Page 97 of Doctor Hot Mess

I look up, meeting his gaze. “Exactly.”

He reaches across the table, giving my hand a squeeze. “I’m proud of you, though. You made the choice for you, and that’s huge. Jonah might need some time to pull his head out of his ass, but if he can’t get there, that’s on him—not you.”

The server places my drink in front of me, and I take a long sip before continuing. “When I tried to talk to him, I didn’t even tell him I was taking the job. I just wanted to talk it through with him, you know? To hear his thoughts, to figure it out together. Instead, he got mad, shut down, and walked out.”

Mason nods, his expression softening. “It’s a shitty situation, no doubt about it. But Harper, listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were honest with him, and you gave him the chance to be a part of this decision. If he couldn’t handle that, I mean, what else could you have done?”

I press my lips together, the knot in my throat growing tighter. “I just... I was really falling for him, Mason. Like, really falling. And now it feels like it’s all just on pause.”

“On pause?” Mason snorts, shaking his head. “Darling, this isn’t a streaming service. Let’s call it what it is: Jonah is a man—a very handsome, very charismatic man—but still, a man. Which means he’s immature when it comes to handling actual feelings.”

I frown, the sting of his words hitting closer to home than I’d like. “That’s... harsh.”

“Is it?” Mason counters, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Look, you’re Harper-freaking-Gray. You’re Meryl Streep in a sea of Netflix originals. Jonah might be a leading man, but he’s not giving you Oscar-worthy material right now. You deserve better than someone who bolts at the first sign of emotional turbulence.”

A reluctant laugh escapes me, even as I shake my head. “Meryl Streep? Really?”

“Would you prefer Dame Helen Mirren?” Mason asks, smirking. “The point is, you’re a class act, and Jonah’s inability to get his shit together doesn’t change that. He’s sulking, sure, but you? You’re on to bigger, better, and much more fabulous things.”

Despite myself, I smile, clinking my glass against his. “Thanks for being you, Mason. I needed this today.”

“Always, darling.”

The conversation shifts, and Mason launches into a story about the absolute disaster of a bride he met with today. For a moment, I let myself laugh.

“Harper?” Mason’s voice pulls me back to the moment. His brow furrows as he studies my face, his usual wit softened by genuine concern. “You okay?”

I nod quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yeah. Just… taking in all the green. Kind of ironic, don’t you think? Or maybe it’s not irony. Just… shitty timing.”

Mason tilts his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “Heartbreak’s never good with timing, darling. Always shows up uninvited and overstays its welcome.”

I let out a weak laugh, dropping my gaze to the rim of my glass. “Yeah. Guess so.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Jonah

Jefferson County Courthouse

716 Richard Arrington Jr. Boulevard N, Birmingham

3:49 PM

The courtroom is colderthan I expected. Or maybe it’s just the tension that makes it feel that way.

I'm leaning forward with my arms on my thighs and my fingers steepled in front of me. My right foot bounces wildly against the floor. I'm wearing my scrubs because I came here from the hospital.

Lila is standing at the defendant’s table, clad in an orange jumpsuit that looks like it’s swallowing her. Her hair is pulled back, and the faint traces of bruises on her face are a stark reminder of how much she’s been through. The cuffs around her wrists are too big, clinking when she shifts nervously while the judge and attorneys talk on her behalf.

The judge reads over the charges again—accessory after the fact, aiding and abetting. Words that feel foreign and surreal when attached to my sister. It’s hard to process that this is real, that it’s come to this.

Her attorney stands beside her, presenting the case for bond. He’s good—calm, measured, detailing Lila’s willingness to attend rehab in North Carolina and how she’s already set plans to move back in with our parents in Georgia afterward.

He emphasizes her proactive steps and her commitment to recovery. I know this is part of the strategy, but I can’t help feeling a glimmer of pride. She’s trying. For once, she’s trying.

The judge listens with a neutral expression. When he speaks, his tone is firm but not unkind. “Ms. Bellinger, it appears you’re taking steps in the right direction. I’ll approve bond with the following conditions: You must report directly to the designated rehab facility in North Carolina within forty-eight hours of your release. While in rehab, you’re required to comply fully with their program and any updates they provide to the court. After completing the program, you’ll return to Georgia to live with your parents. Any deviation from this plan will result in your bond being revoked. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Lila says quietly, her voice steady but barely above a whisper.

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