Chapter 12
EVIE
Evie changed her outfit three times before she admitted to herself that she was stalling.
First the jeans and sweater—too casual. Then the dress—too formal, like she was going on a date instead of having what might be the most important conversation of her life.
Finally she settled on dark jeans and a soft burgundy henley, something that said I’m here but I’m not making this easy for you.
She stared at herself in the mirror, hands gripping the edge of the bathroom sink.
“You can leave anytime,” she said to her reflection. “You’re in control here.”
The words felt hollow even as she said them.
Because the truth was, she’d lost control the moment Maggie Laurel had looked at her across that ER and said, “Good catch.” She’d lost it in the café when Maggie had talked about Sarah with vulnerability in her eyes.
She’d lost it completely in that on-call room when Maggie had fucked her like she was both salvation and damnation.
And she’d been trying to get it back ever since.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Maggie: Still okay for 7? I understand if you changed your mind.
Evie picked it up, thumb hovering over the keyboard. She could cancel. Make up an excuse. Protect herself from whatever this conversation was going to be.
Instead, she typed, On my way.
She grabbed her keys before she could reconsider.
The drive to Maggie’s apartment took twenty minutes through early evening Los Angeles traffic. Evie had looked up the address days ago—not because she’d been planning this, but because knowing where Maggie lived felt like holding onto some small piece of her.
The building was in Silver Lake, older but well-maintained, with clean lines and large windows that probably let in good light. Very Maggie. Controlled. Tasteful. Revealing nothing.
Evie parked on the street and sat in her car for a full five minutes, engine off, hands still on the wheel.
Through the rearview mirror, she could see the building entrance. She imagined Maggie up there somewhere, probably pacing, probably second-guessing this whole thing, probably building new walls even as she’d agreed to this meeting.
“You don’t have to do this,” Evie whispered to herself.
But she did. Because four days of radio silence punctuated only by carefully worded texts had taught her something important: staying angry was easier than admitting how much she missed someone who’d hurt her.
And Evie was tired of easy.
She got out of the car.
Maggie answered on the second knock.
The woman who opened the door wasn’t the Dr. Laurel that Evie knew from the hospital.
No white coat. No armor. Just Maggie in dark jeans and a cream-colored sweater that made her look softer somehow, more approachable.
Her hair was down, falling just past her shoulders in loose waves threaded with silver. Perfect.
But she looked nervous.
That alone was enough to make Evie’s carefully constructed defenses waver.
“Hi,” Maggie said, and her voice was quieter than Evie had ever heard it.
“Hey,” Evie replied as her fingertips pressed into her palm.
They stood there for a beat too long, the space between them heavy with everything unsaid.
“Well, come in,” Maggie finally said, stepping back.
Evie crossed the threshold and immediately catalogued her surroundings—not because she was being nosy, but because this was Maggie’s private space, and she wanted to understand the woman behind the walls. She craved a glimpse of the real Maggie.
The apartment was exactly what she’d expected: clean lines, minimal decoration, everything in its place.
But there were small touches of personality too.
Books stacked on the coffee table—medical journals mixed with novels.
A few plants on the windowsill, thriving despite Maggie’s probable tendency to over-manage their care.
Carefully selected artwork placed minimally throughout.
A framed photo on the bookshelf of two women laughing, one of them unmistakably Maggie, younger and unguarded.
Sarah, Evie realized. That had to be Sarah.
“Can I get you anything?” Maggie asked, closing the door. “Water? Coffee? Wine?”
“Um, water’s fine, thank you,” Evie said, because she needed to keep her head clear for this.
Maggie disappeared into the kitchen, and Evie took the opportunity to breathe.
To remind herself why she was here. Not to make this easy.
Not to let Maggie off the hook. But to listen.
To see if the woman who’d texted her four days ago—I’m broken in ways I’m still discovering—was the same one standing in front of her now.
Maggie returned with two glasses of water, handing one to Evie before gesturing toward the couch.
They sat—not close, but not far either. A careful distance that felt deliberate.
“Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it, more than you know,” Maggie said.
Evie took a sip of water, buying herself time. “If I’m being truthful, I almost didn’t.”
“I know.”
“So why did you ask me here, Maggie? Because if this is just another apology followed by more distance, I’m not interested.”
Maggie set her glass down carefully on the coffee table. When she looked up, her eyes were clear but vulnerable in a way Evie had only seen once before—in that on-call room before everything fell apart.
“I asked you here because I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Maggie said. “And I owe you more than careful texts and half-truths. You deserve more than that.”
“Okay,” Evie said slowly. “I’m listening.”
Maggie took a breath, and Evie watched her visibly steel herself—not to hide, but to stay present.
“Well, firstly, I know I’ve been a dick. And I know I can’t take back how much I have hurt you. But I’ve been reading Sarah’s journals,” Maggie began. “The ones I’ve been avoiding for six years because I was terrified of what they’d say about me.”
Evie stayed quiet, giving her space.
“And I found... a lot,” Maggie continued. “About how I tried to control her illness. About how I made her feel managed instead of loved. About how she saw exactly what I was doing and forgave me anyway.” Her voice caught. “And about what she wanted for me after she was gone.”
“And what did she want?” Evie asked softly.
Maggie’s eyes glistened. “For me to live. Not just survive. Not just function. Actually live. She wrote—” Maggie pulled a small journal from the side table, opening to a marked page.
“She wrote: ‘I hope someday she finds someone who sees her the way I do. Who won’t let her hide, who makes her laugh, who reminds her she’s allowed to be afraid—I want her to let them in. ’”
Evie felt her throat tighten.
“And then you showed up,” Maggie said, looking directly at her now. “And you were exactly that person. Nobody sees through me like you do. The moment our eyes locked, something changed. I know it’s kinda cringe, and I know I’m a little icy, but I feel deeply, Evie.”
“So I need to ask, why did you push me away if it felt like that to you?” Evie asked, and she couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice.
“Because I was terrified,” Maggie admitted. “Because the last time I let someone in after Sarah, it destroyed me. Because I didn’t know how to love you without trying to control every variable. Because I was more afraid of losing you than I was brave enough to actually have you.”
The honesty in those words cut through Evie’s anger like a blade.
“I went back to therapy,” Maggie continued.
“After years of telling myself I was fine. And my therapist asked me what I was protecting by keeping everyone at arm’s length.
And I realized—I wasn’t protecting my career or my reputation.
I was protecting myself from ever feeling that helpless again.
And I almost jeopardised any shred of happiness to protect myself from feeling. ”
“And now?” Evie asked.
Maggie’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Now I’m choosing differently. Or trying to. I’m choosing honesty over strategy. Vulnerability over control. You over safety. If you’ll let me try.”
Evie set her water glass down, hands trembling slightly. “That’s a pretty speech, Maggie. But I need more than words.”
“I know,” Maggie said.
She shifted closer—not touching, but near enough that Evie could see the fine lines around her eyes, the exhaustion she’d been carrying, the hope she was trying so hard not to show.
“I love you,” Maggie said simply. “I’m in love with you.
I have been for a while. And I know I fucking hurt you.
I know I chose fear over courage. I know I requested that transfer to protect myself as much as you.
But I’m done running, Evie. I’m done pretending that control is the same thing as strength. ”
Evie felt tears prick at her eyes. She’d imagined hearing those words a hundred different ways. But hearing them like this—raw and unguarded and terrified—hit differently.
“I love you too, even if you’ve driven me a little… crazy” Evie said, and she watched Maggie’s breath catch. “Even though you’re impossible. Even though you hurt me. Even though I have no idea if you’re going to panic and push me away again the first time things get hard.”
“I might,” Maggie admitted. “I’m still figuring out how to do this without my old patterns. But I’m trying to do everything I can to learn what it means to love someone without trying to manage them.”
Evie reached out slowly, giving Maggie time to pull away. When she didn’t, Evie took her hand.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” Evie said. “I need you to be honest. To tell me when you’re scared instead of just shutting down. To trust that I’m strong enough to handle your mess.”
Maggie’s fingers tightened around hers. “I’m a fucking disaster sometimes, you know.”
Evie smiled despite herself. “I know. So am I.”
“You’re not,” Maggie said. “You’re brave and honest and you stay when it would be easier to leave. You’re everything I’m not. And you’re absolutely beautiful.”