Page 102 of Josephine and Clay

For what, though?

For the day I screwed up badly enough to need saving? For the rodeo to spit me out? For everyone to finally say they saw this coming?

My grip tightens, paper creasing under my fingers.

Did my father set up a failure fund for me?

I make it down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the back door with Rusty scrambling behind me because he’s afraid I’m leaving without permission. The heat hits me hard.

I need my brothers.

No.

I need answers.

Boone is by the barn, talking with Dallas near the side-by-side. Nash is there too...

I slow.

They’re laughing about something. Easy. Normal. Everything’s fine. I didn’t just find proof that I was the one he was waiting to fail.

And suddenly I can already hear how this conversation goes.

Boone getting careful. Dallas trying to explain it logically. Nash telling me I’m being dramatic.

Maybe they’d deny it.

Maybe they’d mean it.

But none of that changes the fact Dad never once looked at me like he looked at them.

My grip tightens on the papers.

No.

I can’t do this here.

Not while they’re all standing there acting normal.

So I turn before they notice me. Before Boone asks what’s wrong. Before Dallas starts paying attention. Before one of them says something that cracks this open wider than I can handle right now.

I shove the papers against my chest and walk the other direction.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Josephine

JUNE 30TH

By six thirty in the morning, I've made three lists.

One's practical. One's financial. One's titled Things I Need To Stop Panicking About Immediately, which feels less like a list and more like a formal accusation.

I stare down at the notebook spread open on my kitchen table, pen trapped between my fingers, and try to pretend the columns make me feel better.

They don’t.

But they do give me somewhere to put the fear.