Page 188 of Josephine and Clay

My leg throbs harder now, deep and relentless, and the pill bottle on the nightstand keeps pulling my attention back to it. I stare at the label, weighing the promise of a few hours of unconsciousness against the possibility that mixing another pill with the whiskey might turn tomorrow into somebody else's problem. Josie's words push through before I can make the decision.

Take care of yourself when you go.

Concern threaded through disappointment.

That somehow hurts worse than anger would’ve.

I grab the pill bottle, roll it once through my palm, then throw it back onto the nightstand hard enough to make it rattle across the wood. Outside, the music keeps playing while men laugh somewhere near the ice machine and trucks rumble through the parking lot beneath the buzzing neon.

Ten days ago I would’ve called all this freedom.

Tonight it feels a lot more like loneliness. I turn toward the phone again, half expecting to see a missed call or a text telling me to stop drinking and get some sleep. The screen stays dark. No callback or voicemail. Nothing except the same silence that's been sitting in the room with me since I hung up.

I stare at the ceiling while the air conditioner groans in the window and my leg pulses with every heartbeat.

Leaving was supposed to make things simpler.

Instead, all I really did was put several hundred miles between myself and the one person I can’t seem to stop thinking about.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Josephine

AUGUST 13TH

By the time Penny drives me home from the hospital, I'm so tired my bones feel heavy.

“You are under strict orders to behave,” she informs me while kicking the door shut behind her.

“From who?”

“Me. Which should frighten you more than a doctor.”

Everything smells faintly of lavender detergent and the lemon cleaner I used on the counters three days ago. My folded blanket still sits on the arm of the couch. One of Penny’s empty coffee cups remains abandoned on the table because she has the organizational habits of a raccoon.

Normally I’d throw it away immediately.

Today, I leave it there.

Penny notices. Her eyes narrow slightly. “Wow. You’re really shaken up. You need food before you pass out.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Congratulations. You’ve become exactly like every pregnant woman in every medical pamphlet.”

I drop carefully onto the couch with a sigh. “I hate pamphlets.”

“They hate you too.”

She disappears into my kitchen before I can argue further.

The cottage settles around me while exhaustion drags at every muscle in my body. My hand drifts automatically to my stomach.

The babies are okay.

Every time I think the words, relief rushes through me all over again.

Strong heartbeats. No bleeding, no immediate danger. After almost twenty-four hours in the hospital, those words are the only thing I can still hear.