Page 197 of Josephine and Clay

Three hard hits against the motel door.

I limp toward the door with one hand braced against the wall. Every step sends pain dragging up my leg while my head pounds hard enough to blur the edges of the room.

“Coming,” I snap.

Another knock answers me immediately.

“Alright, damn.”

I yank the door open halfway.

Boone stands there in jeans, boots, and a dark T-shirt, looking exactly like a man who drove eight hours straight fueled entirely by caffeine and irritation.

Rose stands beside him holding two coffees and enough concern in her expression to make my stomach twist instantly.

All I can do is stare.

Then Boone’s gaze sweeps over me.

My bare feet. The brace. The motel room behind me. The empty whiskey bottle visible beneath the chair.

His jaw tightens.

“Well,” he says flatly. “You look terrible.”

I lean against the doorframe. “Thank you.”

Rose’s eyes soften immediately. “Clay.”

Somehow that lands harder than Boone's irritation.

“What are y’all doing here?” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “Did Nash finally send a search party because I ignored his text?”

Boone doesn’t smile. “You left a voicemail.”

Ah, right.

I glance toward Rose automatically. “You heard that?”

“No,” Rose says gently. “Tessa did.”

My stomach drops clean through the floor. “Tessa heard it?”

“She was worried,” Rose says carefully.

“Fantastic.” I drag a hand over my face. “Love that for me.”

Boone folds his arms across his chest. “You gonna let us inside?”

“No.”

He stares at me.

I stare back.

Rose sighs softly. “Clay.”

I step aside before Boone decides to physically move me, which honestly seems possible right now.