33. Jonah
THIRTY-THREE
Jonah
Jonah’s Condo
7:18 PM
I savor the silence and solitude and curse it. Lila has already gone to her room for the night, which I appreciate, and my parents are at their hotel. The three of them leave for North Carolina to check Lila into rehab in the morning.
The sound of a sharp knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance at the clock. Who the hell is knocking this late? My stomach twists as I stand with the weight of my conversation with Harper still fresh and raw in my chest.
When I open the door, two uniformed police officers stand on the other side. Their expressions are firm but professional. I recognize them immediately as the men who came to the hospital asking about Lila.
A third man in plain clothes holding a folder steps forward.
“Dr. Bellinger?” the man in plainclothes asks, though it’s less a question and more confirmation.
“Yes,” I reply cautiously, my heart sinking. “What’s this about?”
“We’re here for Lila Bellinger,” he says, his voice steady, his words landing like a punch to the gut. “We have a warrant for her arrest.”
“What?” I choke out, my voice rising. “Arrest? For what?”
The man doesn’t flinch at my tone. He simply flips open the folder and hands me a piece of paper. “Lila Bellinger is being charged with conspiracy to commit armed robbery and aiding and abetting multiple felonies.”
I stare at him, my brain scrambling to make sense of the words. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is some kind of mistake.”
“It’s no mistake, sir,” he says evenly. “Is she here?”
Before I can answer, Lila appears in the hallway. Her face is pale, and her arms are wrapped around herself. Her eyes dart between me and the officers, wide with fear. “Jonah,” she says weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not a mistake."
“You knew,” I say, the realization crashing over me. “You knew this was coming, didn’t you? After the meeting yesterday—did they tell you this was a possibility?”
She doesn’t answer. Her silence is damning.
“You didn’t think to warn anyone? To warn me?” My voice rises, anger spilling over, fueled by the weight of the day and everything leading up to this moment. “Jesus, Lila, what the hell were you thinking?”
The plainclothes officer steps forward. “Miss Bellinger, we’re going to need you to come with us.” As he says this, he pulls a set of handcuff from behind his back and opens them with a metallic clink.
Lila doesn’t resist. She nods and turns around, placing her hands behind her back. Her shoulders slump as the officer closes the handcuffs around her wrists.
The sight of the cold metal snapping around her wrists makes my stomach churn. She glances back at me, her eyes glistening with tears, but I can’t bring myself to say anything.
As they read her rights aloud, my chest tightens. The words blur together—charges, evidence, statements. Conspiracy. Joey. Mark. The robbery. It all clicks into place, and the weight of it crushes me.
“How long have you known?” I demand, my voice trembling with frustration. “How long have you been keeping this from us?”
“I didn’t think it would come to this,” she says, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.”
“Well, congratulations,” I snap as my anger boils over. “We’re all in it now.”
The officers lead her toward the door, and I feel utterly helpless. My anger doesn’t have a target anymore, just a swirling mix of frustration, fear, and betrayal.
Before she steps outside, Lila turns back to me. “Jonah, I’m sorry.”
But the words do nothing to ease the knot in my chest. I stand frozen as I watch them guide her out of my condo. Her small figure is dwarfed by the officers flanking her. The door clicks shut behind them, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.
For the first time in years, I feel completely untethered—like everything I’ve been trying to hold together is finally unraveling, thread by thread.
7:39 PM
The condo is impossibly quiet after they leave. I stand frozen for a moment, staring at the door as if willing it to open again, as if Lila might walk back in and tell me this was all some sick joke.
But she won’t. The sound of her being read her rights is still echoing in my head.
Conspiracy to commit armed robbery. Aiding and abetting. Joey. Mark. The words play on a loop, each repetition hitting harder than the last.
I grab my phone, pacing the length of the living room. There’s no way I’m going to sleep tonight without answers. My fingers hover over my contacts, debating whether to call the attorney. But it’s late, and I know the wheels of the legal system don’t spin any faster just because I want them to.
Instead, I drop onto the couch and open my laptop. If there’s a connection to a Joey or Mark, then there has to be something I can find. Some detail that makes this all make sense.
I remember overhearing her on the phone at some point talking about Joey recently. Who is Joey?
I start typing. Jefferson County armed robberies. Several headlines pop up:
February Grocery Store And Convenience Store Holdups
Birmingham String Of Robberies
Robbers Shot By Good Samaritan
Robbery Suspect Apprehended at UAB
I start clicking on news articles immediately. Most of them have a similar theme, outlining the string of armed robberies that happened last month. The dates are familiar—they match up with the chaos in the ER.
One headline catches my eye: “Suspect Apprehended After Grocery Store Robbery Turns Violent.” I click it, my pulse quickening as the page loads.
The article is filled with the usual details—a store clerk robbed, customers held at gunpoint, an armed private citizen shooting the perpetrator before the suspects flee. But then I see his name: Joey Blanchard, along with a mugshot.
Holy shit. It's the same Joey who was wheeled into my OR that night, who I saved with a bullet still lodged in his shoulder.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter under my breath. My fingers tighten around the edge of the laptop as I keep reading. Joey was arrested at the hospital after his surgery, the police claiming he matched the description of one of the robbers. His brother, Mark, is still at large, wanted for multiple counts of armed robbery.
And now, apparently, my sister is somehow tangled up in all of it.
I search Lila’s name next, dreading what I’ll find. At first, there’s nothing—no arrests, no headlines.
But then I find it: a brief mention in a local news report about Joey’s case.
“Lila Bellinger, an alleged associate of the suspects, is under investigation for potential involvement in the robberies.”
Associate? My stomach churns. What the hell does that mean?
I dig deeper, clicking through articles, forums, anything I can find. Piece by piece, the puzzle starts to come together. Joey was her boyfriend—or at least, that’s what these articles are referring to him as.
It may be late, but I need to talk to her attorney. I hired him, for Christ's sake. I need to know what in the hell is going on.
I slam the laptop shut and pick up my phone. The realization hits like a punch to the gut. Lila might not have held a gun, but she knew. She let them put themselves—and everyone else—in danger to try to clean up her mess.
And even more than that, she put Harper in danger. That man held a gun to Harper.
My phone plays "I'm Sexy And I Know It" before I call the attorney. It’s him. I answer immediately, barely giving him a chance to say hello. “What the hell is going on?”
He sighs, his voice calm but tired. “Jonah, I was going to call you in the morning. They’re charging Lila with conspiracy to commit armed robbery and aiding and abetting. They have texts, phone calls—evidence that she knew what Joey and Mark were planning and didn’t report it.”
“Texts?” I echo, my voice rising. “She was texting these guys about robberies?”
“She claims she didn’t know they were serious,” he explains. “But the messages suggest otherwise. There’s one where Joey mentions ‘getting her the money,’ and she doesn’t question where it’s coming from.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a wave of anger and disbelief crashing over me. “And what about the meeting yesterday? Did they tell her this was coming?”
“They hinted at it,” he admits. “But Lila didn’t want to believe it. She thought she could convince them she didn’t know anything.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Who the fuck is she?”
“Jonah,” the attorney says, his tone steady but firm. “This isn’t hopeless. She didn’t commit the robberies, and she’s agreed to cooperate. If we play this right, we can minimize the fallout.”
“Minimize the fallout,” I repeat, the words bitter on my tongue. “Tell that to her while she’s sitting in a jail cell.”
I hang up before he can respond. I drop my head into my hands, the events of the night spinning in my mind. Harper, Lila, the arrest—it’s too much. I don't know how much more I can take.
I sit at the kitchen table and stare at my phone, trying to decide what to do.
The thought of Lila alone in a jail cell twists my stomach. Part of me wants to be furious at her for keeping secrets, for letting us get blindsided. But another part knows she’s scared out of her mind.
When the phone rings, the screen lights up with “Unavailable.” My breath catches.
I swipe to answer. “Hello?”
“Jonah?” Her voice is small, shaky.
“Lila,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “Lila, how are you calling me? Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
She exhales, a shaky sound that makes me grip the edge of the table. “I am using my one call. I wanted to talk to you. I honestly didn’t think it would come to this. I'm so sorry.”
“That’s not good enough,” I snap. “You had to know they’d figure it out eventually. You met with the cops yesterday, for God’s sake. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“The attorney told them I would cooperate. They let me leave. I thought we all had an agreement,” she stammers. “He said there wasn’t enough evidence to charge me. I thought I was safe.”
“Safe?” I bark out a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “You’re sitting in jail, Lila. You were fucking an armed robber, who, by the way, held a gun to Harper.”
There’s a long pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is softer, almost a whisper. “I had no idea they were doing that, I swear. They talked about getting money to help me, they mentioned they had robbed a convenience store once. No one got hurt. I was desperate. I had no idea anyone would actually use a gun. You have to believe me.”
I get up and pace around the condo. “Well, people did get hurt. And now I’m finding out about Joey and Mark, about how you were tied up in their shit. Do you have any idea how blindsided I feel right now?”
“I know,” she says, her voice cracking. “I know, Jonah. I’m sorry.”
Her apology is hollow because I'm sure she would never fess up to this if she weren't sitting in jail right now. She's sorry she got caught. “Tell me the truth, Lila. How deep were you in with them? Don't fucking hold back any more.”
“I'll tell you everything,” she admits, her voice breaking. “I owed money—so much money—and they said they could help. I didn’t ask questions. I needed a way out.”
“And look where it got you,” I say, my voice low, tight. “Jesus, Lila. You could’ve come to me.”
“I was ashamed,” she says quietly. “You’ve always had your shit together, Jonah. I’m the screw-up. The one who keeps dragging the family down.”
“Stop,” I cut in, my tone softening. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” she says bitterly. “But I’m trying, Jonah. I’m going to rehab. I’m going to get clean. I just need a chance to fix this. I need you to believe in me.”
I swallow hard, my grip tightening on the phone. “The attorney’s working on getting you bonded out tomorrow. Once you’re out, you need to go to rehab, and you need to cooperate. You have to make this right. All of it.”
“Yes, I will,” she says, her voice barely audible. “I understand.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence is deafening, but it’s not entirely hopeless.
“They are saying I have to get off,” she says finally. I can hear her crying through the phone. “Please don't give up on me.”
“I won't. I promise." I close my eyes, my chest tight. “Just don’t make me regret it.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “I won’t.”
The line goes dead, and I set the phone down on the table, staring at it for a long moment.
Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.