Chapter 33
Maggie
It was everything she’d ever wanted Gwen to say.
Every single thing Maggie had dreamed of hearing in every fight, every lonely night, every quiet hour she’d spent convinced she’d never get it.
Now Gwen was sitting beside her under the soft buzz of string lights, voice steady and raw, saying the words like she meant them.
Maggie believed her, believed that she really did mean everything she was saying.
Maggie blinked hard, but it was useless. The tears came fast, spilling hot down her cheeks. She tried to laugh, to wave it off, but instead she hiccuped, choked on a sob, and suddenly she was crying so hard she couldn’t breathe.
“Whoa, hey—” Gwen’s hand was on her shoulder instantly, her face tight with alarm. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Maggie swiped at her face with the heel of her palm, shaking her head. “No — I—” Her voice broke. “It’s just—”
More tears, more hiccups. Words came out mangled, soggy, impossible. “You — snff — said all the things — hkkh — always wanted—”
Gwen leaned closer, brow furrowed, like she was trying to decipher a foreign language.
That only made Maggie cry harder. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, half laughing through the sobs. “I’m sorry,” she hiccuped, cutting out the middle of her sentence. “A mess.”
Gwen’s hand rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades, warm and steady. “Then be a mess,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Maggie peeked at her through her fingers, tears streaking her cheeks, mascara probably halfway down her face by now. Gwen was still watching her — earnest, soft, eyes shining like she meant every word she’d just confessed.
And it gutted Maggie all over again, because she wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe every syllable.
Her chest felt too full, her heart breaking and mending at the same time.
The words clawed their way out of her throat between sobs, wet and inelegant but true. “I love you, too.”
Gwen froze, like she hadn’t dared to hope she’d hear it again. “Even if I don’t have a job and we lose everything?” she asked softly, voice trembling at the edges.
Maggie lowered her hands, blotchy and red-faced, tears streaking freely now. “You’ll land on your feet. You always do. And maybe… maybe this time you’ll land somewhere better. Somewhere meant for you. Something more fulfilling.”
Gwen’s lips parted, as if the words were too much to take in. “And us?” she whispered.
Maggie inhaled, ragged, the night air cold in her lungs.
Her gaze dropped to the surface of the lake, because saying it while looking at Gwen felt impossible.
“I wasn’t dealing with my stuff,” she admitted, voice thick.
“With losing my mom, and the pregnancy before. With how much it gutted me. I just… shoved it all down, and when it spilled out, I aimed it at you.”
Her throat worked, the confession scraping raw. “I weaponized my sadness. Made it your fault. Punished you for not being able to fix me. But, I’m making some really good progress in therapy.”
Gwen’s hand was still warm on her back, steady. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t argue. She just listened, like maybe this was what Maggie had been waiting for all along, space to finally say it out loud.
Maggie swiped at her eyes again, hiccuping another half laugh. “So, yeah. We’re both disasters.”
Gwen leaned in, her forehead resting gently against Maggie’s temple. “Maybe, but we’re disasters who still love each other.”
For a long moment they just sat there, shoulders touching, the string lights humming above them and the water stretching into endless dark. Maggie’s breathing evened out, though her cheeks were still damp, and Gwen didn’t move except to keep her hand steady against Maggie’s back.
Maggie turned, finally, meeting her eyes. Gwen looked wrecked in the best way — rumpled from travel, tired around the edges, but wide open in a way Maggie hadn’t seen in years. No walls. No office face. Just Gwen.
And Maggie leaned in.
Slow. Careful. The opposite of Vegas, where they’d collided like fire and gasoline. This was soft, tentative, the kind of kiss that felt like a question and an answer at the same time.
Gwen’s lips were warm against hers, the faint taste of wine lingering.
Maggie sighed into it, her chest loosening, her hands trembling as she cupped Gwen’s jaw.
The world narrowed to that one small point — the press of her mouth, the solid heat of her shoulder, the steadiness Maggie had missed so much it hurt.
When they pulled back, Gwen kept her forehead resting against Maggie’s, eyes closed, breath mingling in the cold night air.
“Promise me,” Maggie whispered, voice breaking.
“Anything.”
“Don’t disappear again.”
Gwen’s thumb brushed the damp trail of tears from her cheek. “I won’t.”
And then they kissed again, softer still, like sealing it. Not a grand gesture. Not fireworks. Just the quiet truth of finding each other again at the edge of a lake.
The kiss lingered, slow and soft, until Maggie pulled back just enough to see her.
Gwen’s tie was crooked, her dress shirt rolled up to her elbows, and somehow it made her look devastatingly good — like the version of Gwen Maggie always wanted to keep for herself, stripped of polish but still steady, still hers.
“I wish those bunk beds weren’t singles.” Maggie whispered, the words spilling out before she could think.
Gwen blinked. “What?”
“Because you look so hot right now,” Maggie said, her voice shaking but sure. “And I’ve missed you so much, and I have to have you right now.”
For half a heartbeat, Gwen just stared at her, stunned. Then her mouth curved, slow and dangerous. “I mean, the rental car is a minivan.”
Maggie’s laugh came out breathless. “What?”
“The seats fold down,” Gwen said, and there was something dark and wicked in her tone that Maggie hadn’t heard in so long it nearly undid her.
Heat pooled low in her stomach, her heart pounding. “Lead the way.”
Gwen stood first, offering her a hand. Maggie grabbed her crutches with her other, hobbling to her feet, her ankle screaming in protest but her body buzzing with urgency.
The lake stretched behind them, silent witness, as Gwen helped her off the dock and toward the driveway.
The walk up the gravel drive was ridiculous.
Gwen steadying her elbow, Maggie swinging on her crutches like a deranged circus act, both of them half laughing and half tripping their way toward the parked rental minivan.
By the time Gwen popped the back open with the fob, Maggie was breathless, clutching at her side.
“This is the least sexy setup in history,” she wheezed.
“Give me thirty seconds,” Gwen muttered, yanking at the seats, trying to fold them flat. The headrest caught, she swore under her breath, and Maggie started giggling uncontrollably.
“Wow,” Maggie said, leaning on her crutch, eyes dancing. “The big romantic gesture ruined by child-lock engineering.”
“Shut up,” Gwen growled, but she was laughing too, breath puffing in the chill night air. She gave the seat one final shove, and it collapsed with a clang. She turned back, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, grinning in triumph. “Ta-da.”
“Hot,” Maggie said. “Truly, nothing gets me going like a minivan.”
“Get in here,” Gwen said, low and urgent.
Maggie’s crutches clattered to the ground outside as she climbed into the back of the van, Gwen’s hands on her waist, guiding her down onto the folded seats.
The back of the van beeped in warning as it closed, and they both paused for a moment to laugh, until their mouths were back together.
The kiss hit like a match — hungry, messy, years of want compressed into one impossible moment.
Maggie gasped against her mouth, laughing and moaning all at once as Gwen pressed her back into the upholstery.
“Careful — ankle—” Maggie squeaked, grabbing for Gwen’s shirt.
“Got you,” Gwen promised, adjusting, bracing her hands so Maggie could settle without jostling. Her jacket hit the floor first, then Maggie’s cardigan, their laughter breaking through the desperate rhythm of kisses.
Maggie tugged at Gwen’s tie, fingers fumbling.
“Oh my god, just rip it,” Gwen panted, and Maggie grinned, tugging roughly until the knot finally gave way and the tie fluttered to the carpeted floor.
The van rocked faintly as they shifted, Maggie pulling Gwen down on top of her, gasping when Gwen’s mouth found the line of her throat.
“Do you realize,” Maggie managed between kisses, “how absolutely absurd this is? We’re — oh god — making out in a Dodge Caravan.”
Gwen laughed against her skin, the sound dark and warm. “Would you rather be back in the bunk beds?”
“Fair point,” Maggie groaned, tugging her closer.
The cold outside contrasted with the heat building between them, windows already fogging as their clothes hit the floor.
Maggie couldn’t stop giggling — half from nerves, half from the sheer relief of Gwen’s weight pressing her into the seat, Gwen’s hands sliding under her dress, Gwen’s voice rough in her ear.
Their laughter tangled with moans, raw and breathless.
Gwen’s mouth slid against hers, wet and hungry, their teeth clashing once before Maggie laughed through it, tugging her closer anyway.
The kisses were sloppy, unpracticed, but there was no hesitation — just urgency, the kind that said we’ve waited too long for this.
Maggie clutched at Gwen’s shoulders, reveling in the hard press of Gwen’s chest against hers, the steady weight she’d missed so much it made her dizzy.
Her ankle throbbed in protest, but the ache was drowned out by everything else — the way Gwen’s hands were greedy and reverent all at once, sliding up her thighs like she couldn’t decide whether to claim or worship.