Page 98 of Doctor Hot Mess

The judge nods. “If you follow through on these commitments, it could reflect positively during sentencing, should the case go to trial or if you enter a plea. Your focus for the next six weeks needs to be on recovery and laying the groundwork for a stable future. Take this opportunity seriously.”

My throat tightens as I watch her nod again. Her shoulders sag with relief. She looks so small, so young, even though she’s only five years younger than me. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t budge. How did it come to this? How did we get here?

The gavel strikes, signaling the end of the session, and the bailiff steps forward to escort Lila back. She glances over her shoulder as she’s led out. Our eyes lock for just a moment.

As the room empties, and my parents head to the room to meet with the attorney and Lila, I sit frozen, staring at the empty judges’ bench. This was supposed to be the low point, the bottom she needed to hit to turn things around. But it doesn’t feel like a turning point—it feels like a loss. Even with the plan laid out and the judge’s words of encouragement, I can’t shake the image of Lila in that orange jumpsuit.

I can’t stop thinking about Harper, either. About how badly I screwed up last night.

All I heard was that it was her dream job, something she couldn’t pass up. She framed it like she wanted my opinion, like she was asking me what I thought, but what was I supposed to say? Stay. Don’t go.

I would never ask her not to go. So, even if she did want to "decide together," there was always only one choice.

I couldn’t do that to her—not when she’s been clear from the start about her independence, her need to live life on her terms.

So, instead, I shut down. Because leaving for six months, going that far away, would suck all of the oxygen out of this living, breathing thing that is us. It would be the end.

And, quite honestly, it pissed me off. The truth is, I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to think about her leaving, about this thing between us slipping through my fingers.

Instead of saying any of that, though, I shut her out. Just like I’ve always done. And now, I'm alone, regretting the fact that I suck at love. Just like I knew I would.

It hitsme while I’m aimlessly flipping through a pile of unread emails on my laptop at my kitchen counter. I can’t focus on a single word. Harper’s voice keeps replaying in my head. I’ve spent the whole day replaying that moment, dissecting it, and every time I come back to the same conclusion: I handled it like a goddamn child.

I glance at my phone. No new messages. Of course, there aren’t. Why would she reach out after the way I shut her down?

Only I can fix this.

When I grab my phone to call her, I remember seeing her name on the schedule for the night shift tonight. If she’s working, she’ll be at the hospital by now.

Shit. I have to go there. I can't wait until tomorrow.

I grab my keys and head out.

The ER is what I would expect on St. Patrick's Day. I'm sure they will be seeing drunk accidents all night. Bless them.

Nurses and techs rush past me, and most take a double-take when they see me. I'm out of place in my workout clothes and not on the schedule.

I catch a glimpse of Harper through one of the open doors. She’s crouched by a patient’s bed. I can almost hear her with her calm voice as she soothes the patient and adjusts an IV. She looks so in her element, so composed, and for a moment, all I can do is stand there and watch her.

God, I missed her.

I reach in my pocket and pull out an empty gum wrapper. I scribble a note and grab Carly walking by with a clipboard. “Carly,” I call out, intercepting her.

She stops, giving me a curious look. “Jonah? What are you doing here? Are you working tonight, now?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I just—” I glance back toward Harper. “I need to talk to Harper. When she’s done with that patient, can you give her this?”

Carly smirks as she takes it. “What is this, middle school? Passing notes now?”

“Just... make sure she gets it, okay?” I say, ignoring her teasing.

She rolls her eyes but nods. “Fine. But you owe me.”

I headup to the rooftop patio and grab a coffee on my way out. The cool night air does little to calm my nerves, and I find myself fidgeting, tapping my fingers against the side of the cup.

Fifteen minutes feels like an eternity. I’m starting to wonder if Carly forgot—or worse, if Harper decided she didn’t want to see me—when the door creaks open.

I look up, and there she is.

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