Page 147 of Josephine and Clay

“Yeah,” I mutter, staring up at the ceiling like Dad might somehow still be sitting in this room listening. “Sounds about right.”

My leg throbs. My head starts doing the same.

I can see him now. Dad sitting right here, deciding what to do with the son who couldn’t stay steady.

I can practically hear the reasoning in my head: save something for Clay because eventually he’ll break, lose everything, and come limping back home with nowhere else to go.

I swallow, but my throat’s dry.

The funny thing is, he wasn’t wrong.

Look at me.

Twenty-three years old with a broken leg. Career hanging by a thread. No real job waiting except whatever pity work Boone can hand me. Sleeping in my childhood room while everyone else builds families, futures, and homes.

Maybe Dad wasn’t cruel about it. Maybe he was just realistic in a way I never wanted him to be. A bad bet. A risky horse. A son you prepare for, not one you depend on.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I freeze.

For one stupid, dangerous second, I think it’s Josie.

The hope hits before I can stop it, and the self-disgust follows immediately after.

I dig it out.

Nash: Need help later if you’re up for it. Nothing big. Just paperwork for bookings. Don’t tell me your leg broke your brain too.

I stare at the message.

Nash is trying. They all are, in their own ways.

My thumb hovers over the screen.

I could answer. Could show up. Sit beside him. Help with whatever boring dude ranch mess he’s buried under.

Instead I lock the phone and set it face down on the desk.

Right now, talking to anyone feels impossible.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Josephine

JULY 12TH

By six fifteen, I've already changed shirts twice and considered a third.

The first one was too casual. The second looked like I was trying too hard. So I'm back in the first one again, because apparently I've reached the stage of decision-making where progress is a circle and I'm trapped inside it.

I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, smoothing both hands down the front of my blouse.

It's perfectly acceptable.

Clean, plain, and pale blue. Not giving the impression that I spent twenty-seven minutes debating whether dinner with three women I barely know required earrings.

I did choose earrings.