince myself more than anyone else. “The police, the townspeople...they'll stand by me.”

A shiver ran through me, but it wasn't from the cold. It was fear, pure and simple. The kind that comes when you know you're about to stir a hornet's nest with nothing but hope as your shield.

And yet, there was no turning back.

Not now.

Not when silence meant complicity.

Bear lifted his head, sensing the shift in my mood, and I reached down to stroke his fur. His presence, the solidness of him, offered a small comfort. For a fleeting second, I allowed myself to imagine a different life, one without secrets and threats lurking in the shadows.

“Easy, boy,” I said. “We've got a storm coming, don't we?”

Clay entered the room, his steps quiet against the wooden floor. He didn't say a word as he took a seat next to me on the couch. His arm found its way around my shoulder, drawing me into his side. I leaned into him, the warmth of his body seeping into my chilled bones.

“Hey,” he said, his voice steady and calm.

“Hey,” I echoed.

Clay leaned in and kissed my forehead. “How are you feeling?”

I scoffed. “Not great. The mob is after me, my whole family is in danger, my friends...and it's all because of me. But I'm okay.”

He looked at me for a long moment before he gently lifted my chin. Our eyes met. I felt tears welling up and I tried to blink them back.

“You're not okay at all, are you?” Clay said.

I chuckled, the sound hollow in the quiet room. I wiped my face, smearing away the wetness that had gathered there.

“No,” I admitted, “I'm not okay.”

Clay reached for me. He pulled me against him, and I felt Bear nudge my other hand with his nose before he started licking my fingers gently. I let out a sob, muffled by Clay's shirt as I pressed my face into his chest.

“Want to talk about something else?” Clay asked, his voice rumbling through me.

I nodded, pulling away from Clay's hold. I reached for my camera on the side table. “I've been taking pictures,” I said.

“Show me?”

I powered on the camera and started flipping through the digital album. Bear dominated the frame in most of them, his golden eyes shining with a canine mischief. There were also shots of Clay, standing by the stove, a towel over his shoulder, concentration etched on his face as he did the dishes.

“Look at this one.” I laughed, pointing to a picture where Bear had his nose pressed against the lens, everything else a blur.

Clay smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. He grew silent, studying the screen more intently than the casual snapshots warranted.

“Something wrong?” I asked, feeling the shift in his mood. I clicked the camera off and set it back on the table. Clay's hand found mine, his grip firm.

“Grace,” he started, his voice low, “I need you to know something.”

I looked up at him, my fingers still wrapped in his. I waited.

“I want to protect you,” he said.

I nodded, not sure why he was acting like this was some kind of revelation. “I know,” I replied. “You've been doing that since I got here.”

“No, not just now.” He paused, his thumb running over the back of my hand. “Even after all this. I want to be there for you. I want a life with you.”

His words hung heavy in the air. I bit my lip, searching his face. My heart pounded in a steady rhythm, but I kept silent, letting his blue eyes hold mine.

I couldn’t say anything…because I didn’t even know if I would survive this.

I couldn’t make any promises.

So I did the next best thing.

I leaned in, my lips finding his. The kiss was simple, a soft pressure that said everything I couldn't put into words. His arms came around me, pulling me close, and for a brief moment, the danger outside our door didn't exist.

“Grace,” he whispered against my mouth.

“Clay,” I answered.

We kissed again, deeper this time. He tasted like the tea we'd shared, and under that, something uniquely him—fresh pine and the faintest hint of wood smoke. It was comforting, grounding.

“Stay with me,” he said as we parted, his voice steady.

“Tonight,” I agreed, “I'll stay tonight.”

I knew he meant more than that—I knew he wanted forever. And God, he deserved it…but I wasn’t sure if I did. I’d gotten selfish, I’d put people in harm’s way.

But I could take this moment with him.

It could be the last thing I ever did.

His hand brushed my hair back from my forehead, his touch gentle. In that small gesture, I felt more than just the warmth of his skin—I felt his need to protect, to connect, to not let go.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice low.

“Nothing to thank me for,” he replied, his blue eyes meeting mine.

We stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, letting the fire crackle and the clock tick away the seconds. For now, this was enough. This was everything.