35. Jonah
THIRTY-FIVE
Jonah
Jefferson County Courthouse
716 Richard Arrington Jr. Boulevard N, Birmingham
3:49 PM
The courtroom is colder than I expected. Or maybe it’s just the tension that makes it feel that way.
I'm leaning forward with my arms on my thighs and my fingers steepled in front of me. My right foot bounces wildly against the floor. I'm wearing my scrubs because I came here from the hospital.
Lila is standing at the defendant’s table, clad in an orange jumpsuit that looks like it’s swallowing her. Her hair is pulled back, and the faint traces of bruises on her face are a stark reminder of how much she’s been through. The cuffs around her wrists are too big, clinking when she shifts nervously while the judge and attorneys talk on her behalf.
The judge reads over the charges again— accessory after the fact, aiding and abetting . Words that feel foreign and surreal when attached to my sister. It’s hard to process that this is real, that it’s come to this.
Her attorney stands beside her, presenting the case for bond. He’s good—calm, measured, detailing Lila’s willingness to attend rehab in North Carolina and how she’s already set plans to move back in with our parents in Georgia afterward.
He emphasizes her proactive steps and her commitment to recovery. I know this is part of the strategy, but I can’t help feeling a glimmer of pride. She’s trying. For once, she’s trying.
The judge listens with a neutral expression. When he speaks, his tone is firm but not unkind. “Ms. Bellinger, it appears you’re taking steps in the right direction. I’ll approve bond with the following conditions: You must report directly to the designated rehab facility in North Carolina within forty-eight hours of your release. While in rehab, you’re required to comply fully with their program and any updates they provide to the court. After completing the program, you’ll return to Georgia to live with your parents. Any deviation from this plan will result in your bond being revoked. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Lila says quietly, her voice steady but barely above a whisper.
The judge nods. “If you follow through on these commitments, it could reflect positively during sentencing, should the case go to trial or if you enter a plea. Your focus for the next six weeks needs to be on recovery and laying the groundwork for a stable future. Take this opportunity seriously.”
My throat tightens as I watch her nod again. Her shoulders sag with relief. She looks so small, so young, even though she’s only five years younger than me. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t budge. How did it come to this? How did we get here?
The gavel strikes, signaling the end of the session, and the bailiff steps forward to escort Lila back. She glances over her shoulder as she’s led out. Our eyes lock for just a moment.
As the room empties, and my parents head to the room to meet with the attorney and Lila, I sit frozen, staring at the empty judges’ bench. This was supposed to be the low point, the bottom she needed to hit to turn things around. But it doesn’t feel like a turning point—it feels like a loss. Even with the plan laid out and the judge’s words of encouragement, I can’t shake the image of Lila in that orange jumpsuit.
I can’t stop thinking about Harper, either. About how badly I screwed up last night.
All I heard was that it was her dream job, something she couldn’t pass up. She framed it like she wanted my opinion, like she was asking me what I thought, but what was I supposed to say? Stay. Don’t go.
I would never ask her not to go. So, even if she did want to "decide together," there was always only one choice.
I couldn’t do that to her—not when she’s been clear from the start about her independence, her need to live life on her terms.
So, instead, I shut down. Because leaving for six months, going that far away, would suck all of the oxygen out of this living, breathing thing that is us. It would be the end.
And, quite honestly, it pissed me off. The truth is, I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to think about her leaving, about this thing between us slipping through my fingers.
Instead of saying any of that, though, I shut her out. Just like I’ve always done. And now, I'm alone, regretting the fact that I suck at love. Just like I knew I would.
It hits me while I’m aimlessly flipping through a pile of unread emails on my laptop at my kitchen counter. I can’t focus on a single word. Harper’s voice keeps replaying in my head. I’ve spent the whole day replaying that moment, dissecting it, and every time I come back to the same conclusion: I handled it like a goddamn child.
I glance at my phone. No new messages. Of course, there aren’t. Why would she reach out after the way I shut her down?
Only I can fix this.
When I grab my phone to call her, I remember seeing her name on the schedule for the night shift tonight. If she’s working, she’ll be at the hospital by now.
Shit. I have to go there. I can't wait until tomorrow.
I grab my keys and head out.
The ER is what I would expect on St. Patrick's Day. I'm sure they will be seeing drunk accidents all night. Bless them.
Nurses and techs rush past me, and most take a double-take when they see me. I'm out of place in my workout clothes and not on the schedule.
I catch a glimpse of Harper through one of the open doors. She’s crouched by a patient’s bed. I can almost hear her with her calm voice as she soothes the patient and adjusts an IV. She looks so in her element, so composed, and for a moment, all I can do is stand there and watch her.
God, I missed her.
I reach in my pocket and pull out an empty gum wrapper. I scribble a note and grab Carly walking by with a clipboard. “Carly,” I call out, intercepting her.
She stops, giving me a curious look. “Jonah? What are you doing here? Are you working tonight, now?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I just—” I glance back toward Harper. “I need to talk to Harper. When she’s done with that patient, can you give her this?”
Carly smirks as she takes it. “What is this, middle school? Passing notes now?”
“Just... make sure she gets it, okay?” I say, ignoring her teasing.
She rolls her eyes but nods. “Fine. But you owe me.”
I head up to the rooftop patio and grab a coffee on my way out. The cool night air does little to calm my nerves, and I find myself fidgeting, tapping my fingers against the side of the cup.
Fifteen minutes feels like an eternity. I’m starting to wonder if Carly forgot—or worse, if Harper decided she didn’t want to see me—when the door creaks open.
I look up, and there she is.
Her ponytail sways as she steps out onto the patio. Although wrinkled, her scrubs look perfect on her. Her face is tired but beautiful, the soft light catching on her cheekbones.
My chest tightens, and my palms clammy against the table. I feel like I’m sixteen again, seeing a girl I’ve been crushing on walk into the room.
In her hand is the foil wrapper I scribbled on. She places it down on the table in front of me.
I glance down at the note, the hastily scrawled words staring back at me:
Completely stupid but somewhat charming guy wants to see you on the rooftop?—
A lump forms in my throat, but I manage to grin. “Guilty as charged.”
She chuckles softly, pulling out the chair across from me but not sitting just yet. “Well, here I am. You’ve got about ten minutes before they realize I’m gone. Make it count.”
“Can I get you a coffee? Tea?” I ask, standing up.
She shakes her head, crossing her arms. “I don't have the time, unfortunately. I snuck out, and Carly is covering for me, but they will notice because we are short tonight.”
I take a deep breath, rubbing the back of my neck as I try to find the right words. “I owe you an apology. Last night... I handled it all wrong. You were trying to let me in, trying to talk about your future, and all I could do was shut down. That wasn’t fair to you.”
She doesn’t say anything but watches me with that steady, unflinching gaze of hers. I'm trying to read her, but she's still here, so that's something.
“The truth is, I didn’t know how to handle it,” I admit. “You said it was a dream job, and all I could hear was that you were leaving. And yeah, that scared the hell out of me. Because it's not in my DNA to ask you to stay—I couldn’t do that—but the thought of losing you...” My voice falters, and I clear my throat. “It felt like there were no choices. And I acted like a dick.”
Her eyes soften, and I can see her starting to lower her guard.
“But Harper,” I continue, leaning toward her on the table, my hand finding hers, “I realized something today. I’d rather lose six months than lose you forever. If you’ll give me another chance, I’ll try to be better—not perfect, because I’m a work in progress—but I’ll keep working at it. I swear. And I'll send you love notes on gum wrappers every day.”
She blinks, and for a moment, I’m terrified she’s going to tell me it’s too late. But then she smiles—small, hesitant, but real.
“You’re such a stubborn ass, you know that?” she says, her voice shaky but light.
I laugh, relief flooding through me. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”
She takes a step closer, closing the gap between us, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself hope.
“Six months,” she says quietly. “That’s all it is.”
I nod. “And I’ll be here when you get back. If you’ll have me.”
Her answer comes in the form of a kiss—soft at first, then deeper, more certain. The world falls away, and for a moment, it’s just us.
When we pull back, she rests her forehead against mine. “I have to get back to work,” she whispers.
“I know.”
She takes a step back, her hand lingering on my arm for a moment before she turns and walks toward the door.