Page 59 of Doctor Hot Mess

I shake my head, the frustration bubbling under my skin. “She told me she is willing to get help. She's even found a rehab that will take insurance once she heals from the assault. If I pay her debt, she can have a clean slate.”

"Curious—has she said that before?”

“Said what before?”

“Has she said before that she's willing to get help?”

I can't count the number of times, I want to say. It's part of the reason I don't know much about where she is at any given time. I can't survive in that chaotic cycle, so I remove myself and trust she is okay. Out of sight, out of mind. It's likely why none of us in our family speak to each other or have a relationship.

"Once or twice," I fib. It feels like surrender if I tell her the accurate number of times she’s made promises. That Harper has only known her a short time and already has her number, and I've known her for her entire life and still believe her every time, is a whole other issue entirely.

“And what happened in the past, when she said she planned to get help?” Harper counters. “Does it ever stop? Because, the little I know about addiction, it rarely takes just one shot to overcome. What's to stop her from wracking up another debt once you clear this one?”

I look away as my eyes trace the distant skyline. “I don't know, Harper,” I say finally, my voice quieter. “I tell myself it’s not my fault, that I can’t undo the choices she’s made. But there’s always that voice in the back of my head, whispering that I should’ve done more. That I should’ve been better.”

“Jonah,” she says softly, cutting through the spiral of guilt. “You can’t blame yourself for her choices. You can only control what you do now.”

“And what I’m doing now is trying to keep her safe,” I say, meeting her gaze. “That’s all I can do.”

Harper sighs, her expression caught somewhere between compassion and exasperation. “What about you? What happens to you if you keep carrying this alone?”

I look at her, and for a moment, I want to tell her everything. About the weight I’ve carried for years, about how guilt has shaped every decision I’ve ever made. But the words stick in my throat.

Instead, I get angry.

I shift the conversation. I can feel the familiar urge to push her away, and I'm trying with all I have to resist the urge.

“My family’s not exactly a picture of closeness,” I say, the bitterness slipping through.

She nods but doesn't say anything.

“My older brother, Eddie, lives in Vail, Colorado. He does odd jobs to support his skiing obsession.” I pause, running a hand through my hair. “He’s as disconnected as they come. And then there’s my parents. We talk on holidays, mostly out of obligation.”

I glance at Harper as the words spill out before I can stop them. “I left South Carolina seventeen years ago and never looked back.”

Harper watches me carefully. Her voice is gentler now. “Maybe that’s why you’re trying so hard with Lila. Because she’s here. Because it feels like something you can fix.”

I lean back and try to look more at ease than I am. The weight of her words settle in my chest like a stone. “Yeah, well, fixing things is what I do, Harper,” I say flatly, avoiding her gaze. “That's how our family operates.”

Her brow furrows, and she hesitates before responding. “I’m not saying it’s easy. Or fair. Life Is fucking hard sometimes. But you have to know you don't have to fix anyone or take care of anyone.”

I know she means well. I can see it in the way her gaze softens, in the way she keeps her tone calm and measured. But the words still grate against something raw in me. It’s not like I don’t know she’s right. I’ve thought about it a hundred times. But knowing it and living it are two very different things.

I force myself to take a breath and swallow the sharp reply on my tongue. She’s trying to help. She means well. But what she doesn’t understand is that fixing things is the only way I know how to atone for my sins. If I don't, then I don't deserve any happiness in life.

I glance at my watch, a convenient excuse to break the moment. “I've got to go scrub in,” I say with a flat voice. “Thanks for listening. I'll keep you posted if I learn anything.”

Harper hesitates, then leans forward. Her hand brushes and grabs at mine. The touch is gentle and grounding, but I pull away. “Okay. Just... don’t shut me out, Jonah. Whatever you need, I’m here,” she says softly as I stand. “I’m here for you.”

Her words are sincere, I'm sure, but they feel patronizing. I nod because it’s the only response I can manage, but the knot in my throat grows.

“Thank you,” I say, and then I walk back inside the hospital, leaving her sitting at the table.

What I was hoping would be a pressure release by talking to her only made me feel worse.

TWENTY-TWO

Harper

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