“Doing what?” she counters, all innocence. “Asking where your storm-chasing boyfriend is?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Sure,” she replies. “And Max isn’t your dog.”
“He’s not my dog either,” I remind her, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in my gut. “And I didn’t mean Jonah’s not my boyfriend. I meant he’s...” I trail off, realizing I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“He’s what?” Emily presses, pulling a chair closer to my bed.
“Gone, probably,” I admit, the words stinging as they leave my mouth. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
Emily’s expression softens. “What happened?”
“I blamed him for everything. The tornado, losing Dad’s truck, the equipment. All of it.” The memory makes me wince. “It wasn’t fair. None of it was his fault.”
“So apologize,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
I shake my head. “You didn’t see his face, Em. I really hurt him.”
“Then apologize better.” She squeezes my hand. “Look, I’ve only talked to the guy twice on the phone, but I could tell he cares about you. A lot.”
“That was before I accused him of ruining my life.”
Emily rolls her eyes. “Dramatic much? I’m sure you didn’t say that exactly.”
“Close enough,” I mutter, picking at a loose thread on the hospital blanket. “Anyway, he said he’d make arrangements for a motel and rental car, so I’m guessing he’s planning to bail.”
“Or maybe he’s giving you space.”
“You didn’t see him, Em. He’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”
“You didn’t try to stop him?”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I close it again, feeling the lump in my throat tighten. The honest answer is no, but the deeper truth is that I sat there, paralyzed, watching him walk away, my heart pounding in my chest as if willing him to turn back. “No,” I finally whisper, the admission tasting bitter on my tongue.
“Did you call him after?”
I shake my head, the shame pooling in my stomach like a stone.
“Text him?”
Another shake, my fingers pulling at a loose thread on the blanket’s edge until it gives. I keep seeing his face—not the hurt in it, but the moment just before, when he looked at me like I was someone worth looking at. I had felt it building for days, that terrifying, inconvenient, completely unwanted thing, and I had taken the first excuse I could find to burn it down. I pushed away the man I was falling in love with. The thought lands in my chest like something dropped from a great height. I was falling in love with him, and I handed him debris.
Another shake.
Emily lets out a disbelieving breath and turns away for a second, dragging a hand through her hair. “Lila, you told the man who just went through a tornado with you that this is his fault, trauma dumping everything onto him, and then you let him walk away without saying anything else?”
“Yes. That is exactly what I did.”
She turns back to me, frustration and disbelief mixing with something softer. “He called me. Do you understand that? He didn’t have to. He barely knows me, and he called because he was worried about you.”
I look at the door. “He didn’t argue. He didn’t push back or try to defend himself. He just stood there and took it, and then he left.”
Emily winces. “That’s worse.”
“Yeah.”
A tear slides back into my hair. I don’t bother with it. Somewhere in the short time I’ve known him, without meaning to, without wanting to, I had let Jonah Reed become someone I couldn’t afford to lose—and the moment I realized it, I handed him a reason to go.
