Page 265 of Josephine and Clay

Not in detail. I wasn't brave enough for details.

But I’ve imagined getting her to the hospital, calling my mom, texting my brothers, seeing our babies for the first time.

Somehow, in every version of it, I forgot the part where fear would sit in my throat like a stone.

This isn't a rodeo. There's no buzzer, no gate, no rope to grip while I pretend I'm in control.

There’s only Josie, exhausted before the sun has even come up, carrying two lives inside her body and trusting me to be steady.

So I do the only thing I can.

I put my hand over hers. “I’m right here, Doc.”

Her eyes close. “I know.”

Those two words nearly undo me.

Because she does know.

After everything, after all the times I ran or froze or made the wrong choice because fear looked too much like freedom, Josephine Wright believes I’ll stay.

And I swear to every god listening, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving her right.

The hospital is already awake by the time we get there.

Lights bright, floors shining, nurses moving like they’ve been expecting us, which they probably have, considering Josie’s doctor told us twins like to make their own schedule and then looked directly at me as if I personally had something to do with that.

The McCoy family starts arriving in waves.

Mom arrives first, because of course she does. She walks into the waiting area with a coat thrown over her nightgown, hair pinned back badly, and the look of a woman prepared to fight God if necessary.

Then Boone and Rose.

Dallas and Faith.

Nash and Tessa.

Penny shows up a few minutes later, breathless and pale, clutching a tote bag full of snacks like she’s preparing for a siege.

Dr. Harris shows up not long after in a wrinkled coat and boots that look like he stepped straight out of a barn.

Josie sees him and immediately tears up.

“I’m not crying,” she says.

“No one said you were,” Dr. Harris replies, far too gently for his usual level of sarcasm.

“I hate all of you.”

“I know.”

I stand beside her bed with one hand on her shoulder while the room fills with family, and something strange happens.

For a moment, I’m back in April.

In this same hospital. The same white walls and the same too-bright lights.

Back then, Tessa was in labor, Nash had looked terrified, and I’d stood off to the side feeling like the only man in the room without a place.