Chapter 16
“It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”
Sleep eluded Wren.
She flipped the pillow again, and kicked off the blanket like a frustrated child. Pulling back the sheet, she rolled left, rolled right, then tried lying face down like a corpse preparing for burial.
“Fuuuuuccccckkkkk…” she groaned into the mattress, her voice muffled by cotton and desperation.
Nothing worked. Her thoughts roared. Clanging-pot-in-a-small-kitchen loud, banging against her skull with the relentless persistence of a sledgehammer swinging from a metronome.
She growled and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling where twinkle lights reflected like fallen stars. Cozy, soft, warm. Useless.
The tangled sheets wrapped around her legs like restraints, and she kicked them away with growing frustration. Even the pillow she’d hurled across the room in a moment of desperation mocked her from its place on the floor.
“What was his excuse?” she whispered into the dark like someone who had lived alone so long they now had full-blown conversations with themselves.
Curiosity caffeinated her brain as she sifted through endless possibilities, wondering what excuse Greyson could possibly have for standing her up.
Alien abduction—no.
Boat trouble—too cold and too ten years ago.
Lost in the woods—unlikely.
Cold feet—bingo.
He was a man-shaped cliché.
But… why then, would he say he wanted to be there? He even said he wasn’t scared when she called him out on his bullshit.
She frowned, thinking about how devastated he looked when she refused to hear him out. Not stubborn, not mad, not even like he knew what was best for them. He just looked…terrified, like a wounded animal hiding in the shadows.
That look in his eyes haunted her—raw, desperate, as if her rejection had physically wounded him. Recalling how his shoulders sagged in defeat, she replayed his words.
He said he had a good excuse. Swore she’d understand if she’d just listened.
And that was the problem.
When Greyson talked to her, he could get her to believe anything. She was powerless to resist him when he tried to get his way.
It was time to break the cycle.
Time for sleep.
Checking her phone—12:31—she huffed and concentrated on thinking about anything else.
She would get the staff customized bags for Christmas and fill them each with personal items. A vintage T-shirt for River, thread and sewing supplies for Lilly, a nice kitchen accessory for Freya, and new socks for Bodhi.
Her dad would also get a personal gift from her, but that covered the company presents.
Greyson was, technically, part of the team, but she wasn’t thinking about him right now.
Hell no. Not thinking.
No Greyson.
Greyson who?
Never heard of him.
She was definitely losing her mind.
Did sleep deprivation do this to a person? How long could a human being survive without sleep? There had to be a Russian study on that.
She turned again, flopping around for the next hour or so, only growing more restless, until she couldn’t take it anymore. With a growl, she reached for her phone.
“Two-fifty?”
She gave up. Kicking off the covers, she flopped to her back and dramatically sighed like a heroine in a tragic opera.
“No, Wren. No. We are not doing this. We’re not that girl anymore. We don’t show up at people’s houses in the middle of the night like some needy doormat. No.”
She stared at the shadows, waiting for the urge to fade. She could make more chamomile tea, but she had already downed two cups.
Maybe just a little drive-by. Just to see if his lights were on. Not like a stalker. Like a curious citizen. Like Nancy Drew with slightly worse boundaries.
The fresh air and gentle purr of the car might tire her out like a baby in a car seat.
“You’re thinking crazy.” Saying the warning out loud didn’t deter her rebellious impulses.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she stuffed her pajama pants into her wool-lined boots. Completely judging herself and doing it anyway.
The frigid air slapped her face the moment she stepped outside, making her gasp. Each footstep crunched on the frozen ground, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night.
The car started ten times louder than usual, and Wren ducked as if someone might be watching from behind the winter-bare trees.
“You’re pathetic,” she berated her reflection in the mirror, rolling her eyes and backing out of her parking spot.
Two minutes later, she pulled up to Greyson’s. The house was dark, but she smelled wood burning like incense in the frigid night air. Was he home?
She tiptoed over the frozen ground to his garage, wincing when the latch of the hanging barn door squeaked obnoxiously like a skyscraper imploding in the silence. A bright light flashed on, and she froze like a striped bandit caught in a mask and beret.
“Shit.”
“Wren?”
She winced, but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was checking your coolant?”
“Only if you can tell me where coolant goes.”
“Damn it.” With a sigh, she turned. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you decided to break into my barn?”
“I wanted to check if you were home.”
“You could have called or knocked.”
“True.” But that would have been too normal for her current state of mind. She exhaled a cloud of vapor that dissipated like her common sense. “Well, now that I see you’re home, I guess I can go.”
“Wait.” He rushed off the porch, the beam of the flashlight jiggling. The approaching crunch of his booted steps hiked up her nerves as he closed the distance and she stepped back. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She held up a hand. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss through her gloved fingers. “You’re shivering. Come inside.”
She dug in her heels. “I can’t.”
“Why? You have somewhere else to be at three in the morning?”
She pulled her hand out of his grip. “I’m still mad at you.”
“If you come inside, I’ll rub your feet, and you can tell me all the things I do wrong.”
She chewed her lip, torn between desire and self-preservation.
“Fire’s warm, Wren.” He excelled at wearing her down, chipping away at her defenses like water on stone. “Please,” he whispered, closing the distance between them.
Despite her efforts to resist him, she melted. “I didn’t come for foot rubs.”
“Is that a yes?”
A war raged inside her chest, desire winning over self-respect, despite her best efforts. Women everywhere would be disappointed in her lack of backbone.
“Just because I’m going inside does not mean I forgive you.”
“Uh-huh.” He took her arm and towed her toward the house. Once inside, he took her coat, gloves, and hat. Then stilled when a small squawk of despair screeched from the bedroom.
“Shit. I left Rat in bed.” He darted to the back of the house.
“You’re letting him sleep with you?”
A moment later, Greyson reappeared, nuzzling the kitten’s tiny face with his chin. “Of course. Where else would he sleep?”
Stunned, she shrugged. “In a box.”
“That’s not how we treat family, Wren. Besides, the little rodent’s growing on me. He goes everywhere I go.”
She watched him nuzzle the kitten with a mixture of pride and envy.
Greyson warmed some formula as the kitten scaled his shoulder like Spidey-cat. Never once did he complain or appear bothered by the demanding fluffball.
“He’s getting attached to you.”
“We have a symbiotic relationship. I feed him and show him the town. He protects me from pickpockets and other threats.”
The way he cradled the little kitten undid something inside her, triggering an unexpected maternal longing, a deep ache she hadn’t realized existed. Her anger softened around the edges, melting like snow under warm sunlight.
“There you go,” he said softly, nudging the tiny bottle into the kitten’s mouth with his seemingly giant hands.
The little guy seemed ravenous for its late-night feeding. “Maybe he’s ready for solids.”
“Probably. He burns a lot of calories hunting when we’re not on the road.
” Greyson’s usually deep voice shifted into a gruff coo.
“Just like your daddy does.” He looked back at Wren and smiled.
“Today he caught a string, massacred a fleet of dust bunnies, and spent a good ten minutes stalking his tail. He hasn’t realized it’s attached yet. ”
She couldn’t watch anymore. The sight of him all gentle and nurturing was too damn irresistible. She shouldn’t have come here.
“Don’t go,” he said, sensing her urge to bolt. “Please.”
She sighed, noting the creases of exhaustion surrounding his eyes like worry lines etched in stone. “I don’t want to fight.”
He frowned. “Who’s fighting?”
Wren shrugged. “I guess no one.”
“Let me get Rat situated and then I’ll make some tea. I have the kind you like.”
Uncertain, she nodded and made herself cozy under a blanket on the couch.
Greyson filled a tea kettle and set up a mug with a teabag and honey, all while holding the kitten in one arm and propping the formula bottle against his chest. When the cat fell asleep, he set it in the basket of blankets on the floor.
Turning his attention to the stove, he casually confessed, “My dad’s in the hospital.”
Wren immediately sat up, her heart clenching. “Oh my gosh, is he okay?”
“He will be. For now.”
Magnus had been sick for some time, and the doctors weren’t optimistic. They told the boys he only had a few months left, but their relationship with their father was so strained, none of them seemed to be taking his prognosis seriously. At least not outwardly.
She wondered if this served as the wake-up call they needed. “What happened?”
He sighed and turned to face her, the strain of his concern evident in his tired posture.
“He wasn’t feeling well. Monica, his maid, tried to get him to call the doctor, but he refused.
It took three of us to force him into the car.
Once they got some fluids into him at the hospital and ran some labs, they figured out the issue. ”
“What was it?”