Chapter 15 #3
The windows fogged over, fast and dense, their breath clouding the interior in a private universe.
The overhead garage light lent everything a strange, surgical clarity: Evie’s hair spilling over her shoulders, the frantic clutch of her thighs around Maggie’s hips, the look in her eyes as she came—unguarded, wild, as if she couldn’t believe any of it was real.
“God, you’re—” Evie gasped, breaking off as a spasm rocked her.
Maggie lost herself in the sound, in the heat and the pressure and the fact that she, the ever-controlled, ever-collected Dr. Laurel, had lost all sense of time and place and propriety.
She wanted to chase Evie’s orgasm with her own, needed it, but what she needed more was the look on Evie’s face as she unraveled, the way Evie whispered her name again and again, as if it were an answer to everything that had hurt since November.
When it was over, Evie collapsed, forehead pressed to Maggie’s shoulder, shuddering with aftershocks and laughter.
“Four more months,” Evie said, voice muffled by Maggie’s hair.
Maggie managed to laugh, weak and wrecked and elated. “Four more months, and then we do this wherever we want. Whenever we want.”
“I plan on it,” Evie said, and then she was kissing Maggie again, softer this time, lips gentle but possessive.
Maggie let her. Let herself feel the luxury of belonging, of being wanted without restriction. She traced the line of Evie’s jaw, the soft spot behind her ear, memorizing everything.
Eventually, reality intruded—the steamed windows, the dim echo of footsteps somewhere in the garage, the absolute state of their clothing. Maggie reached up, refastened a button, tried to smooth Evie’s hair, and Evie laughed, a bright note in the gloom.
“You look like you just ran a marathon,” she said.
“That’s because I have,” Maggie replied, voice hoarse. “Now get out before I drag you into the backseat and finish what I started.”
Evie smirked, “wow, you’re really full of it tonight, I like it.”
“I’m starting to feel more like myself again. Get in your car,” she called over her shoulder. “Follow me home. I need you.”
Maggie watched her disappear into the darkness, heart still hammering in her chest.
She started the engine, hands shaking as she gripped the wheel, and when she pulled out onto the street, she kept her eyes glued to the taillights of the car in front, as if letting Evie out of her sight for even a second would be too much to bear.
They drove separately through the Los Angeles night, Maggie watching Evie’s taillights the entire way, anticipation building with every mile.
The week after the holiday party, everything changed.
It started with a close call on a Wednesday morning.
Maggie was reviewing charts in a quiet hallway near the administrative wing, tablet balanced on one arm while she made notes with the other. The early morning shift change meant most people were either in conference or already on rounds—this corridor was usually empty at 6:45 AM.
Usually.
“Doctor Laurel.”
Maggie looked up to find Evie walking toward her, white coat crisp, stethoscope around her neck, looking every inch the competent physician she was.
They were alone.
Completely alone.
Maggie felt her body respond before her brain could catch up—the pull toward Evie as magnetic as ever, stronger for having been denied.
“Doctor Brooks,” Maggie said, keeping her voice neutral even as her pulse kicked up.
Evie stopped three feet away. Professional distance. Appropriate distance.
But her eyes said everything her body couldn’t.
“I was looking for the Martinez file,” Evie said. “Doctor Patel thought it might be in the overflow archive down here.”
“It’s not,” Maggie said. “That archive moved to the third floor last month.”
“Oh.” Evie didn’t move. “Thanks.”
Neither of them left.
The silence stretched, charged with everything they couldn’t say, couldn’t do, couldn’t have in this hallway where anyone could appear at any moment.
Maggie’s fingers tightened on her tablet. “You should—”
“I know. You just look so good,” Evie said.
But she took a step closer instead of away.
Then another.
Until they were barely a foot apart, close enough that Maggie could see the pulse jumping in Evie’s throat, could smell the coffee on her breath, could feel the heat radiating from her body.
“This is dangerous. I can smell your hand cream. That means your too close and I might lose all self control,” Maggie said quietly.
“I know,” Evie repeated. Her hand lifted, fingers brushing against Maggie’s where they gripped the tablet. Just the lightest touch. Barely contact at all.
It felt like lightning.
“Evie—”
The sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner.
They stepped apart instantly, professionally, Maggie turning back to her tablet while Evie shifted to look at something on her phone. By the time Morrison rounded the corner, they were two doctors happening to occupy the same hallway, nothing more.
But Morrison’s eyes narrowed, gaze flicking between them, clearly trying to piece together what he’d almost interrupted.
“Doctor Laurel. Doctor Brooks.” His voice was carefully neutral, but Maggie heard the speculation underneath.
“Doctor Morrison,” Maggie said coolly.
“Morning,” Evie added, not looking up from her phone.
Morrison lingered for a beat too long, then continued down the hallway.
The moment he disappeared around the far corner, Evie let out a shaky breath.
“That was too close,” she whispered.
“Way too fucking close,” Maggie agreed, her heart still hammering. “We can’t—this can’t happen again.”
“I know.” Evie finally looked at her, and the longing in her eyes made Maggie’s chest ache. “But Maggie, I don’t know how to do this for four more months. I don’t know how to stand this close to you and not—”
She cut herself off, jaw clenching.
“I know. Believe me, I know,” Maggie said.
They stood there for another moment, the weight of impossible pressing down on both of them.
Then Evie turned and walked away without another word, disappearing around the same corner Morrison had taken.
Maggie stayed in the hallway for a full minute after she left, staring at nothing, feeling the careful control she’d maintained for weeks starting to crack.
That evening, when Evie came home, she was quiet.
Not angry. Not distant.
Just... defeated.
Maggie had dinner ready—nothing fancy, just pasta and salad—but Evie barely touched it. She pushed food around her plate, responding to Maggie’s attempts at conversation with one-word answers, her mind clearly elsewhere.
After twenty minutes of strained silence, Maggie set down her fork.
“Talk to me,” she said.
Evie looked up, something breaking in her expression. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Maggie’s stomach dropped. “Can’t do what?”
“This.” Evie gestured between them. “The hiding. The professional distance. Seeing you at the hospital and having to pretend you’re just another attending.
Walking past you in hallways and not being able to touch you.
This morning—” Her voice cracked. “This morning I wanted to kiss you so badly I thought I might die from it. And then Morrison showed up and I had to stand there and act like you’re nothing to me. ”
“Evie—”
“Four more months, Maggie. One hundred and twenty days of this. And I don’t—” She pressed her palms against her eyes. “I don’t know if I can survive it.”
Maggie moved around the table, kneeling beside Evie’s chair, taking her hands. “What are you saying?”
Evie looked at her, and Maggie saw tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know. Maybe one of us should transfer. Maybe we should just... end the waiting. Take control of this instead of letting the committee control us.”
“You want to leave Oakridge?” Maggie asked carefully.
“I don’t want anything except to be with you,” Evie said. “Actually with you. Not this half-hidden thing we’re doing where we pretend to be strangers forty hours a week and then come home and pretend everything’s fine.”
“Everything isn’t fine,” Maggie said.
“No,” Evie agreed. “It’s not. I want the real you. I get glimpses of it, but this pressure, it’s pushing you down and shutting you down.”
They looked at each other, the truth hanging heavy between them.
“So what do we do?” Evie asked.
Maggie’s mind raced through options, through contingencies, through every possible outcome. Her old patterns screaming at her to fix this, to manage it, to find the perfect solution that protected them both.
But there was no perfect solution.
There was just choosing.
“I don’t know,” Maggie admitted. “But I’ll figure it out. We will figure it out.”
“Will we?” Evie’s voice was small, uncertain in a way that made Maggie’s heart crack. “Or will we just keep suffering in silence until one of us breaks?”
Maggie pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her. Evie collapsed against her, sobbing into her shoulder, months of strain finally finding release.
“I’m so tired,” Evie whispered. “I love you and I’m so fucking tired.”
“I know,” Maggie said, holding her tighter. “I know, baby. I’m tired too.”
They stayed like that for a long time—Evie crying, Maggie holding her, both of them feeling the weight of a choice they didn’t know how to make.
When Evie finally pulled back, eyes red and face blotchy, she looked exhausted.
“I’m going to bed,” she said quietly.
“Okay,” Maggie said.
“Are you coming?”
“In a bit. I need to... think.”
Evie nodded and left her alone in the kitchen.
Maggie sat there in the silence, staring at their half-eaten dinner, feeling the careful life they’d built teetering on the edge of collapse.
Her phone sat on the counter, dark and accusatory.
She could call Dr. Kim. Ask for an emergency session. Get guidance on how to navigate this crisis.
But deep down, Maggie already knew what Kim would say.
What are you most afraid of losing?
And what are you losing right now by holding on?