5. Jonah
FIVE
Jonah
Thursday, February 5
CityWalk BHAM
950 22nd Street N
The pop of the pickleball hitting Hunter’s paddle is followed immediately by his groan of frustration as it sails out of bounds.
“You’re getting worse,” I tease, sending the ball back his way.
“Or you’re just more annoying,” he fires back, narrowing his eyes. “Anyway, what’s with the face? You look like someone just told you your favorite craft beer was discontinued.”
“Nothing,” I say, smacking the ball with a little more force than necessary. “Just a weird lunch.”
Hunter snorts, sending the ball back with ease. “Weird how? Did someone finally call you out for being a complete dickhead?”
“Funny,” I say flatly. “No. Did you hear Harper Gray is back in town?”
“Harper Gray...” He pauses mid-serve, his brow furrowing. “Oh, the cute nurse from a few years ago? Didn’t she do the travel nursing thing?”
“That’s the one,” I say, lunging to return his serve.
“Don’t tell me you gave her the Jonah Welcome Party,” he says, his tone laced with mock horror.
I stop mid-move, holding the paddle out like a shield. “What the hell is the Jonah Welcome Party?”
“You know.” He leans on his paddle, smirking. “Charming smile. Witty banter. Maybe an inappropriate innuendo or two before you offer to show her your stethoscope.”
I groan, rolling my eyes. “You make me sound like a caricature.”
“If the scrubs fit...” he says, shrugging.
“I didn’t do that,” I say, waving a hand. “We were just catching up. Talking. Then I made a joke about—” I stop myself and shake my head. “Never mind. Forget I mentioned it.”
Hunter straightens and tilts his head. “Wait, are you saying you did show your stethoscope in the past? And then you brought it up again after two years?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I protest, aiming a wild shot that Hunter barely hits. “We’ve been friends for a long time. I’ve known her since residency. It was a meaningless one-night thing. I thought I was reading her flirty vibes.”
“Jonah, dude. It’s never meaningless to the girl,” he says, lobbing the ball back with maddening precision. “You are a fucking idiot. What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m serious! That’s how our friendship was,” I insist, hitting the ball with more force than necessary. “I just suggested we could, you know, casually hook up again while she’s in town.”
Hunter freezes, the paddle hanging loosely in his hand. “You what?”
“It was a joke!” I add quickly. But in reality, I meant it. Seeing his reaction, I don’t dare tell him that. “I thought we were on the same page. She was laughing one second, and the next, she was ready to shank me with her butter knife.”
Hunter stares at me for a long moment, then bursts out laughing. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now. For someone who’s so gifted with the ladies, you have no clue.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, tossing the ball into the air and catching it again. “That’s really helpful. Appreciate the support.”
“Seriously, though,” he says, wiping his eyes. “Think about it. You hooked up with her once, two years ago, and your first thought when she shows up is, ‘Hey, let’s revisit that one time we fucked’?”
I frown. “Why is that such a big deal? I wouldn’t say that to just anyone. We joke like that.”
Hunter raises an eyebrow. “Water under the bridge now. Hopefully, the next few months won’t be too awkward for you.”
I glance at him tossing the ball again, though my grip tightens slightly. “I’ve got to make it right.”
Hunter snorts. “Good luck with that. Have you ever consider that while it wasn’t a big deal to you, maybe it was to her? Or are you too busy being charming to notice when other people aren’t as shallow as you?”
“I’m so glad I came to you,” I say dryly, sending the ball his way. “You’ve offered valuable insight.”
“Anytime,” he says, grinning. “Now, are we playing, or are we gonna keep talking about our feelings and your life choices?”
“Let’s play,” I say, annoyed with him and wanting to drop the entire conversation. But instead, he walks around the net and up to me.
“Look,” Hunter says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re good at a lot of things, Jonah. Surgery. Bringing the calm we all need in the ER and OR. Making a damn good Old Fashioned. But you suck at seeing the bigger picture when it comes to relationships. That’s all I was trying to say. My delivery isn’t as smooth as yours.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I say flatly.
“Anytime,” he says with a smirk. “I’ve gotta piss. I’ll be right back.”
Sweet. Alone with my thoughts. I know he means well, and what he’s saying makes a lot of sense. How did I misread Harper so badly? How will I fix this?
Saturday, February 7
UAB Hospital
2:28 PM
“Doctor Bellinger, emergency laparotomy incoming. Suspected bowel perforation,” a nurse calls out, her voice cutting through the chaos of the ER.
I nod, already moving toward the trauma bay. “Vitals?”
“BP’s low, eighty-five over sixty. Tachycardic at one-thirty. Severe abdominal distension, and the patient is in and out of consciousness.”
The ER hums with controlled urgency—monitors dinging, orders flying, nurses and residents weaving between patients. It’s chaos, but I thrive in this space, and I bring the calm. Here, I’m dialed in. I don’t stumble, hesitate, or second-guess. This is where I’m at my best.
“ETA?” I ask as I scan the room, double-checking the setup.
“Three minutes out,” the nurse replies.
“Let’s get IV fluids running and prep for imaging,” I say, checking the trauma cart. “Harper, you’re on airway management. Have intubation supplies ready.”
She’s already moving, quick and precise. I catch a glimpse of her across the bay, methodically arranging the tools on her tray. It’s impossible not to notice how good she is at this. Harper’s always been a natural in the ER—sharp, calm, and thorough.
As a travel nurse, she’s used to jumping into any situation, covering wherever she’s needed. It’s what makes her so good at what she does. And working with her?
Normally, I would welcome her as a nurse in my sphere. But today, she won’t even glance my way. Fine. Not the time. Focus.
The paramedics burst through the doors, wheeling in a middle-aged man clutching his abdomen. His face is twisted in pain.
“Patient is a 50-year-old male,” one of them shouts. “Severe abdominal trauma, possible perforation from a blunt force injury. BP’s continuing to drop, and his belly’s hard as a rock.”
“Alright, on my count,” I say, stepping beside the gurney. “One, two, three.”
The team moves as one, transferring the patient onto the ER bed. “Start a second line,” I order. “Let’s get lactated Ringer’s running wide open. Harper, stay ready in case we need to intubate. We’ll stabilize him here and then straight to imaging.”
“Got it,” she says, not looking up.
The team moves efficiently, tools and orders flying between us. This is my rhythm—the decisions coming instinctively, the commands rolling off my tongue like second nature. The weight of the situation doesn’t faze me; it sharpens my focus.
“Pressure’s dropping—eighty over fifty,” a resident says.
“Alright, we’re not waiting,” I decide. “Book an OR now. Notify the on-call surgeon, and let’s stabilize him for transfer.”
The next few minutes are a blur of activity—fluids running, monitors chirping, and controlled chaos as the team moves with precision. My job today is to manage trauma in the ER, not to scrub in upstairs, but that doesn’t make the handoff any easier. By the time the OR team arrives to take over, the patient’s vitals are holding steady, and the immediate storm has passed.
Harper follows the transport team out, her steps brisk and purposeful, still without a glance in my direction.
I stand there for a moment, letting the stillness of the bay soak in after the adrenaline rush. This is what I do and where I’m at my best—leading in the chaos, keeping everyone steady. But experiencing Harper avoiding me, even if she was supreme in her role, bites. That’s new. And it sticks like a splinter I can’t dig out.
I’m halfway through reviewing a chart when I see her again. Harper. My heart drops into my stomach. What the fuck, why is my body reacting like this?
She’s standing near the nurse’s station, deep in conversation with someone I don’t recognize. Her hair’s pulled back, and she somehow even makes scrubs look sexy. She glances up just for a second, and our eyes meet.
But then, just as quickly, she looks away.
Cold shoulder. No smile. No wave. Nothing.
It shouldn’t sting, but it does. We’ve been friends for years—bantering, leaning on each other through the madness of what working in the emergency room brings—and now she won’t even acknowledge me. I push down the irritation bubbling in my chest and return to my chart.
By the time my shift ends, the weight of her dismissal has turned into a dull ache I can’t shake. I grab a coffee and head to the staff lounge, hoping for a minute to decompress. Instead, I find Carly sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone.
There is never decompression when Carly is around. Fuck.
“Jonah,” she says without looking up. “Here to bless us with your charm and dazzling wit?”
“Always,” I say, flopping onto the chair across from her. “Except it’s not working on Harper Gray, so it seems.”
That gets her attention. She raises an eyebrow and sets her phone down. “Oh, this should be good. Do we have a little hospital drama?”
I shrug, leaning back in the chair. “No drama. She's just changed since she moved.”
"Yeah, y'all were good buddies, weren't you?"
"I thought so. Anyway, never mind. It's just on my mind, but I'll brush it off."
“What did you do?” Carly asks, crossing her arms. “I saw y'all getting coffee the other night upstairs. Something must have happened.”
“Why do you assume it’s something I did?” I shoot back, though the defensiveness in my tone is a dead giveaway.
Carly snorts. “Because I know you, Jonah. So, what is it? Did you flirt with her? Ghost her? Accidentally call her by the wrong name in bed?”
I wince. “It wasn’t anything like that. We had lunch, and I might’ve... made a joke about hooking up again.”
"Wait. Again? Have y'all hooked up?"
"It was a dumb one-night thing before she moved. Nothing significant."
Carly stares at me, unblinking. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“It wasn’t serious!” I say quickly. “It was a joke. I thought she’d laugh.”
Carly groans, rubbing her temples like I’ve just personally offended her. “Jonah, for someone so brilliant in the OR, you are truly an idiot outside of it.”
“Thanks for the glowing review,” I mutter.
She leans forward, her expression shifting from exasperation to something softer. “Look, you and Harper have a complicated history. Whether you think it was a big deal or not, it was to her. And now she’s back, probably expecting you to act like a friend, and instead, you remind her why she left in the first place.”
“I don't think she left because of that,” I protest, my voice quieter now. “She had already talked about taking a travel job.”
Carly shakes her head, and a wry smile tugs at her lips. “Jonah, women don’t just pack up and leave their hometowns and their friends for two years unless something—or someone—gave them a reason. You ever think you might’ve been part of that?”
I blink, genuinely baffled. “Wait, what? Me? No. She’s not at all like that.”
Carly arches an eyebrow. “Not like what? A woman with feelings? Someone who might’ve been pissed when you pulled your usual ‘thanks for the good time, see you never’ move?”
I groan, running a hand through my hair. “It wasn’t like that. We were friends. It was one night. And she didn’t seem mad. Hell, we've texted many times since she's been gone.”
“Uh-huh,” Carly says, leaning back and crossing her arms. “And in your Jonah brain, that means her distance had nothing to do with you?”
“She didn’t say anything!” I insist. “If she had a problem, she could’ve told me.”
“Right. Because you’re so approachable when it comes to feelings,” Carly says, rolling her eyes. “Look, I get it—you’re charming, you’re fun, and you keep things light. But maybe not everyone’s cool with ‘light‘ when it comes to sex.”
Her words land heavier than I expect, and I shift uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” I mumble, more to myself than to her. "I never said it was more than it was. We've never talked about being a couple."
Carly narrows her eyes like she’s reading my mind. “Wait. When did y'all even hook up? And how did this get past me? I'm the keeper of all things salacious at this hospital.”
I hesitate, debating whether to go into it with her. She has a big mouth. Then I sigh and lean back in my chair. “You remember that St. Patrick’s Day a couple of years ago? We all went out to that Irish pub downtown—what was it called?”
“McFly’s,” Carly says instantly, her eyes lighting up. “The one with the neon shamrock and the overpriced green beer. Yes, I remember it well. I never saw any canoodling, though. Go on.”
“Yeah, that one. Anyway, after the party started breaking up, a few of us ended up going to late-night karaoke. Harper was there, and I don’t know—something shifted. One minute we’re laughing about how bad I butchered ‘Livin’ on a Prayer, ’ and the next, I could see it in her eyes.”
Carly raises an eyebrow. “See what, exactly?”
I wave a hand vaguely. “I don’t know! Just… something. The vibe changed. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, we were back at her place. I left early the next morning for a shift and saw her at the hospital a couple of times after that, but it wasn’t weird. She didn’t act like it was a big deal or anything.”
“And then soon after, she left for the travel nurse gig,” Carly finishes, her tone sharp.
“Right,” I say, shrugging. “There wasn’t time to talk about it, and she sure as shit didn’t seem like she wanted to. She wasn’t mad, wasn’t clingy—just Harper, same as always.”
Carly leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “And you think that’s the whole story? Jonah, not everyone wears their heart on their sleeve. Just because she didn’t act pissy or clingy doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I figured if it was something, she’d tell me.”
Carly snorts. “And you couldn't have addressed it, I'm sure. Right?”
“I’m not—” I start, but Carly cuts me off with a wave of her hand.
“Spare me. We all know your MO. You're always the one for a fun time, great in bed, no strings attached. But maybe Harper’s not wired that way, and you didn’t bother to notice. Or care.”
I shift in my seat, Carly’s words settling uncomfortably in my chest. “So, what? How do I make this right?”
Carly sighs, standing and grabbing her coffee. “Start by being honest. Talk to her. Apologize for being a dick and actually mean it. Maybe address what happened before, but don’t push. Let her decide if she wants to repair the friendship or not.”
She leans against the doorway, her expression softer but still pointed. “And Jonah? Maybe stop throwing that man part around like a party favor, especially with friends you want to keep. Not everyone’s as non-committal as you are. Harper clearly isn’t.”
I let out a breath, leaning back in my chair. “So, don’t sleep with my friends. Got it.”
She rolls her eyes, smirking. “Yes, and maybe don’t proposition them, either. Just a thought.”
Her teasing tone takes some of the sting out of her words, but they linger long after she’s gone. Apologize? Sure. But how do you apologize for something when you’re still not entirely sure what you did wrong?
She pats my shoulder as she passes, adding with a smirk, “Also, next time you do karaoke, pick a song in your range.”