9. Jonah
NINE
Jonah
Monday, February 16
UAB Hospital
8:03 AM
The Monday morning bustle at the hospital is already in full swing by the time I hit the surgeons’ lounge, coffee in hand. Shep leans against the counter, scrolling through his phone. His scrubs are rumpled like he’s already had a hell of a day—and it’s barely 8 a.m.
“Morning,” I say, dropping into one of the chairs.
“Morning,” he replies, not looking up. “You ready for the shitstorm in Bay Three? Drunk driver versus utility pole. Spoiler alert: the pole won.”
I grunt, sipping my coffee. “Sounds about right for a Monday. Have I ever told you how much I hate drunk drivers?”
"The worst." Shep pockets his phone and grabs his own cup of sludge masquerading as coffee. “You look distracted, though. Something on your mind?”
“Nothing major,” I say, leaning back. But Shep raises an eyebrow, and I know that look means he’s not letting it go. I sigh. “Family shit."
Shep tilts his head, his smirk widening. “Wait—you have a family? Here I thought you just spawned fully formed with a scalpel in hand.”
"Funny, dickhead. My sister showed up on Friday.”
Shep blinks, caught off guard. “Wait, seriously, you have a sister?”
“Yeah.” I take another sip. “Younger. Lila. We’re not super close, so I guess it hasn’t come up.”
“Huh.” He sets his coffee down, crossing his arms. “So, she just showed up out of the blue?”
“Pretty much,” I say, shrugging. “I was waiting at my place when I got off Friday night with a duffel bag and some vague story about needing to crash for a bit. We had breakfast Saturday, then I went to the gym, and she said she had errands. Haven’t seen her since.”
Shep whistles low. “And you’re not worried?”
“Should I be?” I counter, though the question hangs heavier in my chest than I’d like to admit. “This is kind of her thing. She disappears, then pops back up like nothing happened.”
Shep tilts his head, giving me a knowing look. “Sounds like the wild gene runs in the family.”
I snort, shaking my head. “I may play hard, but I can hold down a job, pay my mortgage, and not leave people hanging.”
The words are out before I can stop them, and Shep arches a brow. I immediately regret saying more than I usually do. I never get into family details—hell, I don’t even get into personal details. My life’s an open book when it comes to the surface stuff, but anything deeper? I keep it locked up tight.
“Fair enough,” Shep says, his tone lighter, thankfully letting the moment pass. “But seriously, you gonna check on her?”
I stare into my coffee, my jaw tightening. “I don’t know. She’s always been... Lila. Chaotic. Irresponsible. But the fact that all of her stuff she showed up with is still at my place, something feels off.” The words feel foreign in my mouth—admitting uncertainty, worry. “I guess I’ll give it another day before I start calling around.”
Shep shrugs. “Might not hurt to check in sooner. I'm sure you've tried calling her, right? I know how you have an aversion to calling women.”
"You never miss a chance at getting a dig in, do you?" I mutter, more annoyed at myself than at him.
"Sorry, Bro. I'm just trying to lighten the mood. I'm just messing with you."
"All good. I deserve it.” I roll my shoulder, trying to shake the tension creeping up my neck. “To answer your question, yeah, I called her yesterday. Straight to voicemail. She didn’t call back.”
“Then call her again,” Shep says, leaning back like that solves everything. “And if there’s anything I can do, let me know. I know I’m giving you a hard time, but you know I’m here for you.”
I glance at him, wondering when he got so wise. “Yeah, I do. I appreciate it, man. I’ll try her again. Thanks.”
The truth is, this is exactly why I don’t let people in too close—because suddenly, they’re occupying space in your head, and you’re stuck wondering if you’re doing enough or if you should be doing more. People like Lila come with strings, and I’ve spent years making sure my life is string-free. But here I am, running through every possible worst-case scenario because she’s my little sister, and I can’t just not care.
I clench my jaw. I could drive myself crazy with what-ifs, or I could focus on work. At least surgery doesn’t have emotional baggage.
Before the conversation can go any deeper, my pager buzzes, and I glance down. Trauma alert. The perfect excuse to escape whatever I’m feeling right now.
“I’ve gotta go,” I say, standing. “Thanks for the unsolicited therapy session.”
Shep smirks. “Anytime. And hey, if you find her, tell her she owes me a drink for making you this grouchy. I'm not used to seeing my smooth, cool and collected friend all hot and bothered.”
I flip him off as I head for the door, but his laughter follows me down the hall.
As I make my way toward the trauma bay, I push the unease about Lila aside. Work is where I’m steady. Focused. The calm in the storm. But the nagging thought lingers: Where the hell is she?
2:17 PM
The door to the staff hallway swings shut behind me, the lingering adrenaline from the last few hours finally starting to ebb.
A quick consult turned into assisting in an emergency procedure—it always does. My mind’s already racing through what’s next when I turn the corner and nearly plow into someone.
“Whoa,” I say, stepping back just in time.
Of course, it's her. Harper.
She’s not in scrubs today, which throws me for a second. She’s wearing a simple pair of dark jeans and a forest-green sweater that hugs her just right. Her hair is loose, falling around her shoulders in soft waves. I need to take a second breath because, damn, she looks...well, not like she’s about to scrub into the ER.
“Sorry about that,” I say quickly, taking a step back to give her space. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Thought you were off today?”
She arches an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “And you know my schedule because...?”
I hesitate, caught. “Because I might’ve glanced at it,” I admit with a small shrug. “I like to know who I’ll be working with.”
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t let the smile fully form. “Well, in that case, I’m not on duty.”
I nod, but curiosity gets the better of me. “So, what are you doing here?”
Harper moves her head slightly, her tone light but her words pointed. “Are you checking up on me, Jonah?”
I chuckle softly, raising my hands. “Just making conversation. You’re not exactly blending in. I typically choose to do almost anything other than coming to the hospital on my days off.”
She sighs, glancing down the hallway as if considering whether to end this exchange. “A patient came in over the weekend,” she says finally. “No family. No visitors. I just wanted to check on her. She tugs at my heart a little.”
Her words pull me up short, and for a moment, I just look at her. Of course, Harper would go out of her way for someone like that. It’s who she is—always giving more than what’s asked, more than what’s expected.
Harper’s always been like this—invested, compassionate, going the extra mile. “That’s...really kind of you,” I say, meaning it. “Not everyone would do that. That patient was lucky to land in your lap.”
She shrugs, brushing off the compliment. “It’s nothing.”
But it’s not nothing, and we both know it. I watch her for a beat, trying to think of something else to say, something to bridge the growing gap between us. Instead, all I manage is, “Well, I’m sure it means something to her.”
Her gaze softens slightly, and for a brief moment, it feels like we’re back to how things used to be. But just as quickly, the moment passes.
“Right,” I say, stepping aside. “Take care, Harper.”
“You too,” she replies, her tone polite but distant.
Take care?! What the hell am I, ninety-five??
I can’t help but mentally kick myself. Damn, I should’ve said something more clever. Maybe invited her for a cocktail after work. I don’t know, thrown up a white flag. Hell, begged her to give me a chance to be a good friend again. Anything but that awkward, hollow goodbye.
I watch her walk away, the weight of our fractured friendship settling in my chest again. It’s strange how someone can feel so close and so far away at the same time.
2:47 PM
I’m sitting in my office, scanning through patient notes and finishing my fourth cup of coffee today. It’s been a long day, and my brain is already halfway to my couch.
Lila’s been on my mind all day, though. Going on three days now without a word. It may be typical for her, but since she came to me, I feel responsible.
I tried again this morning, but it went straight to voicemail again. It’s evident she doesn't want to be reached. Maybe I’ll try calling her again before I head home.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. I glance up to see Harper standing in the doorway. The sight of her catches me off guard—not because she’s here, but because she’s the last person I expected to come looking for me. Her expression—a mix of hesitation and determination—puts me immediately on edge.
“Harper?” I say, setting my coffee cup down, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. For a split second, hope flickers. Maybe this is it—her way of offering an olive branch, a chance to end this awkward stand-off and get back to the way things were before.
“What’s up?” I add, trying to sound casual despite the way my pulse ticks up.
She steps inside. Her movements are deliberate, and she closes the door behind her. “Jonah, I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, leaning back in my chair. Her tone is serious—too serious. My pulse kicks up. “What’s going on?”
She hesitates, her gaze flicking to the floor for a split second before meeting mine again. “It’s about that patient I mentioned when we ran into each other a little bit ago. She's the one that came in on Saturday. I didn't think to mention, but she was a Jane Doe.”
A patient? Why would she come to me about that?
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my desk. “Can I help? If there’s anything I can do, just tell me.”
It makes me feel good to know Harper knows she can still come to me if she needs me. I will do whatever I can to help this patient she cares very much for.
Harper clears her throat, her hesitation uncharacteristic and unnerving. “I think... I’ve been taking care of your sister.”
The air between us goes still, her words landing like a punch. “What?” The question comes out sharper than I intend, but I can’t process what she’s saying. “What do you mean?”
She steps further into the office, her gaze steady but cautious. “She came in this weekend, like I said, unconscious and looking worse for the wear. She didn’t have ID, no family with her. Beaten up pretty badly. She didn’t remember much at first, but this morning, she said her name is Lila Bellinger. And that her brother is a surgeon at UAB. As soon as she said her last name, I put it together.”
My heart stutters. “Lila,” I repeat, like saying her name will make this all make sense. “She’s here? At the hospital?”
Harper nods. “She’s in the step-down unit. She’s stable, but... Jonah, she’s in rough shape.”
I rake a hand through my hair, pacing to the window and back. “Jesus, Harper. Why didn’t I know sooner? Why didn’t she come to me?”
“She’s had amnesia,” Harper explains gently. “At first, she didn’t even know where she was. And from what she told me, her memories are still patchy. Jonah, it’s not that she didn’t want to reach out—she couldn’t.”
Her words hit me like a bucket of cold water, stopping my pacing. Of course. I know how trauma and memory loss can work. Still, hearing it applied to Lila feels like a gut punch. “Right,” I say, exhaling slowly. “That makes sense.”
Harper steps closer. Her tone is steady but edged with a hint of caution. “She’s starting to remember now, but it’s fragile. Whatever happened to her left her rattled in more ways than one.”
I nod, the weight of it all settling heavily in my chest. “I should see her.”
Harper studies me for a moment, her eyes searching mine. “Okay, but Jonah—you need to stay calm. She’s still fragile, physically and emotionally. If you push her too hard, it could backfire.”
“Calm is what I do best,” I say, though the tightness in my voice betrays the storm brewing inside me. “Just take me to her, please.”
Without another word, I’m on my feet, grabbing my white coat. My mind is a blur of panic and guilt. Lila. My little sister. Hurt and lying in a hospital bed, all alone.