Page 196 of Josephine and Clay

Sunlight punches through the cheap curtains hard enough to make me flinch while nausea rolls through my stomach in one miserable wave.

The motel room matches the state I'm in.

One boot lies overturned near the bathroom door. The empty whiskey bottle sits on its side beneath the desk chair where I missed the trash can by a solid three feet. My brace digs painfully into my leg from where I apparently passed out without loosening it properly.

Real professional operation all around.

I drag my forearm across my face and groan.

Then I remember the second voicemail.

A horrifying flash of breathing heavily into the phone and muttering “wait, hold on” before hanging up like a man being hunted for sport.

“Oh no.”

I grab my phone off the mattress so fast that pain shoots through my knee.

Three forty-three.

Six missed calls from Boone, three from Tessa, and one from Dallas.

A text from Nash, sent in the morning, simply reads: u alive?

Followed with another four minutes later: seriously

My stomach drops because McCoys don't do concern in moderation. If Boone called six times, somebody’s worried. And if Tessa called too…

The voicemail.

Right.

I squeeze my eyes shut again.

Most people get embarrassed. Then there's leaving drunken emotional voicemails at one in the morning to a woman you hurt before accidentally leaving a second voicemail that sounds medically concerning.

Even for me, that sets a new standard.

The phone buzzes in my hand.

Boone.

I stare at it ringing across the screen while my headache throbs harder.

I should answer.

Instead, I let it ring out.

Cowardly and immature, which fit right in with the rest of my recent choices.

I push myself upright slowly and immediately regret that too. The room tilts sideways while my stomach threatens mutiny.

My leg throbs beneath the brace, deep and hot from too much walking yesterday and absolutely no good decisions afterward.

The pill bottle still sits on the nightstand beside another unopened miniature whiskey bottle from the motel vending machine.

I stare at both longer than I should. Then I shove them farther away.

The knocking starts before I can fully stand.