JONAH
I've never understoodthe phrase “blood runs cold” until this moment, standing in the emergency room waiting area with Lila's blood drying on my hands. It's rust-colored now, flaking at the creases of my knuckles. One minute she was filming a tornado, the next she was crumpling to the ground, a sheet of corrugated metal slicing through her upper arm like it was nothing.
The nurse behind the desk keeps shooting disapproving glances at Max, who sits pressed against my leg. Hospital policy clearly states “No Animals Except Service Dogs” on thelaminated sign on the wall, but I'd like to see someone try to separate us right now. When I carried Lila's unconscious body through those automatic doors, Max followed like a shadow, and I wasn't about to argue with either of them.
“Sir, I really must insist—” the nurse begins again, gesturing toward Max.
“He stays,” I growl. I clear my throat, trying for a more reasonable tone.
Max whines softly, his brown eyes fixed on the double doors where they took Lila two-hundred and sixty-six minutes ago. I know the exact timing because I've been staring at my watch, counting each excruciating minute as it passes.
The waiting room is surprisingly empty tonight considering the massive outbreak of severe weather in the area. The radar on Lila’s truck kept going off every few minutes, the closer I got to the nearest hospital.
I check my phone for what must be the twentieth time, trying to distract myself from the growing dread in my stomach. Five missed calls from Lucas. Three texts asking about our location and weather data. None of that matters.
“Brooks?”
I look up to see a doctor in blue scrubs approaching, her expression unreadable. Max immediately stands at attention beside me.
“Yes, that's me,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “How is she? Her arm…”
“I know,” the doctor interrupts gently. “I'm Dr. Patel. Ms. Brooks is stable. The laceration was deep but missed any major arteries, thankfully. She required twenty-seven stitches, and we've given her fluids for the blood loss. She has a minor concussion. We’d like to keep her overnight just to be safe.”
The relief that floods through me is so powerful my knees nearly buckle. “Can I see her?”
Dr. Patel hesitates, glancing down at Max. “About your dog...”
“He's not actually—” I start to explain, then stop myself. “I don’t have anywhere I can take him. Please.”
Something in my face must convey the desperation I feel because she sighs. “Five minutes. And he stays on the floor.”
“Understood. Thank you.”
I follow Dr. Patel through the double doors, Max padding silently beside me. The doctor's shoes squeak against the polished linoleum as she leads us past rooms with partially drawn curtains. Behind each one, someone's life has been interrupted by a crisis or catastrophe. Now Lila is among them.
“She's a bit groggy from the pain medication,” Dr. Patel warns as we approach a room near the end of the hall
I nod, suddenly nervous. What will I say to her? Nothing seems adequate.
When we enter the room, my breath catches. Lila looks smaller somehow, propped against white hospital pillows. Her wild curls are tangled around her face, and her normally vibrant skin appears pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. Her right arm is heavily bandaged and elevated on a pillow. An IV snakes into her left hand.
Max whines softly beside me, his entire body quivering with the effort of not leaping onto the bed.
“Five minutes,” Dr. Patel reminds me quietly before stepping out.
I approach the bed carefully, like any sudden move might break something fragile between us. “Hey,” I manage, the word coming out rough.
Lila’s gaze drifts open, unfocused at first, then sharpens as she recognizes me. A slow, uneven smile pulls at her lips.
“You look terrible,” she croaks, her words scratchy from the medication.
“Me? You’re the one in the hospital bed.” I step closer, relief making me a little unsteady.
“Yeah, but at least I have an excuse.” She lifts her good arm in a weak attempt to gesture at me. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a tornado. Oh wait…” Her laugh cuts off with a wince.
I don’t smile. I can’t. The image of her collapsing, blood soaking through her shirt, is too fresh in my mind.
“That’s not funny, Lila.”
