“I was scared,” I admit quietly. The words feel too exposed the second they leave my mouth. “When you passed out…” My throat tightens unexpectedly. “I thought?—”
I can’t finish it. Because even sitting here now with her alive and talking and stubbornly trying to joke through the pain, the memory hits like a fist to the ribs.
Lila’s expression softens immediately.
And before I can retreat back behind logic or composure, her fingers slide carefully over mine where my hand rests beside the hospital bed.
The contact is gentle. Warm. Completely devastating.
“You didn’t lose me, Jonah,” she says softly.
But the thing is…for a few horrible minutes out there in the storm, I thought I already had.
She squeezes my hand, then winces as the movement pulls at her IV. “Takes more than some flying metal to get rid of me.”
Max lets out a soft huff like he agrees. His attention hasn’t left her since we walked in.
A nurse appears in the doorway, tapping her watch. “Time’s up.”
“Five more minutes,” I add, the authority in my tone catching both of us off guard.
The nurse hesitates, glancing between Lila and me. Something in my expression must land, because she sighs and nods. “Five minutes. That’s it.”
When the nurse leaves, Lila lifts a brow at me, the corner of her mouth curving despite the exhaustion written across her face.
“Well, well. Professor has a backbone after all.” Her eyes drift lazily over me. “Do you use that tone in the lecture hall? Because it’s working for you.”
Even injured and medicated, she somehow finds ways to completely dismantle my nervous system.
“The medication is clearly affecting your judgment,” I mutter.
Lila smiles faintly, slow and knowing. “Mm. Maybe. Or maybe you’re just hot when you stop apologizing for existing.”
I exhale quietly through my nose, looking away before she notices how hard that lands. Unfortunately, when I glance back, she’s already watching me with obvious amusement. God help me.
My gaze drifts toward the bandage wrapped around her arm, bright white against her skin. The sight makes something twist painfully in my chest.
“Does it hurt much?”
Her teasing expression softens .
“Less now.” She shifts carefully against the pillows. “Mostly feels like I got in a knife fight with a tornado and lost.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“No,” she agrees softly this time. “Probably not. The doctor wants me to take a few days before I’m back at full speed so for the next few days, you’re driving.”
“A few days?” I blink at her. “Lila, you needed twenty-seven stitches. You lost enough blood to pass out. You have a concussion.”
“And your point is…?”
I stare at her. “My point is that most people would take time to recover.”
“When have I ever given you the impression I’m most people?” There’s that spark again, challenging me.
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue. She's right. nothing “normal” about her. It's what makes her exceptional at what she does, and what terrifies me about her at the same time. That willingness to push past the pain and injuries to keep on going is either stupid or brave, and I can’t decide which one describes the situation more.
“I think I’ll like being a passenger princess.” Lila grins faintly from the hospital bed, then immediately winces when the movement pulls at her injured shoulder. “But I get to pick the radio station.”
