10. Harper
TEN
Harper
2:53 PM
I hover near the window outside Lila’s room, wanting to let them have their moment. A part of me feels a little intrusive still standing here and watching, but Lila asked me to stay. I told her I would give them a few minutes and would come back after they had a chance to speak.
Jonah is sitting at her bedside, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His face is softened in a way I’ve rarely seen. His usual cocky grin is gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded.
Lila’s awake and fully aware. She looks the best she's looked since arriving on Saturday.
Her bruised face is much more animated as she talks to him, though I can’t hear what they’re saying. It's obvious they both have a lot of affection for each other. Her hand is in his, and he’s nodding along, listening intently.
The sight tugs at something in me—a reminder that beneath Jonah’s charming, aloof surface lies someone capable of immense care, at least when it comes to the people he loves.
This is a side of Jonah I haven’t let myself think about in years. The Jonah who stayed with a grieving family after a patient didn’t make it. The Jonah who bought every nurse in the ER coffee after a hellish night shift. The Jonah I used to call my friend.
I shake off the thought and step back, pressing my hand to the strap of my bag. This isn’t my place. They’re family, and I?—
Lila glances toward the window and spots me. She lifts her hand, motioning for me to come in.
I hesitate, but there’s no graceful way to ignore her. Taking a steadying breath, I push the door open and step inside.
“There she is,” Lila says, her voice raspy but warm. “The superstar nurse who saved my life and offered me kindness above and beyond.”
“Hardly,” I say quickly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “I just did my job.”
“Don’t let her downplay it,” Lila says, glancing at Jonah. “She was with me every step of the way—checking on me, making sure I wasn’t alone. I don’t even remember everything, but I know... I know I wouldn’t have made it through those first few hours without her.”
Jonah’s eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see something in them I don’t expect. Not the usual charm or the easy, practiced calm he wears like armor, but something quieter. Sincere. He nods slightly, like he’s acknowledging something he can’t quite say out loud. It catches me off guard, and I don’t know what to do with it.
Jonah’s gaze shifts to me, and for a moment, the usual guarded charm isn’t there. Instead, there’s something more genuine—something unspoken but unmistakable. “Thank you,” he says simply, but the weight behind those two words carries significance beyond the perfunctory gesture.
I nod, unsure how to respond. It’s not the kind of gratitude that demands acknowledgment; it’s the kind that lingers, settling in the quiet spaces between us.
I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable under their combined attention. “She was my patient. I wasn’t about to let her down.”
Lila’s lips quirk into a faint smile. “You didn’t. Not even for a second. And look, she even showed up on her day off to check on me.”
The silence that follows is heavier than I’d like, so I clear my throat and shift my bag higher on my shoulder. “Well, now that your brother’s here, you’re in good hands. I’ll let you two catch up. I'm so glad you're doing better. And, for the record, I like Lila much better than Jane. It suits you.”
Before I can turn to leave, Lila shifts her gaze to me, her eyes soft but full of something I can’t quite place. “Please know how grateful I am,” she says, her voice steady but quiet. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
The words land with unexpected weight, and I hesitate, letting the moment stretch. It’s strange, realizing now that she’s not just a patient to me. She’s connected to someone I know well, someone I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out.
When I was caring for her, something about her vulnerability struck a chord—memories of my aunt, her quiet resilience, and the isolation she endured when she had no one to stand by her. I didn’t want Lila to feel that same loneliness. And now, knowing she’s Jonah’s sister, it feels even more poignant.
As much as Jonah and I have our differences, this strange twist of fate makes me pause. What are the odds?
I glance at him, who’s leaning back in his chair now, with his carefully guarded expression back in place. His grip on Lila’s hand tightens slightly, a subtle gesture that reminds me of how much he can care, even if he struggles to show it sometimes.
“So glad you have family here with you,” I say softly, tucking my hands into my pockets. “You're in good hands.”
Lila’s lips curve into a faint smile, and Jonah’s gaze flickers to mine. There’s something in his expression—maybe gratitude, maybe curiosity—but I don’t linger long enough to untangle it.
I nod once, more to myself than to them, and head for the door. This whole situation is a mess of emotions I’m not ready to sort through. The good news is that she's healing and isn't alone. My job here is done.
The door closes softly behind me, and I have an extra pep in my step now that the mystery is solved and my patient is on the mend. I stop to say goodbye to the nurses at the nurse’s desk when his voice catches me off guard.
“Harper, wait.”
I turn to find him standing in the doorway, his expression as open and charming as ever, but with a gravity I don’t usually associate with him. It’s not that he’s never serious—it’s just that his usual brand of charm often smooths over moments like this. Today, though, there’s no humor or deflection in his eyes. Just sincerity.
“I just…” He rubs the back of his neck, his usual confidence replaced with something quieter. “I wanted to thank you. For taking care of her.”
I nod, unsure how to respond. “Of course. It’s my job," I say, defaulting to professionalism. "And I'm happy I could, especially knowing she belongs to you.”
“No,” he says firmly, his eyes meeting mine. “All of this wasn't your job. I know Lila, Harper. She didn’t feel alone because of you, and that’s…that’s huge. More than I can put into words.”
The emotion in his voice takes me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. “She’s been through a lot. She deserved to have someone in her corner. Until we could figure out who that someone was, I was happy to be there for her.”
Jonah exhales, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I should’ve been that person. She showed up on my doorstep out of nowhere Friday night, and I...I didn’t do enough."
He pauses, and I can see there is more he wants to share, but it almost feels like he doesn't know how. "I thought it was just her being her, you know?"
No, I don't know, I want to say. But I don't. We aren't at that level anymore. I am a nurse, and he is a surgeon. Period. We aren't friends, and I'm not his therapist.
He continues, "But seeing her now, knowing what she’s been through…” He trails off, his voice tight, and for a moment, the ever-steady Jonah looks shaken.
“You’re here now,” I say, softening, unable to keep the professional hat on. “That’s what matters.”
His eyes meet mine, and something unspoken passes between us. For a second, I forget the wall I’ve built between us. He shifts his weight, his usual easy confidence tempered by something rawer.
His eyes lock onto mine, searching, and I can see the conflict there—the vulnerability he rarely lets show. “Look, I owe you an apology,” he says, his tone earnest.
“For what?” I ask, even though I already know he does. It comes as such a shock that I need to defer for a moment to wrap my mind around the fact that he’s addressing something deeper than surface happiness.
“For being an ass,” he says simply. “For making that stupid comment last week about us hooking up again. I wasn’t thinking, and I crossed a line. I treated you like you were just another one of my flings, and you’re not. You never were. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry.”
His words couldn't have surprised me more if he told me he was joining a cult and moving to Uzbekistan. I'm speechless for a moment. “Thank you,” I say finally, my voice softer than I intended.
He leans against the wall, still watching me. “I don’t want us to stay stuck in this...weirdness,” he says, gesturing vaguely between us. “I miss how things were. I know I can’t undo what happened, but if there’s a chance we can get back somehow, I’d like that. I miss my friend.”
His openness takes me off guard. Jonah’s always been charming, but this isn't charm. This is raw in a way I’m not used to seeing from him. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “It’s not just about what happened last week, Jonah. It’s about everything. I think we would need to address all of it so we both are clear on where we are coming from.”
“I get that,” he says, nodding slowly. “I'd like to try if you don't hate me too much that it isn't worth it.”
"I do still hate you a lot, but let me think about it. You're stunningly frustrating."
"That's an understatement. I even frustrate myself." He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “I’m going to stick around with Lila for a bit, but when I leave, can I call you? Maybe we could grab a drink or dinner and just talk.”
I hesitate, the weight of his request settling between us. But then I think about the way he’s been with Lila, the way he’s trying, and the part of me that misses our friendship more than I want to admit. “Alright,” I say finally. “You can call, but I can't guarantee I won't be completely booked with all of my social obligations.”
We both laugh, and there is a sliver of our normal, easy friendship peeking through. It feels good.
His cautious smile widens, and it's free of his usual bravado. “Thanks, Harper. I’ll try not to blow it this time.”
“Good luck,” I reply lightly, but the corners of my lips tug upward despite myself.
As I turn and walk away, I catch myself feeling lighter, as if the weight of the past week has finally started to lift.