Page 266 of Josephine and Clay

Everyone had belonged to someone.

Boone to Rose. Dallas to Faith. Nash to the life opening up in front of him.

And me?

I’d been the brother who came home when called but never stayed long enough to be counted on.

Now Boone squeezes the back of my neck and tells me I’ve got this. Dallas presses coffee into my hand I don’t remember asking for. Nash tries to make a joke, fails badly, and hugs me hard enough to make my ribs creak.

Mom cups my face the way she hasn’t since I was a kid and says, “Your father would be proud.”

That does it.

I have to look away, because I believe her now.

I believe that Dad would’ve stood here today with his arms crossed and his eyes suspiciously wet, pretending he had dust in them. I believe he would’ve clapped a hand on my shoulder and told me to take care of my family. I believe he left that money not because he thought I’d fail, but because he hoped one day I’d have something worth building.

And now I do.

Josie reaches for me.

The second her fingers curl around mine, everything else falls away.

“You okay?” she asks.

I laugh because the question is insane.

She’s in a hospital bed, face pale, body working harder than I can comprehend, and she is still checking on me.

I bend down and kiss her forehead. “I love you.”

Her eyes soften. “I love you too.”

Then the next contraction hits.

And this time, she doesn’t hide how much it hurts.

Hours pass.

Long, brutal hours.

The kind that stretch so far they stop feeling connected to clocks.

Morning becomes afternoon. Afternoon becomes evening. The rain keeps tapping against the window like the whole world has gone quiet and left this room as the only place anything important is happening.

Josie grows quieter as the labor gets harder.

That scares me more than yelling would have. A shout, a curse, anything would give the fear somewhere to land.

But Josie just folds inward, breathing through contractions, gripping my hand, saving every bit of strength she has for the next wave.

The doctors keep checking her.

The nurses keep adjusting monitors.

Baby A looks good.

Baby B looks good.