Page 267 of Josephine and Clay

They keep saying that.

Good. Stable. Progressing. The words keep coming, each one meant to reassure me. Because I’ve heard men say a ride looked good two seconds before everything went wrong.

I know how quickly good can change.

At one point, between contractions, Josie looks up at me through damp lashes. “You’re quiet.”

“Didn’t know you’d ever complain about that.”

Her mouth twitches.

It isn’t a smile, not quite, but I’ll take it.

“You’re scared.”

I don’t answer fast enough.

Her fingers shift against mine. “Clay.”

“I’m not scared of them,” I say, voice rough.

“I know.”

“I’m not scared of being their dad.”

“I know that too.”

My jaw tightens.

I stare at our joined hands because looking at her makes the words harder. “I’m scared of losing you.”

The room seems to still.

Her face changes. Softens in a way that breaks me open. “Oh, Clay.”

“I know. I know that’s not helpful right now.”

“It is,” she whispers.

My throat burns. “No, it isn’t. You’re doing all the work, and I’m standing here thinking about myself.”

“You’re thinking about me.”

I huff out something that might be a laugh if it didn’t hurt. “Yeah. Always.”

She closes her eyes for a second, then opens them again. “I’m here.”

I nod.

“I need you to believe that.”

I press her hand to my mouth. “I’m trying.”

“No.” Her grip tightens, surprisingly firm. “Believe it.”

I look at her then.

At the woman who built her whole life around not needing anyone. The woman who used to treat help like a threat. The woman who kept my babies safe inside her while I was still figuring out how to become the kind of man who deserved to know them.