Page 58 of Doctor Hot Mess

I hesitate, my instinct to protect her warring with the realization that I can’t stonewall them forever. “She’s at my home, resting. I can pass along a message.”

The taller officer shakes his head. “We need to speak with her directly, Dr. Bellinger. If she’s at your residence, we can go there.”

Something sharp flares in my chest—anger, frustration, fear. “She’s recovering,” I say firmly. “If you need to question her, you’ll do it when she’s well enough to handle it—and with an attorney present.”

The shorter officer tilts his head slightly, his expression softening. “We understand your concern, Dr. Bellinger. If she’s innocent, answering a few questions now could clear her name quickly.”

My jaw clenches as I glance at the nurses hovering nearby, their curious gazes making my skin crawl.

“Not going to happen,” I say through gritted teeth. “If you want to formally question her, then she will come to the station with her attorney. End of discussion.”

The taller officer raises an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line. “We’ll make a note of that,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. “But understand that if we can’t reach her, we may need to escalate our approach.”

My stomach churns at the unspoken threat. “I'm sure you'll do whatever you think is appropriate. I've said she will speak to you in a formal setting with her attorney.”

The taller officer nods. “Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Bellinger. We’ll be in touch.”

The two of them turn to leave, and their footsteps fade down the hallway. I exhale slowly, gripping the edge of the counter to steady myself. My mind races, replaying the conversation and dissecting their words. They didn’t say much, but the implications are enough to send my pulse pounding.

Whatever Lila’s gotten herself into, it’s serious enough for the cops to track her down. And now, I’m the one standing between her and whatever storm is headed our way.

1:41PM

The tall glasspanels surrounding the outdoor covered rooftop space are stifling today. The view of the city is a nice change from the white walls inside the doors and the incessant problems that keep stacking up in my life, but I still feel confined. All I can think about is getting done with this day so I can grill my sister on why cops are sniffing around my hospital.

“Hey, you,” Harper says as she sits down with a steaming cup and a tiny string attached to a tea bag. “You okay? You seemed stressed earlier when you texted me.”

I take a sip of my coffee, letting the heat settle in my chest. “I’m good. Stressed,” I say, my voice quieter than usual.

“That’s something I don’t expect to hear from the cool breeze, Dr. Bellinger. Want to talk about it?”

I exhale slowly, leaning back in my chair. “It’s Lila,” I begin. “Cops showed up at the hospital earlier, asking about her. They didn’t say much—just that her name came up in connection with some crimes.”

Her brow furrows, concern flickering across her face. “Crimes? Holy shit. Are they going to arrest her?”

“Hell if I know,” I say, shaking my head. “They were trying to push their way into questioning her, but I put my foot down and said not without an attorney present. I know enough how these things go. I'm not going to let them twist her words or pin something on her.”

Harper leans forward with her hands still wrapped around her mug. “That's insane. I wonder what in the world they could want with her. Surely, it is nothing.”

“I'm not so sure,” I admit, rubbing a hand over my jaw. "She isn't exactly a saint."

"Jonah, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how stressful this must be."

“Lila’s gambling is nothing new. It’s the reason she keeps running—and the reason I’ve spent years trying not to get pulled into her orbit. But here we are, and there’s no walking away this time.”

Harper’s expression softens slightly, but there’s a sharpness to her voice when she speaks. “And when she showed up here, did you ask her any questions?”

I glance at her, a flicker of defensiveness sparking in my chest. “Of course, I asked questions. As you might have figured out, Bellingers aren't the best at communication. I didn't get a whole lot, but I knew she was running from something. Or someone.”

“Hopefully, this is a big misunderstanding,” Harper says gently but firmly. “There isn't much you can do for her but be there for her.”

“I told her when I found out she had a gambling debt that I would take care of it for her," I blurt out. I hadn't planned to share this with her. At least like this. "It’s a lot. Please keep it between us, but she owes almost eighty-thousand dollars.”

“Jesus, Jonah. I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds by saying this, but that is a lot of fucking money. Are you really planning to clear her debt for her?”

I set my mug down with a little more force than intended, the ceramic clinking against the table. “What’s the alternative, Harper? Let her get killed by whoever beat her up last time? Let her sit in prison? She doesn’t have anyone. My parents have never helped her. Someone has to.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver, even as my tone sharpens. “I understand why you feel that way, but Jonah, think about it. How will that solve anything? She needs help, and not that kind of help.”

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