22. Harper
TWENTY-TWO
Harper
7:11 PM
I breathe a sigh of relief as I step into the elevator to walk out to the parking garage. This shift has been a doozy.
The conversation with Jonah has been looping endlessly in my mind. I can still feel the shift in his energy, like the click of a lock turning. One moment, he was there with me, present and vulnerable. The next, he’d shut down completely, retreating behind a wall so thick I couldn’t even knock on it.
As the elevator doors close, my phone beeps in my bag. It’s a text from Mason.
We still on for District 21? Are you off yet?
My blue scrubs aren’t exactly swanky bar attire, but knowing Mason, he’ll appreciate the fact that he will look more stunning than me.
Walking to the car now. I'll see you in 10.
Also, I don't want any shit about my scrubs. I'm not going home to change, so deal.
Scrubs are chic. Medical Barbie realness. See you soon.
The downtown hotspot is everything Mason promised it would be: dimly lit, sleek, and overpriced.
The bar glows in soft golds and blues, with polished marble counters and a crowd of patrons who look like they’ve never rushed a day in their lives. I spot Mason immediately. He’s at a corner table, dressed to the nines in a tailored blazer, crisp white shirt, and a pocket square that matches the shimmering violet of his drink.
He beams when he sees me. He stands to wave me down dramatically. “There she is! My favorite overachiever, fresh from saving lives. Let’s hope you sanitized before entering my presence.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “Relax, I’m cleaner than this entire establishment. Including you.”
“Rude,” he says, but his eyes twinkle as he gestures to the seat across from him. “Sit. Drink. I'm ordering you a gimlet because it will change your life. But if you hate it, I'll drink it, and you can order something else.”
“I’ll take whatever’s strong enough to dull the day,” I say, collapsing into the chair. "You're in charge. I don't want to make any decisions for a while."
He raises an eyebrow, signaling the server with a subtle flick of his wrist. “Ah, a long day calls for a strong cocktail. I’m sure you'll love the 'gimmie.' Trust me—you’ll thank me later.”
The server disappears, and Mason leans forward. His expression shifts from playful to curious. “Alright, let's hear it. You’ve got that look—the one where your brain’s working overtime, and I’m the lucky recipient of the HGD—the Harper Gray Download.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “It’s Jonah. We had coffee earlier at the hospital, and... God, Mason, I watched him shut down right in front of me. One second, we were talking about his sister, and the next, it was like someone flipped a switch. He’s carrying so much, and it’s all bottled up in that pretty little head.”
Mason tilts his head, studying me. “You're talking about the Jane Doe you adopted and nursed back to health?”
I nod, fiddling with the edge of my napkin. “Yeah. That's the one. If Jonah is a hot mess, she's a flaming house fire."
"Do tell."
"She’s staying with him now, I told you that, right?"
"Yeah, healing, right? Didn't she end up back in the hospital with a collapsed lung or something?"
"Look at you. You do listen to me," I coo affectionately. "She's back at his place, still healing. But now the police are wanting to question her."
"Back up. Police, as in five-oh?"
"Yup. All he knew when we talked today was that they want to question her in connection to a 'string of crimes.'"
"Holy, shit," he exclaims.
"Those were exactly my words when he told me. He thinks it's probably connected to her gambling problems."
"Do cops come and question you about gambling?"
"I mean, I guess if you're doing something illegal. Is gambling legal? I don't even know. He said she's always been on the fringes of trouble."
"Eeek. You're right, she does sound like a mess. She makes Dr. Jonah look like Martha Stewart."
"Be nice," I chastise him. "Their family’s not close, apparently, and Jonah feels like it’s his responsibility to fix everyone.”
Mason’s eyes narrow slightly. “And what did you say?”
“I told him he can’t keep cleaning up her messes,” I admit. “That maybe letting her face the consequences would be the best thing for her. But...”
“But?” Mason prompts, leaning closer.
“But then he shut down,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. “I could see it happening in real time. One minute, he was there, vulnerable, actually talking. And then, poof, gone. Just this wall. And I get it—I do. He carries so much pressure, so much guilt.”
Mason is quiet for a moment, which is unusual. He gets like this when he processes things. His tone is softer when he finally speaks. “I mean, it tracks. He’s probably the guy everyone relies on, right? The calm in the storm, the one cracking jokes, keeping things copacetic?”
I nod, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Exactly. And now it makes sense. He’s all that because underneath it, he’s holding onto so much pain. He told me the other day that his best friend died when he was a teenager," I reveal to give him some context, but I'm careful not to divulge too much out of respect for Jonah. "But he didn’t give me all the details. I just know that it was tragic and had a significant impact on him.”
Mason’s expression shifts, his usual wit giving way to genuine concern. “That’s a lot for anyone, let alone a kid. No wonder he’s so closed off.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “And now with Lila. It’s like all that pressure is doubling down. He’s terrified of letting her down, of failing her. I feel for him. I really do. But reacting out of guilt isn't good for anyone.”
Mason tilts his head, considering. “And how do you square this tough love approach you're advocating with the fact that you seem to care about her? You cared about her before you even knew she was his sister.”
I pause to consider what he's saying. “I still care about her, Mason,” I say finally. “And I want her to get through this. But enabling her isn't the solution, especially at his expense. Jonah stepping back—as hard as it is—might be what she needs. And maybe what he needs too.”
Mason smiles faintly, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “You know, you’re pretty wise for someone drinking in scrubs.”
I laugh, the sound lighter than I feel. “And you’re surprisingly insightful for someone who spends more on cocktails than groceries.”
He smirks, raising his glass. “Cheers to that. And to you, Harper. Because I have a feeling you’re exactly what Jonah needs, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”
Thursday, March 5
Harper’s Pool House
8:01 AM
The early morning light filters through my kitchen window as I sit with my coffee. The steam curls upward like question marks. I’ve been staring at my phone for the last ten minutes, debating whether to text Jonah.
After last night’s conversation with Mason, the realization of everything he is carrying on his shoulders is crystal clear. I'm worried sick for him and don't know how to support him.
And then there’s Lila. I can’t stop wondering what they could want with her.
I take a deep breath and type out a quick message.
Hey, just checking in. How did it go last night?
I hit send but then instantly wish I could take it back. I saw him pull back yesterday at the hospital and don't want to push him further away.
The waiting is always the hardest part, and with Jonah, I know better than to expect an immediate reply. But when my phone beeps barely two minutes later, I’m surprised.
She said she has no idea what they could want with her.
His short, emotionless response makes me feel like he is retreating further back. I worry I've pushed him too much. I type back quickly.
I’m so sorry. Are you okay?
There’s a pause this time, longer than before, and I can practically feel him weighing how much to say. When the next message comes through, it’s short.
I’m fine. I just need to focus on work.
My breath catches. I shouldn't take this personally. He has a shit ton on his plate. I want to help him, to beg him to let me be there for him. But I know I need to back off for a bit and hope he comes back around.
I put my phone down and take a sip of my coffee. Just like I advised him about how to deal with this with Lila, I can't fix Jonah. If he wants me around, he will let me know. I've made it clear I want to be there for him.
No sooner do I come to that realization that my phone beeps.
Thanks for checking in, Harper. I appreciate it.
It’s polite, but it’s also a clear sign that he’s closing the door. Still, I try one more time.
Do you want to talk? Or meet up? I’m here if you need me.
…
The dots appear, signaling he’s typing, but they vanish almost as quickly as they came. I stare at the screen, waiting, but nothing happens. A tight ache forms in my chest as I set the phone down, trying not to let the silence feel like rejection.
He’s pulling away. Yesterday, I wasn't certain, but now there is no doubt.
And maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but it doesn’t make it any easier. The Jonah I know—the one who always keeps his cool, who cracks jokes even when the world is falling apart—is slipping further and further behind a wall I can’t reach.
And now, there’s this. Lila’s gambling and the trouble she’s caught up in—it’s not just about her struggles anymore. It’s about how deep she’s gotten, how far she’s fallen. And Jonah’s caught right in the middle, trying to hold it all together, trying to fix what might not be fixable.
I wrap my hands around my coffee mug. The warmth does little to ease the chill spreading through me. I can’t stop thinking about Jonah, about the weight he’s carrying on his shoulders. The guilt he wears like armor. He’s trying so hard to protect her, to protect everyone, but I wonder who’s protecting him.
I'm losing. I can feel it, and I know I should respect his space. But this is big—for him, for Lila, for everyone involved. My mind keeps circling back to how heavy all of this must be for him, how relentless it is to keep standing when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
I stare out the window, watching as the late afternoon sunlight filters through the trees. Jonah’s always been the guy who keeps it together, the one who seems untouchable even when the world’s falling apart. But even he has his limits.