Page 79 of Josephine and Clay

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it hurts.”

She sets another jar on the towel and looks at me properly then, eyes sharp under the lines time’s carved there. “You need to stop acting like taking care of yourself is some kind of moral failure.”

I peel another strip of skin off the peach. “I’m taking care of myself.”

“No. You’re enduring yourself. There’s a difference.”

I keep my eyes on my hands. “I’ll be back on the circuit as soon as I’m cleared.”

She goes still for half a second. “Clay.”

“What?” I finally look up. “That’s the plan.”

“You just got home.”

“Because I had to.”

“You’re home because you were hurt.”

“Exactly.”

Mom wipes her hands on a towel. “So maybe that should tell you something.”

A humorless laugh slips out of me. “What, that bulls kick hard?”

“It should tell you to slow down.”

My grip tightens on the knife. “I don’t want to slow down.”

“That much is obvious.”

“There’s nothing for me here, Mom.”

“Nothing?” she repeats as hurt flashes across her face.

I exhale and lean back in the chair, staring at the ceiling before dragging my gaze back to hers. “Boone’s got the ranch. Dallas has his kid and his little perfect paperwork life. Nash has Tessa and the guest ranch and the baby. Everybody’s got somewhere to stand.”

“And you think you don’t.”

“I know I don’t.”

She folds the towel once. Twice. “So your answer is to keep running.”

“My answer is to get back to what I’m good at.”

She says it quietly. “At what cost?”

I laugh again, rougher this time. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you don’t know. That ring is the only place I’ve ever felt…” I stop, jaw tightening.

“Felt what?”

I look away, because saying it out loud feels pathetic.