Page 86 of Doctor Hot Mess

Dad leans against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. His face is set in that stern expression he’s been perfecting since I was ten.

Lila sits on the recliner, legs tucked under her, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. She looks like a grown-up version of Wednesday Addams.

“Hey,” I say, closing the door behind me. “Everybody, don't show your excitement to see me all at once.”

Nobody says a word. What in the hell?

"Tough crowd," I say as I drop my gym bag and walk to the kitchen to get a cup of water. “Why's everyone look so tragic?"

Lila looks up, her face pale but her jaw set. “The attorney called,” she says, her voice tight. “The cops want to meet with me tomorrow. Formal interview.”

My stomach tightens. “Tomorrow? For what? I thought that was behind us.”

She shrugs, but the movement is stiff, her shoulders rising too high, like a kid caught in a lie. “I don’t know. The lawyer said it’s standard—just tying up loose ends, probably. But calling it a 'formal interview' makes it feel more severe than that.”

“Maybe they just called it that because we have an attorney involved.” I step further into the room, my eyes narrowing. Something about her body language tells me there is something she isn't saying. “Lila, come on. Do you know something you aren't saying?”

She shifts uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t know, Jonah. Maybe they just want to scare me or see if I know anything about... I don’t know. Whatever they’re looking into.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the wall. “And you don’t have any idea what that might be?”

She meets my eyes for a split second, then looks away, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “No. I told you, I don’t.”

The air is heavy, and her words don't seem to match her body language. Call it a hunch, but I know she’s not telling me the full story. Lila’s always been a good liar, but not with me. She has tells—the way her foot bounces against the chair, the way her eyes dart to the side. She knows something she's not saying.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” she says a little too quickly. “The attorney will be there. It’s better if it’s just us. Less complicated.”

I look to my mom and then my dad. Both are watching our conversation but don't look like they want to wade in. “You sure?” I ask them as much as I ask her.

Still, they stay silent as my dad nods his head toward Lila. She shifts in her seat and moves her head up and down. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Mom clears her throat, breaking the tension. “She’s leaving for rehab on Tuesday. Let’s focus on that, Jonah. This is just part of the process. Our hope is, after talking to the attorney, it is one more loose end to tie up before leaving. She goes in, answers their questions, and we all go on about our lives."

“Right,” I mutter, glancing at Lila one last time. She looks down, her fingers picking at a loose thread on her sweatshirt.

“I’ve got to grab some things from my room,” I say, pushing off the wall. “I’m heading back out.”

Mom calls after me, but I wave her off. My mind races as I head to the back of my condo. Something’s off. Lila’s hiding something, and whatever it is, it’s got her spooked.

But if she doesn't want to share it, then there is nothing I can do about it. This is her battle to fight.

The thought twists in my gut as I grab a change of clothes and my toiletries. Why does it seem like every time we are about to see light at the end of the tunnel, something else comes up?

When I step back into the living room, Lila looks up briefly, but her eyes don’t linger. “Good luck tomorrow,” I say, my voice even. “And if you need me?—”

“I won’t,” she interrupts, forcing a weak smile. “But thanks.”

The drive to Harper’s feels longer than usual. The city lights blur past as my thoughts churn. By the time I pull into her driveway, the tension in my neck and shoulders feels unbearable. I grab my bag and head inside. The familiar warmth of her place instantly reduces my anxiety by several degrees.

When she opens the door, her smile is like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “Hey,” she says softly, stepping aside to let me in.

“Hey,” I reply, setting my bag down and pulling her into a hug before she can say anything else. She doesn’t ask, doesn’t push—just holds me, letting the chaos of the day melt away in her arms. For the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe.

“Before I left to meet you for dinner, I turned the pool heater on. I was thinking we could both use a warm soak to unwind. It’s sitting at a glorious ninety-five degrees. Care to join me?”

I hesitate, caught off guard by how easily she reads me. I let go of my tight embrace and pull her away a little so I can look into her beautiful, wise eyes. "How do you always seem to know exactly what I need?"

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