19. Lila #2
Jonah goes completely still. That hurts worse than anything—worse than my shoulder, worse than my feet. It’s like I’ve hit something so deep he’s shut down. I want him to push back, to tell me I’m being unfair, but he just sits there, taking it.
“I didn’t mean—” I start, but the words fall apart. Because part of me did mean it. In that moment, I meant all of it.
Jonah stands slowly, careful, like even the air between us might crack. “You’re right,” he says, so quiet I almost miss it. “This was my idea. I’ll take responsibility for the equipment with the university. You won’t be on the hook for any of it.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“You should rest,” he cuts in, avoiding my gaze. “The doctor said you need it.”
Max whines, looking between us like he can feel something shifting. Jonah gives a gentle tug on the leash, but the dog digs in, refusing to leave my side.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears one last time. “Go with him.”
Reluctantly, Max follows Jonah toward the door. At the threshold, Jonah pauses, his back to me. “I’ll make the arrangements for you. A motel, a rental car. Whatever you need.”
“I don’t need your help,” I snap, sharper than I mean to be—but I don’t stop. “I’ll figure it out. Like I always do. I don’t need you.”
His shoulders tighten, just enough to show it lands. He doesn’t turn. Just gives a small nod and steps out, Max trailing behind him. The door clicks shut, quiet and final.
The moment they’re gone, everything breaks loose. Tears spill fast, hot and unstoppable. I press my hands to my face, like I can force it back down, shove it somewhere it won’t hurt.
But it’s already too late.
I curl onto my side, ignoring the pain that shoots through my shoulder and the sting in my bandaged feet. The hospital sheet is rough against my cheek as I sob, ugly and raw, the sound muffled against my pillow.
I cry for Dad’s truck, for the equipment I’ll never replace, for the last physical pieces of him now twisted into scrap.
I cry for the strangers who didn’t make it through the night, for Max—who lost one home and almost lost another—and for what I just did to Jonah, who carried me through debris and made sure I was safe.
Time loses shape. I don’t know how long I lie there, crying until my throat aches and my face burns. Eventually, there’s nothing left. The tears stop, leaving me hollow. I stare at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights humming softly above, shadows shifting as people pass outside the door.
I close my eyes, replaying the words I threw at Jonah. They weren’t fair. None of this was his fault—not the tornado, not where we ended up, not Dad’s truck. The universe doesn’t work that way, no matter how badly I want someone to blame.
I know that. Storm chasing taught me that much. follows its own rules, indifferent to everything we try to hold onto.
But knowing better doesn’t make the loss hurt any less.
A soft knock at the door makes my heart leap into my throat. Maybe it’s Jonah. Maybe he’s come back despite everything I said. I quickly wipe at my face, trying to erase the evidence of my breakdown.
“Come in,” I call, my voice raw from crying.
The door swings open slowly. I try to sit up straighter, ignoring the pain that shoots through my shoulder. I need to apologize immediately, before he can say anything. I need to make this right.
But it’s not Jonah who walks through the door.
“Lila!” Emily rushes toward me, her face a mask of worry and relief. “Oh my god, are you okay? I came as soon as I heard!”
I stare at her, trying to process her sudden appearance. My little sister, who should be hundreds of miles away, is somehow here, wearing wrinkled clothes like she’s been traveling all night, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.
“Em?” I manage. “How did you?—”
“Your professor called me.” She drops her bag and carefully wraps her arms around me, mindful of my shoulder. “He said there was a tornado, that you were hurt, and that you’d been taken to the hospital. Please tell me you’re okay.”
I let her hug me, even though everything in me feels hollow like something essential has already been scooped out, leaving only the shape behind.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
Emily leans back, narrowing her gaze at me. “You look like you got hit by a tornado.”
“I did get hit by a tornado,” I mutter.
“Okay, fair,” she concedes, brushing a piece of hair out of my face.
A weak huff of laughter slips out before I can stop it. Her attention drifts around the room, then back to me, and right on cue, her mouth curves into something mischievous.
“So,” she nudges my arm, “where is he?”
I blink. “Who?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replies lightly. “The attractive professor who’s rescued you not once, but twice. I figured he’d be glued to your side, feeding you ice chips or something.”
I groan, dragging my good hand over my face. “Emily, please. I just survived a tornado. Now is not the time.”
“And he survived it with you,” she shoots back. “That’s basically a rom-com setup. You don’t get to skip to the dramatic third act without warning me.”
“I’m not doing this right now.”
“Doing what?” she counters, all innocence. “Asking where your storm-chasing boyfriend is?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Sure,” she replies. “And Max isn’t your dog.”
“He’s not my dog either,” I remind her, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in my gut. “And I didn’t mean Jonah’s not my boyfriend. I meant he’s...” I trail off, realizing I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“He’s what?” Emily presses, pulling a chair closer to my bed.
“Gone, probably,” I admit, the words stinging as they leave my mouth. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
Emily’s expression softens. “What happened?”
“I blamed him for everything. The tornado, losing Dad’s truck, the equipment. All of it.” The memory makes me wince. “It wasn’t fair. None of it was his fault.”
“So apologize,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
I shake my head. “You didn’t see his face, Em. I really hurt him.”
“Then apologize better.” She squeezes my hand. “Look, I’ve only talked to the guy twice on the phone, but I could tell he cares about you. A lot.”
“That was before I accused him of ruining my life.”
Emily rolls her eyes. “Dramatic much? I’m sure you didn’t say that exactly.”
“Close enough,” I mutter, picking at a loose thread on the hospital blanket. “Anyway, he said he’d make arrangements for a motel and rental car, so I’m guessing he’s planning to bail.”
“Or maybe he’s giving you space.”
“You didn’t see him, Em. He’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”
“You didn’t try to stop him?”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
I close it again, feeling the lump in my throat tighten.
The honest answer is no, but the deeper truth is that I sat there, paralyzed, watching him walk away, my heart pounding in my chest as if willing him to turn back.
“No,” I finally whisper, the admission tasting bitter on my tongue.
“Did you call him after?”
I shake my head, the shame pooling in my stomach like a stone.
“Text him?”
Another shake, my fingers pulling at a loose thread on the blanket’s edge until it gives.
I keep seeing his face—not the hurt in it, but the moment just before, when he looked at me like I was someone worth looking at.
I had felt it building for days, that terrifying, inconvenient, completely unwanted thing, and I had taken the first excuse I could find to burn it down.
I pushed away the man I was falling in love with.
The thought lands in my chest like something dropped from a great height.
I was falling in love with him, and I handed him debris.
Another shake.
Emily lets out a disbelieving breath and turns away for a second, dragging a hand through her hair. “Lila, you told the man who just went through a tornado with you that this is his fault, trauma dumping everything onto him, and then you let him walk away without saying anything else?”
“Yes. That is exactly what I did.”
She turns back to me, frustration and disbelief mixing with something softer. “He called me. Do you understand that? He didn’t have to. He barely knows me, and he called because he was worried about you.”
I look at the door. “He didn’t argue. He didn’t push back or try to defend himself. He just stood there and took it, and then he left.”
Emily winces. “That’s worse.”
“Yeah.”
A tear slides back into my hair. I don’t bother with it. Somewhere in the short time I’ve known him, without meaning to, without wanting to, I had let Jonah Reed become someone I couldn’t afford to lose—and the moment I realized it, I handed him a reason to go.
“God, I’m such an idiot,” I whisper, staring at the hospital ceiling. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Emily’s face as she leans closer.
“You’re not an idiot,” she says, but her tone suggests otherwise. “You’re grieving, and hurt, and you lashed out. It happens.”
“But it shouldn’t have happened to him.” I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. The medication the doctor gave me is kicking in, making my limbs feel heavy. “He didn’t deserve that.”
Emily squeezes my hand. “Then tell him that.”
“I don’t even know where he is.” My voice sounds small, defeated. “He took Max and just left.”
Emily says, pulling her cell from her pocket. “From when he called me. Should I text him?”
I hesitate, fear gripping me. What if he doesn’t want to hear from me? What if I’ve ruined everything?
“Lila,” Emily prompts. “This isn’t like you. You don’t run from things. You chase them.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I chase storms for a living, but when it comes to real emotional risk, I hide. I’ve been hiding since Dad died—behind my truck, behind the storms, behind my sarcasm. Now, stripped of everything, I’m left with nothing but raw, unguarded truth.
I stare at the blank ceiling, the truth sitting on my chest like a boulder.
Emily is right—about everything. I need to apologize.
I need to tell Jonah I didn’t mean it, that I was in shock and terrified and grieving, that the words came from a place so dark I couldn’t control them.
That he saved my life, twice now, and instead of thanking him I threw it in his face like it meant nothing.
I open my mouth to tell her to call him. The words are right there, ready to tumble out.
But then I glance down at my feet, wrapped in white gauze, propped uselessly on a stack of pillows. My shoulder throbs with every heartbeat, the sling digging into my neck. Even if I found the courage, even if he somehow forgave me—what would I even say to him?
Perhaps this is for the best. I can picture Jonah back in his lab, surrounded by charts and data, where everything is predictable and controlled.
It’s a world of comfort and safety, far removed from the chaos I thrive in.
The thought stings, but deep down, I know that his well-being matters more to me than my own desires.
And yet, the ache in my chest tells me what I’m losing.
My heart clenches at the thought of letting him go, of watching him slip away into a world where I no longer exist. But maybe it’s selfish to want him here, to drag him into my whirlwind of uncertainty.
Keeping him close would only mean pulling him into my tempest, and he deserves to be somewhere safe.
I swallow hard, feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
Letting him go isn’t just about him; it’s about me learning to release the grip I have on the people I care about.
I want him to be happy, even if it means he’s not with me.
Maybe it’s time to step back and let him find his way back to the calm he craves, even if it shatters my heart in the process.
“No. I need to let him go.”
It’s for the best, but the question is for me or for him?