Page 201 of Josephine and Clay

Clay rubs one hand over the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I know.”

His eyebrows lift, caught off guard by the answer.

I cross my arms loosely over my chest. “That doesn’t mean I regret it.”

Clay shifts his weight off his bad leg with a grimace. “You could’ve just called.”

“I did call.”

“Right.” He winces. “The voicemail.”

“The voicemail,” I repeat.

“Yeah, that’s gonna keep me awake for the next forty years.”

Despite everything, my mouth twitches.

He notices immediately and points at me. “Don’t laugh. I was fighting for my life in there.”

“You left two voicemails.”

His eyes close briefly. “Please stop saying the number out loud.”

A small laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

The tension in his face eases.

That's what makes Clay so hard to resist. No matter how frustrated or hurt I get, one real moment from him slips straight through every defense I build.

His expression shifts again after a second, guilt creeping back in around the edges. “You really got scared?”

The question comes quieter now.

I lean against the dresser because suddenly standing feels harder than it should. “You sounded awful.”

“I was drunk.”

“You sounded lonely.”

That lands harder.

I can tell by the way his shoulders pull tight.

Then Clay limps farther into the room and lowers himself carefully onto the edge of the bed. The mattress creaks beneath his weight while he braces his forearms against his knees.

“I didn’t think anybody would notice if I disappeared for a while,” he admits.

Emotion twists painfully in my chest.

“That’s not true.”

A humorless smile pulls briefly at his mouth. “Felt true.”

The air conditioner keeps rattling while neither of us fills the gap.

I study him for a long moment.