Page 31 of Doctor Hot Mess

For a moment, she’s quiet, her face unreadable. Then she nods, slowly. “Alright. But if you pay them off, I’m paying you back. I mean it, Jonah. I’ll write you a check every week, every month—whatever it takes.”

“You don’t have to—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“I do,” she says firmly, meeting my gaze. “I have to. I obviously can't do it all at once, but I’ll do it. I’m not going to let you just fix this without taking responsibility.”

I lean back slightly, studying her. The fire in her eyes—the determination—is something I haven’t seen in her for years. Maybe ever. And for the first time, I feel like she might mean it. She’s adamant about taking ownership, and while I know she doesn’t have the resources to pay me back completely, letting her try might be the first real step toward her getting her life together.

She needs this. Maybe more than she needs the money itself. And, hell, maybe it’ll work.

I let out a slow breath, nodding. “Alright. You pay me back. But one step at a time, Lila. First, we clear the debts and make sure you’re safe. Then, we’ll find you some real help.”

Her shoulders relax just a fraction, and she nods back, relief flickering across her face.

As I watch her, though, another thought creeps in, one I’ve been avoiding for years. Why is it that every single person in our family seems so completely fucked up? Is it just bad luck, or did something break in all of us along the way?

For me, I know exactly when the cracks started. I can still see the tower in my mind—the dizzying height, the terror in my best friend’s voice before his voice was silenced forever. The guilt has never left me, and I wonder, not for the first time, if it’s the reason I keep everyone at arm’s length. If it’s why I never learned how to stick around long enough to be anything more than a fleeting moment in someone’s life.

I shove the thought aside. This isn’t about me. This is about Lila. Giving her the chance to take ownership of this mess might be therapy in itself. That she’s finally ready to face her demons and, maybe, grow the hell up is a big step.

Maybe I could learn a thing or two from my beaten and defeated little sister.

“Deal,” I say, my voice firm. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to let you do this alone. You’re stuck with me, Lila. And you’re going to get through this.”

Her lips twitch into a small, shaky smile. “Thanks, Jonah.”

As I watch her, the weight of everything she’s been through settles over me like a heavy fog. This isn’t just about fixing her mess—it’s about finally facing mine. I don’t know where this road leads, but I’m not letting her walk it alone.

TWELVE

Harper

Wednesday, February 18

Mason’s Apartment

2021 Park Place, Apt. 1502, Birmingham

7:06 PM

Mason’s apartmentis everything you’d expect from a man with a flair for the dramatic. The walls are a deep emerald green, offset by gilded mirrors and oversized art that screams, “I’m fabulous, and you’ll deal with it.”

A plush velvet sofa in royal blue anchors the space, adorned with an absurd number of throw pillows in clashing patterns. A bar cart gleams in the corner, fully stocked with high-end liquors and a crystal decanter that looks more decorative than functional.

He flits around the room in a silk robe printed with peacocks, holding a glass of rosé like it’s an extension of his hand. “So, Nurse Drama,” he says, gesturing for me to sit on the sofa, “what’s the latest bloody soap opera from the ER?”

I drop into the velvet cushions, momentarily distracted by how they sink like quicksand. “You joke, but this weekend might have topped the one before when I was held at gunpoint.”

"Oh, dear Lord, how is that possible?"

"Jane Doe, beaten to the brink of death, amnesia, and all tied back to the one person in this town I've been trying to avoid."

"This sounds better than the latest Harlan Corben novel. I need more. Now I understand why you went into ER nursing."

"It's not for the drama, I can assure you."

“Whatever,” he says, collapsing into the armchair like a stage actor delivering his final monologue. “Enough with your petty denials. Let's get back to the amnesia, mystery injuries, and the scandalous backstory.”

“Check, check, and... still working on that last one,” I reply, kicking off my shoes. “This young lady came in beaten to hell—no ID, no family. Scared the crap out of me. I thought she wouldn’t make it. I was on stepdown that day, so no sooner than we got her stable and in ICU, they sent her back down to me.”

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