13. Lila
LILA
The hospital doors slide open, and morning sunlight hits me like a slap to the face.
I squint, my good arm automatically rising to shield my eyes while my injured one throbs in its sling.
Twenty-seven stitches, one concussion, and enough painkillers in my system to tranquilize a small horse—not my worst injury from chasing, but definitely not my finest moment either.
And then I see him.
Jonah stands beside my truck. He's wearing those jeans like they're some kind of costume, but somehow he looks more at ease in them today. Max sits obediently at his feet, tail thumping against the pavement when he spots me. But what really catches my attention is the steaming cup in Jonah's hand.
“Is that for me or are you just taunting the injured woman?” I call out.
“Depends,” Jonah replies. “Did you terrorize any more nurses after I left?”
“Only the one who tried to wake me at 5 AM for 'routine vitals.
'“ I make my way toward them, the orderly pushing my wheelchair moving slowly as if I will break if he even thinks about hitting a bump in the sidewalk.
“Pretty sure she'll be filing a formal complaint about my creative use of hospital terminology.”
Max breaks free from Jonah. “Max, no!” Jonah calls out, but it's too late.
The golden retriever barrels toward me like a furry missile of joy, completely ignoring Jonah's command.
I brace myself for impact, but Max skids to a stop just before reaching me, his whole body wiggling with excitement while keeping a respectful distance from my injury.
“At least someone's happy to see me,” I say, reaching out with my good hand to scratch behind his ears.
“Your coffee,” Jonah cuts in smoothly, stepping forward and offering me the cup. “The barista looked concerned for your cardiovascular health when I asked for an extra shot of espresso.”
I take the cup, inhaling the rich aroma like it's oxygen. “My cardiovascular health is the least of my worries right now.” The first sip is heaven—hot, strong, and sweet enough to combat the bitter aftertaste of hospital meds.
“I did laundry at the motel. I hope you don’t mind that I did yours.” Jonah nods toward my duffel bag visible through the back window. “And I got your prescriptions filled at the pharmacy across the street.”
“If you wanted to sneak a peek at my underwear, you could have just asked, Jonah.”
Color floods his face as he stumbles over a response. “I…that’s not what I…there was a laundry service and I just thought?—”
“Relax, Professor.” I take another sip of my coffee. “I’m teasing you. Though your face is currently matching the color of my favorite flannel shirt.” I lift a brow.
The orderly clears his throat. “Sir, I need you to sign these discharge papers to release her into your care.”
He hands over a clipboard. Jonah glances at me. I nod, giving him the go-ahead.
When he returns it, the orderly looks like he wants to add something—probably a lecture about taking it easy—but one look at me changes his mind.
“You’re free to go,” he settles on, stepping back from the wheelchair.
I stand slowly, testing my balance. The world tilts for a second, but I stay upright. Max circles me anxiously, ready to catch me if I fall.
“I’ve got her,” Jonah adds, moving to my side, his hand steadying my elbow. His grip is light but sure, and I hate how much I appreciate it.
“I can walk,” I insist, but I don't pull away from him.
The parking lot seems to stretch for miles between me and my truck.
“It's not that far,” I mutter, but my legs already feel wobbly, and I've only taken three steps.
The painkillers are making everything soft around the edges, like I'm moving through cotton candy.
Jonah's grip on my elbow tightens . His touch is grounding, warm and safe. I stumble , and his hand slides to my waist, steadying me. “Let's take it slow.”
Hospitals have a way of making loneliness louder.
The antiseptic smell. The constant machine noises.
The endless hours staring at ceiling tiles while pain medication drags time into something shapeless and miserable.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d gotten used to Jonah’s presence until he wasn’t there. Or Max snoring somewhere nearby.
I had missed them both.
Max stays close to my left side, as if he's appointed himself my personal therapy dog. It's sweet, really, how attached he's gotten to both of us in such a short time. Almost like he's decided we're his new pack.
We make our way across the parking lot at what feels like a glacial pace. Each step sends a dull throb through my shoulder, but I clench my teeth and keep moving. I refuse to be wheeled back inside.
“I went back and found your camera this morning. It’s drying out on the back seat.
I also checked the radar,” Jonah adds, keeping things casual, like he’s trying to pull my focus away from the pain.
“The system we were tracking yesterday has intensified. Three confirmed tornadoes touched down near the Texas-Louisiana border.”
“And you're telling me this because...?”
“Because I know you'll ask the moment we get in the truck,” he replies with surprising insight. “And because I've already plotted our route to the southern edge of the storm.”
I stop walking and look up at him, narrowing my gaze. “You’ve what now?”
“You heard me.” He holds my gaze without flinching. “Unless you’d rather recover in a motel room watching delayed storm coverage?”
I stare at him, trying to process what I'm hearing.
“Who are you and what have you done with my nerdy professor?” I ask, only half-joking.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I believe the correct term is 'nerdy hot professor,' according to your medication-induced ramblings last night.”
I feign ignorance. “I said no such thing.”
“You compared me to Clark Kent,” he reminds me, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “To a nurse.”
“That was clearly the concussion talking,” I mutter as we resume our slow walk toward the truck. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
I glance up at him and immediately regret it. Because Jonah is smiling. Oh, it absolutely went to his head. All of it.
He looks absurdly pleased with himself right now, like he’s floating three feet off the ground while he holds me against his side.
“Too late,” he replies lightly. “I’ve already updated my faculty bio to include ‘Superman-adjacent.’”
I snort, then immediately regret it as pain shoots through my shoulder. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry,” Jonah adds, though the smirk on his face says otherwise. “Let me help you into the truck.”
“I can manage.” I reach for the door handle, but a wave of dizziness hits me, making the world spin. I grab the side mirror to steady myself, hating the weakness in my body.
Jonah doesn't comment, just opens the passenger door and hovers close enough to catch me if I fall but not so close that I feel smothered. It's a perfect balance that I grudgingly appreciate.
“Fine,” I mutter, accepting his outstretched hand as I climb awkwardly into the passenger seat. The leather interior welcomes me like an old friend, but it feels strange being on this side of the cab.
Max jumps into the back seat without prompting, settling onto his blanket with a contented sigh. He's adapting to this new life faster than any of us.
“So,” I say, once Jonah slides behind the wheel, “Are we really chasing today or was that all a ploy to get me into the truck?”
“You figured out my evil plan to hold you hostage in a motel room.”
I narrow my eyes at him, unsure if he’s actually teasing or if the pain medication is playing tricks on me.
“You can’t honestly tell me that had I said no, and kept you prisoner that you wouldn’t have stolen your keys and gone anyway.
Per your own admission, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone out on a tornado joyride.
” He pauses, taking a long, hard look at me.
“Unless you've reconsidered your 'from the passenger seat' plan?”
“No, I just...” I trail off, unsure how to express my surprise. Yesterday, he was a reluctant participant at best, and now, he’s fully supporting my stupidity. “Who are you, and what happened to my professor?”
“I had all night to think about what you said.”
“About the Clark Kent thing?”
He laughs, adjusting the driver's seat to accommodate his long legs.
“No, about the research mattering. About how people need better warning systems.” His voice takes on a more serious tone.
“I watched you nearly bleed out yesterday. How is that any different from civilians getting caught off guard by unpredictable tornado paths?”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile this new version of Jonah. “So what, now you're all in? Just like that?”
“I'm a scientist, Lila. When presented with compelling evidence, I adjust my hypothesis.” He starts the engine, the rumble vibrating through the seat. “And yesterday provided very compelling evidence that field research matters.”
“Even with a one-armed storm chaser and a rescue dog?”
“Especially with those.” His eyes meet mine briefly before returning to the road as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Besides, I've been studying your previous chase footage. I think I can handle the driving while you navigate.”
I lean my head back against the seat, suddenly exhausted despite having just woken up. The pain medication leaves everything soft around the edges, but I’m clear-headed enough to notice the shift in Jonah.
He' s calmer now that I' m out of the hospital.
Still hovering—I catch him glancing over every few seconds in my peripheral vision, like he's waiting for me to tip sideways.
But, the tension is slowly loosening the farther we get from the hospital.
Something that looks a lot like the way my dad used to watch my mom sleep off migraines on the couch.
Alert in case I need him, but distant enough away to respect my space.