“God, I’m such an idiot,” I whisper, staring at the hospital ceiling. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Emily’s face as she leans closer.
“You’re not an idiot,” she says, but her tone suggests otherwise. “You’re grieving, and hurt, and you lashed out. It happens.”
“But it shouldn’t have happened to him.” I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. The medication the doctor gave me is kicking in, making my limbs feel heavy. “He didn’t deserve that.”
Emily squeezes my hand. “Then tell him that.”
“I don’t even know where he is.” My voice sounds small, defeated. “He took Max and just left.”
Emily says, pulling her cell from her pocket. “From when he called me. Should I text him?”
I hesitate, fear gripping me. What if he doesn’t want to hear from me? What if I’ve ruined everything?
“Lila,” Emily prompts. “This isn’t like you. You don’t run from things. You chase them.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I chase storms for a living, but when it comes to real emotional risk, I hide. I’ve been hiding since Dad died—behind my truck, behind the storms, behind my sarcasm. Now, stripped of everything, I’m left with nothing but raw, unguarded truth.
I stare at the blank ceiling, the truth sitting on my chest like a boulder. Emily is right—about everything. I need to apologize. I need to tell Jonah I didn’t mean it, that I was in shock and terrified and grieving, that the words came from a place so dark I couldn’t control them. That he saved my life, twice now, and instead of thanking him I threw it in his face like it meant nothing.
I open my mouth to tell her to call him. The words are right there, ready to tumble out.
But then I glance down at my feet, wrapped in white gauze, propped uselessly on a stack of pillows. My shoulder throbs with every heartbeat, the sling digging into my neck. Even if I found the courage, even if he somehow forgave me—what would I even say to him?
Perhaps this is for the best. I can picture Jonah back in his lab, surrounded by charts and data, where everything is predictable and controlled. It’s a world of comfort and safety, far removed from the chaos I thrive in. The thought stings, but deep down, I know that his well-being matters more to me than my own desires.
And yet, the ache in my chest tells me what I’m losing. My heart clenches at the thought of letting him go, of watchinghim slip away into a world where I no longer exist. But maybe it’s selfish to want him here, to drag him into my whirlwind of uncertainty. Keeping him close would only mean pulling him into my tempest, and he deserves to be somewhere safe.
I swallow hard, feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Letting him go isn’t just about him; it’s about me learning to release the grip I have on the people I care about. I want him to be happy, even if it means he’s not with me. Maybe it’s time to step back and let him find his way back to the calm he craves, even if it shatters my heart in the process.
“No. I need to let him go.”
It’s for the best, but the question is for me or for him?
JONAH
I’ve been sittingin this waiting room for four hours and twenty-three minutes. Not that I’m counting. The vinyl chair stopped being comfortable three hours and fifty-eight minutes ago. My back aches. My eyes burn. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker every seven minutes with mechanical precision, like the building itself is sighing.
Max lies at my feet, his head resting on my shoe. He hasn’t moved much. Every now and then, he lets out a soft whine—picking up on my tension, or maybe carrying his own.
I should leave. That would be the rational response to what Lila said. The meaning was clear—this partnership ran its course. The logical next step would be to call a taxi, find a motel, and start arranging my return to the university.
And yet, I’m still here.
“You look like you need this more than I do.”
I glance up to find a nurse holding out a paper cup of coffee. Her scrubs are wrinkled, and dark circles under her eyes suggest she’s been here far longer than I have.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the lukewarm offering. It tastes terrible, but the gesture itself is worth more than the coffee.
“Your wife’s going to be okay,” she says kindly. “Those cuts on her feet looked worse than they are.”
I nod, feeling a dull ache in my chest at the nurse’s words. Lila isn’t my wife—wasn’t anything to me anymore, not after her sharp dismissal. The image of us together, side by side in the storm, chasing tornadoes and building a future where we made the world safer, flickers in my mind like a distant lightning strike. It was a dream of a life we might have had. But now, that future feels like shattered glass, jagged and painful.
The nurse pats my shoulder gently before moving on to the next occupant, her kindness a fleeting warmth against the chill settling in my bones. I’m left alone again, grappling with the weight of what could have been and the emptiness of what is. Lila’s voice comes back to me—not the words exactly, but the register of them. The way she said what she said like she’d been saving it. Like she’d been waiting for a reason.
Max shifts against my foot. I reach down and press my hand into the warm scruff of his neck and stay there a moment, bent forward, elbows on my knees, looking at nothing.
I have a return flight I could book. A department that expects me back. A life that has been waiting patiently in my absence, exactly as I left it. The rational thing—the Jonah thing—wouldbe to call a cab, find a motel, and begin the orderly process of putting this behind me.
