Page 46 of Wilder

I could roam the room in restless circles, let my thoughts run unchecked and wear a nice path into my carpet until exhaustion finally caught up to me and forced me back into bed to sleep.

Or, what was far more likely, dawn would eventually break and I’d still be awake, watching the sky shift from inky black to soft shades of violet and gold from behind my window.

By now, I was used to waking up at the ass crack of dawn anyway.

A year and some change of working on a ranch had done wonders in rewiring my circadian rhythm, forcing me to have an almost instinctual connection with the rise and fall of the sun. Late nights were a luxury I hadn’t indulged in for a long time. And sleeping in? Practically unheard of.

Not that it mattered much tonight, because whether my body liked it or not, sleep wasn’t coming.

With a sigh, I finally gave up.

Pushing the covers off, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and padded across the room to grab my phone from where it was plugged in on my desk. The screen lit up, momentarily casting the dark room in a pale glow as I unlocked it.

No new messages.

Not even from the ranch.

As much as that disappointed me, I couldn’t say I was surprised.

It was Christmas, after all.

Those who didn’t go home for the holidays like I did, were most likely celebrating together at the bunkhouse. Hazel had probably set up an entire buffet, her famous honey-glazed ham and buttery rolls taking center stage while the rest of the spread filled every inch of the long dining table.

I could almost hear the clatter of plates, the scrape of forks against them, the murmur of conversation that would rise and fall in waves as everyone settled into the easy comfort of each other’s company.

Laken would no doubt be tuning up his guitar after finishing his meal, fingers plucking out a few idle notes before launching into one of those old country songs he swore he wasn’t sentimental about. I bet someone was already calling for him to play Silent Night, and knowing him, he’d roll his eyes and make a show of it before giving in like he always did with requests.

My chest ached, a small pinch of bitterness curling low in my stomach—something that tasted a little too much like envy. Not in a malicious way. God, no. I was happy for them. Happy that Xavier had woken up and happy that Gage got to be with him, that they could spend the rest of Christmas together.

But at the same time, it was hard not to want that, too.

To be somewhere where the warmth of the holiday wasn’t just a memory I had to pull from years past. Where I wasn’t just sitting in a dark room, staring at the dull glow of my phone screen, waiting for sleep that refused to come.

I exhaled sharply, raking a hand through my hair.

Maybe I should go find Greyson.

We could be in piss-poor moods together.

It wasn’t even that late. If I was going to be wide-awake, trapped in my own head, I might as well do it with someone who understood.

Pushing off the bed, I padded toward the door.

The soft glow from the Christmas tree spilled its faint light into the hallway. The tiny bulbs flickered in uneven intervals, casting shifting shadows against the walls while I made my way toward Greyson’s room.

I pushed open his bedroom door, half-expecting him to be sprawled across the bed, earbuds in, lost in whatever podcast he had been ranting about during our last dinner with Dexter and Xavier that I hardly cared to pay attention to.

Strangely enough, though, his room was empty.

Frowning, I turned my attention back toward the hallway.

“Grey?” I called.

Silence.

A frown tugged at my lips as I headed for the living room.

The couch sat empty, the cushions slightly indented where someone had been not too long ago. The tossed remotes lay haphazardly across one of the cushions, one of them dangerously close to slipping between the cracks. A half-empty can of soda rested on the coffee table, beads of condensation glistening in the dim light.