Page 191 of Josephine and Clay

My pulse starts climbing harder with every failed attempt.

“He’s probably asleep,” Penny says carefully.

“Or unconscious.”

“Josie.”

“He told me he was drinking with pain medication.”

“That doesn’t automatically mean⁠—”

“It can suppress breathing.”

Penny presses her lips together because she knows I’m right.

I stand too quickly and immediately regret it when dizziness rolls through me.

Penny points at me. “Absolutely not. Sit down before I tackle you.”

“I can’t sit down.”

“You literally just got discharged from the hospital.”

“And Clay sounds…” I stop abruptly, pressing both hands against my forehead. “He sounds wrong.”

That’s the problem.

I know him well enough now to hear the difference.

Clay usually hides pain beneath humor and movement and charm. Even when he’s upset, there’s energy behind it. Restlessness. Defiance.

The man on that voicemail barely sounds like Clay. The restlessness is gone. So is the charm he usually hides behind.

I grab my phone again and text him.

Josie: Please answer me.

A minute passes.

Nothing.

Josie: I’m serious, Clay.

Penny watches me pace carefully around the couch with growing concern. “Okay. We need a better plan than you wearing a trench through your living room.”

“I don’t have a better plan.”

“Yes, you do.” She reaches for her own phone. “You have emotionally competent ranch women.”

“Tessa already has a newborn.”

“And still somehow functions better under pressure than both of us combined.”

That’s unfortunately true.

I stop pacing long enough to press one hand against my stomach when a faint ache returns in my abdomen.

Penny notices immediately. “Sit.”