6. Harper
SIX
Harper
Tuesday, February 10
UAB Hospital
11:08 AM
The double doors slam open, and a paramedic’s voice cuts through the air like a shot. “Fifty-six-year-old male, severe abdominal pain. Suspected obstruction. BP dropping.”
I’m already in motion, grabbing gloves and falling into step beside the gurney. The patient’s groans are guttural, and his face is pale and covered with sweat. I glance at the monitor clipped to the rail—a mess of numbers that only reinforce the urgency.
“What’s his history?” I ask, keeping pace as we weave through the crowded ER.
“Pain started three days ago,” the paramedic says, his grip tight on the gurney. “Been getting worse. No known allergies. Last ate yesterday morning.”
We maneuver the gurney into a bay, and I turn to the patient, crouching slightly to meet his eyes. “Mr. Conrad, I’m Harper. You’re in the ER, and we’re going to take care of you, alright?”
He nods weakly, wincing as another wave of pain ripples through him.
Behind me, I hear a familiar voice. “What have we got?”
I straighten instinctively because I know the voice intimately. Jonah. Of course. Because my luck is sucking lately, which means we are both on the floor today.
When I saw this week's schedule, I knew there was no avoiding him. Working at UAB means crossing paths eventually—especially when they throw me wherever I’m needed.
But knowing it and being ready for it are two very different things.
“Suspected bowel obstruction,” I say, keeping my tone even as I turn to him. He’s already pulling on gloves and adjusting his stethoscope. His face is unreadable. “Vitals are borderline, BP’s trending down.”
“Alright,” Jonah says, scanning the setup. “Harper, I want imaging ASAP. Let’s get IV fluids running and prep for an NG tube.”
“I’m on it,” I reply, pivoting to grab supplies.
He shifts his focus immediately, pointing to another nurse at the bedside. “Katie, I need vitals every two minutes until we stabilize. Let’s get him hooked up to a Foley and make sure labs are sent STAT.”
“Got it, Dr. Bellinger,” Katie says, moving quickly to follow his orders.
Jonah steps to the head of the bed, leaning in slightly to address the patient. His voice softens just enough to be reassuring but stays firm enough to command focus. “Mr. Conrad, we’re going to take care of you. Just keep breathing for me, alright? You've got the best nurses this side of the Mississippi getting you stable. Stay with me.”
The patient groans in response, his face pale and twisted with pain. Jonah’s expression doesn’t flicker. “Harper, where are we on that NG tube?”
“Almost ready,” I say, keeping my movements quick but deliberate.
The next few minutes are pure motion—lines running, shit going off everywhere, and Jonah issuing orders in that calm, measured tone he’s always had in the ER. It’s irritatingly impressive how he commands the room without raising his voice, but I don’t dwell on it.
Focus, Harper.
I drop the NG tube into place, careful to keep my movements steady as Mr. Conrad winces. “You’re doing great,” I murmur to him, glancing at his vitals. They’re holding, but barely.
Jonah steps up beside me, holding the ultrasound wand. “Let’s get a look,” he says, his voice low but steady.
I grab the gel and position myself to assist, keeping my attention on the screen instead of him. “Distension,” Jonah mutters, frowning. “Likely obstruction. We’re not waiting.”
“Want me to book the OR?” Katie asks, handing him a towel to clean off the wand.
“Now,” Jonah says, pulling off his gloves. “Harper, stay with him until the OR team gets here. Make sure he’s stable during the transfer. I'm going to scrub in.”
I nod, stepping back to make room as Jonah moves out of the bay. The chaos settles slightly, leaving only the steady hum of the monitor and the patient’s shallow breaths.
As the OR team arrives, I pass the handoff without a hitch, offering one last reassuring word to Mr. Conrad before stepping aside. Jonah’s already gone, and I head for the supply station to clean up, grateful for the distraction.
Being on intake means I see him for almost every emergency case—it’s unavoidable. At least today, he’s on surgery, which means we aren't on top of each other for the entire shift.
I'll take that as a win. No Jonah hovering over my shoulder for hours while I pretend he doesn’t get under my skin.
Two years. That’s how long I’ve been gone. It was enough time to see the country, rack up experience, and build my confidence outside the bubble of UAB. Outside the shadow of Jonah. At least, it should’ve been enough.
But one stupid, flippant comment, and it’s like all the distance I put between us didn’t matter. Not because I’m still hung up on that night—far from it—but because it reminded me how he saw it. Just another notch, another casual encounter, no different than anyone else.
I didn’t leave Birmingham because of Jonah. I left because I needed more—a career on my terms, a life that wasn’t centered around the same people and routines. I didn’t regret it then, and I don’t regret it now. But hearing him toss it out there so casually, like that night was simply another conquest, was a reminder I didn’t need.
Not because I wanted more from him—I knew who Jonah was, and I wasn’t naive enough to think I’d be the one to change him. But that night, I thought...I don’t know, that it mattered more because we were friends. That maybe I was different because I actually knew him, not just the charming, flirty version he shows everyone else.
I was wrong.
And that’s fine. I moved on. We stayed friends, even after I left, and I genuinely believed we could keep it that way. But now? Now I’m stuck here for three months, seeing him regularly, and he’s already managed to remind me why I don’t cross those lines anymore.
And why I don't want to live in Birmingham.
It’s not hate. It’s not even anger, really. It’s disappointment. And maybe, if I’m being honest, a little frustration with myself for ever thinking I could be different.
I glance at the clock, counting down the hours until my shift ends. Three months isn’t forever. It’s long enough to remind myself why I left in the first place—and to make sure I don’t trust men like Jonah Bellinger.
Thursday, February 12
Harper’s Pool House
1605 Montrose Road, Mountain Brook
4:29 PM
I slide the last box onto the counter and wipe the sweat from my brow, glancing around the pool house cottage. It may be a frigid February day outside, but it's hot as hell in here.
It’s small but cozy, with sunlight streaming through wide windows and a view of the sparkling pool just outside the French doors. I'm not complaining.
Not bad for a last-minute find.
The sharp knock at the door makes me jump, but I’m already smiling as I pull it open. Mason leans against the frame, holding two green juices and looking effortlessly put together, as usual.
“Well, well,” he says, stepping inside and taking a dramatic spin. “Look at you, Miss Pool House Fancy. Who’d you have to bribe for this place?”
I laugh, closing the door behind him. “Nobody. It’s actually a funny story.”
He sets the coffees on the counter and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, do tell. I’m dying to know how the girl who got booted from her VRBO landed in the lap of luxury.”
I shake my head, grabbing one of the cups. “It’s not luxury, and it wasn’t exactly smooth. When the VRBO host bailed on me after a week…"
"Wait, stop right there. How can they do that? Did you sign a lease or something?"
"I did, but didn't realize there was a clause in there that the lease could be canceled with three days’ notice in the event of a sale."
"I've never heard of anything like that! That should be illegal."
"Apparently, they decided to sell the place. Who knows. I just know I was scrambling. I was annoyed, but one of the nurses at the hospital, Katie, overheard me venting and mentioned her aunt rents this place out occasionally. She made a call, and here I am.”
Mason whistles, leaning against the counter. “Lucky break. If I ever get kicked out of my place, remind me to complain loudly in public around Katie.”
“It’s nice to have something go my way,” I admit, sipping my coffee. “This assignment hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing.”
Mason’s eyes narrow playfully. “Oh, let me guess. This is about the bane of your existence, Dr. Jonah Bellinger?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not the bane of my existence. You're so dramatic.”
Mason smirks. “Oh, excuse me. The fling of your existence.”
“Stop,” I say, laughing despite myself. “It’s not that deep. Seeing him every day at the hospital is a constant reminder of why I left in the first place. And it’s putting a damper on being back in my hometown.”
“Excuse me,” Mason says, placing a hand over his chest like I’ve mortally wounded him. “Are you saying I’m not enough reason to be excited to be back?”
I grin, nudging him with my elbow. “You’re the highlight, obviously. But you're hardly available, anyway. I'm just in a funk, I guess.”
"Exactly. Just like I said. Dr. McHot Mess."
I roll my eyes. “Not everything’s about Jonah, Mason.”
He grins. “But in this case?”
I sigh. “Fine. It’s just awkward. Seeing him every day at the hospital and being reminded of how casually he thinks about our…indiscretion. I don't want to be confronted with it on the daily. It’s like he doesn’t even realize it was disrespectful. Like, come on, read the room. I thought we were better friends than that.”
Mason nods, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Ah, yes. The Jonah Effect: charming until he opens his mouth and ruins it.”
I laugh despite myself. “Exactly. I don’t care about him like that, Mason. I don’t. But I also didn’t come back here to feel like I’m stuck replaying some stupid mistake from two years ago. I’ve moved on, but he’s making it hard to forget why I left.”
Mason leans in, his tone light but pointed. “Well, babe, let’s be real: Jonah Bellinger doesn’t get to dictate your happiness. This city isn’t just him. It’s me, it’s good food, it’s live music, and it’s home. Don’t let him ruin that.”
I smile, some of the tension in my chest easing. “You’re right. It’s just work. I’ll keep my head down, do my job, and move on.”
“Damn right,” Mason says, grinning. “And in the meantime, you get the joy of hanging out with me. This city isn’t big enough for Jonah Bellinger and Mason Rivera, and I think we both know who’s the real main character here.”