Page 69 of Doctor Hot Mess

CityWalk BHAM

1:11 PM

The courts are buzzingwith energy. Players are lined up for games, and a mix of music and chatter fill the air. It amazes me how full these courts stay.

Shep’s already there, stretching near the net and grinning like he’s been waiting to ambush me. My guess is he sent that same text out to five guys, and I'm the first who bit.

“Finally decided to show up,” he says, tossing me a paddle. “Was starting to think you were scared.”

“Scared of what? You limping through another loss?” I smirk, spinning the paddle in my hand.

“Oh, it’s like that?” He laughs, shaking his head. “We’ll see who’s limping when we’re done.”

We warm up quickly, settling into the familiar rhythm of the game. Pickleball with Shep is always competitive but never serious. It’s the kind of distraction I need—a way to focus on something tangible and immediate, something that doesn’t involve untangling my feelings or questioning every decision I’ve made in the past week.

The ball bounces between us, sharp volleys and quick rallies keeping us both on our toes. I fucking love this game.

Shep’s relentless with his serves, forcing me to dive for a shot or slam the ball just to keep up. My muscles burn, my focus sharpens, and for the first time all day, my mind quiets. It’s just the rhythm of the game—the bounce of the ball, the smack of the paddle, and Shep’s constant shit-talking.

“Thought you said you were ready for this, Bellinger,” he taunts, grinning as I miss a shot by inches.

“Don’t get cocky,” I fire back, retrieving the ball. “This game’s not over yet.”

It’s just a game, a challenge I can sink my teeth into without overthinking anything else. Exactly what I needed.

“Jonah!” Shep’s voice yanks me back just as the ball smacks the court behind me. He’s standing there, paddle in hand, grinning like he’s just won the lottery. “You never miss that shot. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” I say, snagging the ball and tossing it back. “Just letting you feel good about yourself.”

“Uh-huh.” He cocks an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. “Let me guess—this has nothing to do with a certain blonde nurse?”

I roll my eyes, resting my paddle under my arm. “Do you ever give it a rest, or is stirring the pot your full-time hobby?”

“It’s a gift,” Shep replies with a shrug. “And you’re an easy target, man. Gimme the deets.”

“I've got your deets right here,” I fire back, stepping into position.

Shep laughs, but I know him well enough to know he won't drop it. The last thing I need is him digging deeper when I’m still trying to sort it out myself.

“Word on the floor is you two have been painting the town red,” he says, laughing. “Are you going to hold out on me?”

I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrays me with a small smile. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not.” He lines up a serve, his smirk practically etched into his face. “I’ll bet it’s ‘complicated, ’ right?”

I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Maybe not,” he says, sending the ball flying over the net. “But I do know you, Jonah. And I've never known you to sleep with the same girl twice, so I think that means it’s serious. You're a smart guy—you don't stick around for anything unless it's worth it.”

Shep, as usual, is oversimplifying things. But he’s not entirely wrong. I have put in more time on this than anyone else. That has to mean something.

By the time we wrap up, the sun has dipped low, and the lights around the court buzz to life. Shep claps me on the back, talking about grabbing a beer, but my head’s still stuck on what he said:stick around for something that’s worth it.

“You know what, man, I think I’ll pass. I’ve got some things I need to take care of.”

I came here to clear my head, and it worked—for a while. But now, walking off the court, without realizing it, I think Shep gave me the exact advice I needed.

TWENTY-SIX

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