Page 76 of Doctor Hot Mess

Harper leans back, her gaze steady. “Jonah,” she says softly, the way you might coax a nervous animal. “What happened?”

I hesitate, my jaw tightening. “It’s nothing,” I insist. “Just a needle stick. It happens.”

“With an HIV-positive patient?” she presses gently.

Damn it. Harper sees too much. My instinct is to deflect, to make a joke, to minimize isn't going to work with her.

I set the chopsticks down and lean back in the chair, letting out a slow breath. “Based on your non-subtle detective skills, you don't need to hear the rundown from me,” I start with a quiet but direct tone.

Her expression shifts immediately—concern without panic, patient without pushing. She doesn’t say a word, but her eyes confirm it.

Her brows draw together. “Jonah. I'm so sorry. Carly did tell me, and she said you were worried. I'm more concerned about how you feel rather than what exactly went down.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, holding up a hand. “It’s just going through the protocol now—bloodwork, monitoring, the whole nine yards. The odds are that it’s going to be a non-issue. Just a pain in my ass and annoying. Otherwise, I feel fine.”

"Fine, huh? Okay, if you say so," she says as she stuffs a mouthful of noodles in her mouth. Her chopstick skills are unprecedented.

I turn to face her, tucking my leg under me. “I don’t know what I think,” I admit. “It’s a rookie mistake. That’s what’s eating at me. I don’t fuck up like that. Not at work. It’s the one place where I don’t.”

There. She finally got it out to me. She wanted to know how I feel. Here you go.

She leans forward, her hand brushing mine. The warmth of her touch is grounding. “First of all, you hardly ever fuck up,” she says gently. “The Great Jonah Bellinger. But, news flash, you are human. Anyone could have made that mistake. I certainly wouldn't call it 'rookie.'”

“'Hardly ever' doesn't cut it for me. I need 'never' as a surgeon,” I reply with a surprising edge that even catches me off guard. But I do mean that. This job doesn't allow for mistakes.

“Jonah, let's be realistic, okay? Melodrama doesn't suit you,” she counters. “One mistake doesn’t undo your record as a surgeon. It doesn’t make you any less good at what you do. This, too, shall pass.”

Her words chip away at the wall I’ve built around the fear, the guilt, the pressure I put on myself. It’s not gone, but it’s lighter. Manageable.

“Anytime,” she replies, her smile warm and steady. “Now, eat your food before it gets cold. I’m not letting you spiral on an empty stomach.”

I chuckle despite myself. She does have an uncanny knack for reducing my stress. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

“Someone has to keep you in line,” she says with a wink, grabbing her plate.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Harper

Saturday, March 14

CityWalk BHAM

11:49 AM

The bright afternoonsun beats down on the clay courts. There is hardly any feeling like the spring sun warming my shoulders as I grip my tennis racket. Especially when I'm about to serve the game-ending shot.

I bounce lightly on my toes as I prepare for my serve.

God, I love this sport.

Across the net, Jonah adjusts his stance. His damp shirt clings to his torso, outlining the hard planes of his chest and the subtle ripple of his abs. A bead of sweat trails down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, and I find myself distracted by the way it sticks to him, emphasizing every cut and contour.

The afternoon sun glints off the damp fabric and highlights the power in his frame. His dark hair is sticking to his forehead, and his blue eyes glint with determination.

“You ready to admit defeat yet, Bellinger?” I taunt, spinning the racket in my hand.

He smirks, bending his knees slightly. “Not a chance, Gray. You may have the finesse, but I’ve got the power.”

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