Page 162 of Josephine and Clay

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me say nice things twice. It causes hives.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I mean it.” He adjusts Hailey carefully, one hand spread protectively over her back. “People like you. You can talk to anybody. You know rodeo. You know horses. You know how to make things feel exciting. That’s useful.”

Useful.

The word should feel good.

It doesn’t.

Because useful is temporary. A tool is useful until it breaks. Then you replace it.

“I’m not sticking around to entertain tourists,” I say.

Nash’s face grows taut. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice sharpens, and Hailey stirs. “You hear whatever version lets you run fastest.”

I go still.

The porch air goes tight between us.

Nash looks away first, jaw working. “Sorry.”

I should say something, but I don’t, because the worst part is, he’s not wrong.

He stands after a minute, careful with the baby. “Just think about it.”

I watch him walk back inside.

Rusty lies near my boot, one cloudy eye cracked open; even he’s disappointed in me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him.

He thumps his tail once. Judgmental bastard.

By late afternoon, the walls start closing in again.

It’s not the house, it’s me, I know that. Doesn’t make it easier.

I grab my hat, my crutch, and head for the door.

Mom catches me in the hallway. “Where are you going?”

“Town.”

Her eyes drop to my leg. “Alone?”

“I’m injured, not dead.”

“Clay.”

I sigh. “I need to clear my head.”

“You don’t have to run every time something hurts,” she says.