Page 53 of When I Should’ve Stayed (Red Bridge #2)

Josie

Sunday brunch rush at the diner is always jam-packed with just about everyone in town.

Basically, most people sit through Sunday service with Reverend Bob and then head straight here.

Though, sometimes, depending on how much the sermon makes them feel like they’re going to hell for all their transgressions, some people head over to Clay’s bar instead.

Evidently, today’s sermon focused on the Jesus loves me vibe, and the diner is filled with most of the town.

It’s a lot of work, but I’m thankful for the distraction.

My brain hasn’t stopped running since my follow-up appointment two weeks ago and the unexpected surgery that occurred shortly after .

God, the pain. The pain was so fucking horrible. And yet, I’d swear, even with all the healing I’ve done, I’m hurting even more now. But that’s heartbreak for you.

Once I finish up taking the sheriff’s and the mayor’s orders, both of them sitting together to shoot the shit and gossip, I head behind the counter.

“Todd, I need a number three and six for table five!” I call toward the window that peeks into the kitchen, and he offers a little nod of understanding in my direction. I shove the ticket on the metal spindle.

I jump over to the register and cash out the Williams family’s check, handing the extra change to John Williams while Camille puts their to-go boxes in a plastic bag.

But before I can head over to table ten—where Betty Bagley and her daughter June have just sat down—a hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks. I turn around to find a smiling Eileen Martin behind me and a newspaper clutched to her chest.

“I’ve been waiting all morning to show this to you,” she says and shoves the paper into my hands. “I even decided to release this morning’s paper late just so you could be the first to read the exclusive interview.”

My head nags, an ache starting behind my eyes as I try to understand her. I’ve already overworked myself ten times over from what the doctor advised, and my body is feeling it. All in the name of me trying to pretend everything is okay. That I’m okay.

“What are you talking about, Eileen?”

“Read it, dear.” She nods toward the paper in my hands. “You’ll see.”

“I’m a little busy here. But I’ll read it when I get a break,” I dismiss, hoping she’ll forget whatever scheme she’s on. I know Eileen well enough to know everything she does comes with an agenda.

“Josie, Betty Bagley and her snarly daughter can wait a few minutes to shove pancakes down their pie holes.”

“Eileen, I—”

She grabs me by the shoulders and forces me to sit down on one of the empty diner stools at the counter. “You can take five minutes. And if Harold tries to give you shit, I’ll threaten to put a bad foodie review in the paper.”

I huff out a sigh, but I also set the paper on the counter. The sooner I read whatever she’s wanting me to read, the sooner she’ll stop riding my ass.

It doesn’t take a high-level investigation to find what she’s selling so hard. A photo of Clay sits on the front page under a headline that reads, Josie Saved Clay’s Life . He’s standing behind his bar, a kitchen towel strewn across his shoulder, and a relaxed smile highlights his brown eyes.

He’s beautiful as always, and I’m sick to my stomach.

Oh God.

Eileen is still hovering over my shoulder, so I sit there and force myself to scan the article, but everything inside me is screaming to get the hell away from here as fast as I can.

The first half is a recap of the accident. The day it happened. The fact that it was snowing and a pickup truck driven by Larry English had swerved into our lane and hit us head on. The reality that I was too busy arguing with Clay to avoid the accident altogether is completely omitted.

“A lot of it is still a blur,” Clay said.

“The roads were slick that day, and a car on the other side of the road lost control and ended up sliding over the yellow line and crashing into us. The collision was so powerful that our airbags deployed, and the front windshield shattered. A piece of the glass pierced my stomach, and I don’t know why, but out of shock or just being a dumbass, I pulled it out without even thinking.

I started bleeding a lot. I mean, a lot.

And even though Josie had her own injuries, she reached over and applied pressure to the wound.

If she wouldn’t have done that, I would’ve died. She saved my life.”

“What a miracle,” Eileen said. “Your wife saved your life.”

“My wife saved my life,” Clay agreed, a smile that only a man in love can showcase etching the corners of his mouth.

“Even though the two of you eloped, I hear you’re planning on having a wedding here in town,” Eileen stated. “Any news on when the wedding will be?”

Clay’s smile grew bigger, the love for Josie Ellis visible in his eyes. “We’re planning on a spring wedding.”

“Oh, how lovely!” Eileen exclaimed. “And the date?”

Clay grinned. “Soon.”

“How soon?” Eileen persisted, always the cunning journalist. “Surely now would be the perfect time to announce the date. That way, everyone in Red Bridge can get excited about such an anticipated celebration. Both you and Josie are so loved by this town, Clay. It goes without saying we’re all ready to see the two of you say, ‘I do.’”

Clay thought it about for a long moment, but eventually, with the skilled pressure of Red Bridge’s favorite journalist, Eileen Martin, he revealed, “May 14th.”

My stomach drops into my shoes. Not only did he pick a date, but he let Eileen Martin reveal the date to the entire town. And against my better judgment, I keep scanning the rest of the article.

Get ready, Red Bridge. On May 14th, our favorite couple, Clay Harris and Josie Ellis, will tie the knot in the town square.

Clay Harris confirmed that Melba Danser will be making the cake, and he’s hoping to have the reception at his bar after the ceremony.

And anyone in town who would like to help Josie and Clay plan the wedding of their dreams, feel free to give Clay a call.

He’s still on the lookout for a DJ, caterer, and flowers that he says need to be pink because our little Summer Bishop insisted.

Congratulations, Clay and Josie! Red Bridge loves you and is so happy that you’re both okay.

It should also be noted, after the interview was over and Clay was smiling like only a man in love with his wife can do, he also said, “I can’t wait to marry that woman again.”

Eileen asked him, “You think the two of you will have babies?”

“Babies? With Josie?” Clay’s smile got bigger. “I’ll take as many as I can get.”

Babies. As many as he can get .

My heart beats furiously, threatening to rip clear out of my chest.

“Congratulations, dear,” Eileen Martin says, squeezing my shoulder affectionately. “And you better get to planning. May 14th isn’t that far away.”

I’m numb when I start to hand her back the newspaper, but she waves me off, adding, “You keep it. Add it to your scrapbook,” before she walks out of the diner.

Nausea rolls through my stomach, and a deafening ring consumes my ears.

When the nausea becomes too much, I discreetly sneak down the back hallway and into the employee break room, and I lock myself in the small bathroom.

My back hits the door, and my body slides to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Sobs rack my lungs, and I do my best to keep them stifled, crying quietly into my hands.

I can’t do this. I can’t live this lie, and I can’t bring Clay along for a ride of misery with me.

I know it goes against the saying, but I don’t want company.

I wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone but myself.

I know what I have to do.

Clay should move on like he’s been talking about for months now. But I understand now. He needs to do it without me.