Even bruised and exhausted in a hospital bed, she’s watching me with warm amusement and unmistakable interest, and the realization hits me square in the chest.
Lila wants me, and I have absolutely no idea what to do with that information. Especially because a horrifyingly large part of me wants to walk back to the bed, kiss her senseless, and find out whether she’d be teasing me afterward.
Instead, I latch onto the only safe thing available.
The dog.
I clear my throat roughly and turn toward Max, who’s settled beside the bed with his chin resting dramatically on the mattress like he’s supervising the entire interaction.
“We should probably go before they come back and actually throw us out.”
“You’re right,” Lila agrees, quieter now. “You should take Max and find somewhere to stay tonight. Preferably somewhere with a shower.” Her gaze drifts meaningfully to my bloodstained hands and clothes.
I look down at myself properly for the first time since arriving at the hospital. My clothes are a disaster—Lila's blood has dried in dark patches across my shirt and jeans. There's mud caked on my boots. I must look like I just walked off a crime scene.
“I'll come back first thing in the morning,” I promise.
“Bring coffee,” she mumbles, her eyelids already drooping. The medication is finally winning the battle against her stubborn determination to stay awake. “The good kind. Not hospital swill.”
“I will.” I hesitate, then add, “Is there anyone I should call? Your sister, maybe?”
Lila's eyes fly open, suddenly alert despite the drugs. “Emily.” She tries to sit up straighter and winces. “My phone's in my bag. Password is 0523.”
“I'll handle it,” I assure her, gently pressing her back against the pillows. “What specifically should I tell her? I don't want to say the wrong thing.”
“Just say I got a minor cut from some debris. Nothing serious, but they're keeping me overnight as a precaution. Tell her I'll call her tomorrow when I'm discharged.” Lila's eyelids droop further. “And whatever you do, don't mention the stitches or the blood loss. She'll be on the next flight if she thinks it's serious.”
“That seems dishonest,” I say, shifting uncomfortably.
Lila gives me a sleepy smile. “It's called filtering information. Sisters require careful handling.”
Max whines softly, sensing our imminent departure. He presses his nose against Lila's hand one more time, as if making his own goodbye.
“Take care of him,” Lila murmurs, her words beginning to slur with exhaustion. “He's a good boy.”
“I will,” I promise, gently tugging on Max's collar. “Come on, buddy. We'll come back tomorrow.”
Max reluctantly follows me toward the door, looking back over his shoulder at Lila with such obvious concern that it makes my chest ache. I understand exactly how he feels.
LILA
The hospital doors slide open,and morning sunlight hits me like a slap to the face. I squint, my good arm automatically rising to shield my eyes while my injured one throbs in its sling. Twenty-seven stitches, one concussion, and enough painkillers in my system to tranquilize a small horse—not my worst injury from chasing, but definitely not my finest moment either.
And then I see him.
Jonah stands beside my truck. He's wearing those jeans like they're some kind of costume, but somehow he looks more atease in them today. Max sits obediently at his feet, tail thumping against the pavement when he spots me. But what really catches my attention is the steaming cup in Jonah's hand.
“Is that for me or are you just taunting the injured woman?” I call out.
“Depends,” Jonah replies. “Did you terrorize any more nurses after I left?”
“Only the one who tried to wake me at 5 AM for 'routine vitals.'“ I make my way toward them, the orderly pushing my wheelchair moving slowly as if I will break if he even thinks about hitting a bump in the sidewalk. “Pretty sure she'll be filing a formal complaint about my creative use of hospital terminology.”
Max breaks free from Jonah. “Max, no!” Jonah calls out, but it's too late. The golden retriever barrels toward me like a furry missile of joy, completely ignoring Jonah's command. I brace myself for impact, but Max skids to a stop just before reaching me, his whole body wiggling with excitement while keeping a respectful distance from my injury.
“At least someone's happy to see me,” I say, reaching out with my good hand to scratch behind his ears.
“Your coffee,” Jonah cuts in smoothly, stepping forward and offering me the cup. “The barista looked concerned for your cardiovascular health when I asked for an extra shot of espresso.”
