20. Jonah #2
“No one’s asking you to fix anything. Just show up. That’s the part she doesn’t expect.”
I nod slowly, letting her words sink in. The idea terrifies me—walking back into that room knowing I might face another rejection. But the alternative—walking away without trying—feels worse.
“Okay,” I say, standing up. My legs protest after hours in the uncomfortable chair. “I’ll go back.”
Emily smiles, and for a moment, I see the family resemblance more clearly. “Good. I’ll wait here with your dog.”
Max whines as I stand up, clearly reluctant to be separated from me. I scratch behind his ears. “I’ll be back, buddy. Promise.”
The walk down the hospital corridor feels longer than it should. My heart pounds against my ribs with each step, my mind racing through possible scenarios. What will I say? What if she tells me to leave again?
I pause outside her door, taking a deep breath. Then I knock softly before pushing it open.
Lila’s lying on her side, staring out the window. For a moment, she doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge me. I wonder if she’s asleep, but then I see her shoulders tense slightly. She knows I’m here.
“I thought you’d be gone by now,” she says, not looking at me. Her voice is flat, drained of emotion.
“I was in the waiting room,” I admit.
This makes her turn. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face pale except for the angry scratch across her forehead. The sight of her like this—wounded in ways that go beyond the physical—makes my chest ache.
“Why?” she asks, and the single word contains a universe of questions.
I step further into the room, letting the door close behind me. “Because I couldn’t leave.”
“I told you to go.” Her voice is careful, like she’s testing the floor for weak boards
“You did.” I stop at the foot of her bed, one hand resting on the metal rail.
“I was awful to you.”
“You were.” I move around to the side, close enough now that I can see the thin hospital bracelet loose on her wrist. She watches me approach with wary eyes, like she’s bracing for something.
Another accusation, maybe. Or a goodbye.
Instead, I sit in the chair beside her bed, close enough to touch but not reaching for her. “I’m not leaving, Lila.”
She blinks rapidly, as if trying to process my words through a fog. Her lips part but no sound comes out.
“Even if you tell me to go again,” I continue, “I’ll just come back. I’ve already tried leaving, and it didn’t take.”
Something shifts in her expression—a flicker of vulnerability behind the wall she’s built. Her good hand clutches at the hospital sheet, knuckles white.
“I don’t deserve that,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Not after what I said.”
“Maybe not,” I agree. “But I’m here anyway.”
A tear slips down her cheek, tracking along the angry scratch on her forehead. I resist the urge to wipe it away, knowing she needs space right now.
“The truck wasn’t your fault,” she says finally, the words coming out in a rush. “I know that. I’ve known it since the second the words left my mouth. I saw it, and all I could think was that Dad is really gone now. That there’s nothing left.”
My chest tightens painfully. “Lila?—”
“No, let me finish.” She struggles to sit up straighter, wincing at the movement. “When the tornado hit, and you had your arms around me in that bathtub, I felt safe. For the first time since Dad died. And that terrified me more than the storm.”
“Why?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.
“Because people leave, Jonah. They always leave.” Her eyes meet mine. “Because you’ll leave too, eventually. And it’s easier to push you away now than to lose you later.”
I should say something comforting, but the raw honesty in her voice leaves me speechless. She’s laid herself bare in a way I never expected, and suddenly my own fears seem insignificant in comparison.
“I heard you,” she says quietly, barely above a whisper. “In the bathtub. When the tornado was right over us.”
My heart stutters. The confession I’d made into the roar, the words I thought had been swallowed by the storm—she heard them. And she hasn’t mentioned it until now.
“You heard me?”
She nods slowly, another tear escaping down her cheek.
“I think I’ve always known. Since that first day on the road, when you argued with me about convective parameters.
” A tiny smile flickers across her face.
“You were so determined to be right, and I was so determined to make you admit I was right, and somewhere in between all that stubbornness...”
“We found something else,” I finish for her.
“Something terrifying,” she admits. “Because I don’t do this, Jonah. I don’t let people in. I chase storms and keep moving and don’t look back. That’s how I survive.”
I reach for her hand then, unable to resist any longer. Her fingers are cold as they curl around mine, but there’s strength in her grip.
“Maybe survival isn’t enough anymore,” I say, looking directly into her eyes. “Maybe there’s more to living than just not dying. I want you, Lila. Flaws and all. I’m just asking you not to push me away because you’re scared of what might happen.”
Her fingers curl tentatively around mine. “I want this too.” Her eyes meet mine, vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. “God help me, I do. Even though you fold your socks and alphabetize your cereal boxes?—”
“I don’t alphabetize my cereal boxes,” I protest.
“You absolutely would if you had more than one kind.” She squeezes my hand. “Your weird professor habits are going to drive me crazy. The way you overthink everything.”
“I don’t?—”
“You literally did it yesterday,” she cuts me off. Her lips curve into the ghost of a smile. “But maybe...maybe that’s what I need. Someone who makes me stop and think before I leap headfirst into a supercell.”
“And maybe I need someone who pushes me to take risks,” I admit. “Someone who doesn’t let me hide behind computer screens and data.
“Someone who makes you see the world beyond algorithms and spreadsheets,” Lila adds.
I nod, feeling something in my chest expand. “We balance each other out.”
“Like a perfectly calibrated weather system,” she says, and I can’t help but smile at the meteorological metaphor.
“So we’re doing this?”
“I mean, it would be terrible of me to turn down my husband slash boyfriend slash real-life Clark Kent after such a grand speech.”
“Thank God,” I breathe, and then I’m moving forward without thinking, without analyzing, without running through the scenarios in my head.
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her—not gently, not carefully. This isn’t a tentative experiment anymore. This is certainty. This is need. This is everything I’ve been trying to rationalize away since the moment I met her.
She makes a small sound against my mouth, something between surprise and approval, and then her good hand is in my hair, pulling me closer.
The angle is awkward with her in the hospital bed, but I don’t care.
I deepen the kiss, pouring everything into it—the fear of losing her, the relief of finding her again, the promise of something neither of us expected.
The kiss turns hungry, desperate. Her fingers tighten in my hair, and I can feel her smile against my mouth.
“As much as I like kissing you, I have some other things in mind,” she smiles up at me.
“Me too, but maybe when you’re not in a hospital bed, and injured.”
“Fair point.”
The door opens, and Emily pokes her head in. “Is it safe to come back? Have you two figured things out, or should I take Max for another walk?”
As if summoned by his name, Max pushes past Emily’s legs and trots to Lila’s bedside, his tail wagging hopefully. He rests his chin on the edge of the mattress, looking between us with those soulful brown eyes.
“We’re working on it,” Lila tells her sister, not letting go of my hand.
Emily’s gaze drops to our intertwined fingers, and her eyebrows rise slightly.
She steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her.
“So,” she says, crossing her arms with a knowing smile.
“Does this mean I need to start planning for a wedding? Because Mom’s been saving her dress patterns since Lila was twelve. ”
“Emily!” Lila hisses, her face flushing bright red.
“What? It’s not every day that my sister finds someone who can put up with her.
You need to lock this man down,” Emily turns to me with exaggerated seriousness.
“Lila’s favorite flowers are sunflowers, she hates the color mint green, and she’ll definitely cry during the first dance. You’re welcome.”
I can’t help but laugh, even as Lila buries her face in her hands. Max, sensing the shift in mood, decides to help by leaping onto the hospital bed with surprising agility.
“No!” I reach for him too late. “Max, get down?—”
But it’s already happening. Max circles once, twice, and plops himself directly onto Lila’s lap, his tail thumping with enthusiastic force.
“Ow! Max!” Lila yelps, then dissolves into laughter as he tries to lick her face. “I’m fine, I’m fine, you big doof.”
Emily snaps a quick photo with her phone. “Perfect. That’s going in my Christmas card this year.”
“Don’t you dare,” Lila warns, still trying to fend off Max’s affection without hurting her shoulder.
“Too late.” Emily shows me the screen, where Lila is caught mid-laugh with Max’s tongue aimed at her nose.
“I think we just created your first family photo,” Emily declares proudly, zooming in on Lila’s horrified expression. “Everyone’s going to love this.”
“Oh my God, Em, delete that!” Lila tries to swipe at the phone, but Max’s weight pins her down.
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “I’d like a copy of that.”
“Oh my God, you two are insufferable already,” Lila groans. She looks at me over Max’s golden head, and for a moment, everything else in the room goes soft and out of focus. Just her. Just us.
Emily clears her throat. “Right. Well, I’m going to go find the cafeteria and give you two some.
..space.” She makes air quotes that are completely unnecessary.
“Try not to do anything that would make the nurses kick me out of visiting hours. I drove six hours to get here and I’d like to keep my privileges. ”
The door clicks shut behind her, and we’re alone again. I look down at the mess of us—Lila trapped beneath Max’s enthusiastic affection while she tries to ward off his tongue with her good hand. There’s something about this that feels right. Like this is where we’ve been heading all along.