Chapter 15 EVE
Chapter fifteen
EVE
At three a.m., I wake up… not from a nightmare, or too many scenarios running through my mind, but because my skin feels damp.
My fingers trail down my back, my heart skipping a beat. Because night sweats were one of my symptoms. That and pain with the red wine I wasn’t supposed to be drinking but had a few sips of at a party.
But there’s an obvious reason I’m warm right now.
Adam Harrison breathes steadily beside me, his body a furnace and one arm still draped protectively over my waist. My nerve endings haven’t forgotten a single touch from hours earlier: the way his mouth charted a deliberate course down my neck, the exact calibration of pressure from his hands on my hips.
Heat pools low in my belly in response, an automatic physiological reaction I can’t override.
I shift slightly, acutely aware of the pleasant ache between my thighs, medical proof of how thoroughly he’d deconstructed my defenses.
Diagnosis: post-coital hypersensitivity with complications of wanting more.
Nope. Not wanting more.
I twist around, looking at my phone where I’ve got three messages from Chuck reminding me to send him the glass ornament he’s not getting.
One message from the Second Chance Dating App thanking me for forwarding my complaints and informing me they’re handling it.
A message from my mom. Three in the CCC Group chat including the one from Claire:
Claire
Call me as soon as you're alone!! I'm up… night shifts screwed me up.
I stand up, careful not to wake Adam or the dogs, and tiptoe to the bathroom. The Christmas lights outside cast a colorful glow through the window, bouncing off the snow like some Hallmark movie set.
Except Hallmark never shows the morning-after bathroom call with your best friend.
I hit Claire’s name and press call.
“You slept with him!” Claire’s voice is a triumphant whisper before I even say hello.
“How did you…? Never mind.” I press my forehead against the cool tile wall. “It wasn’t the plan.”
“Plans are for people who don’t know what good sex is,” she says breezily. “So. Was it?”
I hesitate. “Yeah. It was.”
“Good.”
There’s a pause. One of those Claire pauses that means she’s winding up.
“Okay… so what happens now?”
“Nothing.”
“No morning sex?”
“He’s leaving. Like going, going, gone… he sold his house and everything.”
“Where is he going?”
“What?”
“Adam. Did you ask where he’s going?”
“No.” I blink. “We didn’t talk about that.”
Claire sighs. “Evie.”
“He’s leaving. I’m going back to Chicago. We both knew it was one night.”
“Did he say that?” she asks, voice quieter now. “Because you keep saying it like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
I don’t respond right away.
“Why are you so hell-bent on going back?” she asks gently.
“I have to. The trauma coordinator job opens in January. If I’m not there, Chuck will—”
“Yeah, I know the script,” she interrupts, but not unkindly. “I’ve heard the speech. But that’s not what I asked.”
I sit down on the edge of the tub, the cool porcelain grounding me as LoverBoy scratches at the door. I crack it open and let him in. He immediately curls into my lap.
“I know,” I murmur, stroking his tiny back.
“Look,” Claire sighs. “Real talk? I get why you could write a thesis on making sure people don’t think you’re a burden,” she says. “But Evie, at some point you have to stop letting cancer and Chuck decide what happens next.”
I flinch slightly at the directness. No-sleep Claire doesn’t mince words.
“You kept us all out most of the time and called it strength,” she continues, softer now. “But when you did break down, we were there. We’ve always been there.”
“I know. But I thought if I needed someone, it meant I was weak.”
Claire waits a beat.
And then, so gently I almost miss it, she says, her voice not a murmur or a whisper, but something steady and sure. “You do realize we love you, right?”
I go still.
She continues. “Like… actually love you. Not because you’re strong or competent or a badass nurse-slash-survivor. Just because you’re you. Funny. Caring. Curious. Softer than you think. With a protective streak for your friends you forget to have for yourself.”
My throat tightens. “I am cold. I don’t let people in…”
“You do. Not everyone. Yes, you can be sarcastic and dry and you’ve got more layers than an onion.
Not everyone gets to see your core, Evie Love.
But the ones who do… they’re lucky. I’m lucky.
Nobody says you have to be an open book to everyone.
I’m there for that. You be you.” She pauses.
“And I’m not just saying that because Christmas movies are playing in the background and some hot widower is about to save a tree farm with the power of love. ”
I let out a half sob, half laugh. “God, Claire.”
“I’m serious. You always talk like you’re a side character in other people’s stories. Maybe a bonus chapter. But you’re the main plot, Evie.” She pauses. “You’re supposed to be the leading lady of your life.”
LoverBoy shifts in my lap, letting out a tiny sigh that sounds like agreement.
“Are you quoting The Holiday?”
“Evie, if you were a melody and I knew how to write music, I’d only use the good notes.”
I chuckle. But still, beneath Claire’s words, beneath the softness they leave in my chest, there’s something else pressing behind my ribs.
Because even now... I’m still living a version of the lie.
Not the one about my body. Not the cancer or the scars or the fight.
But the one that says “I’m fine.” That I don’t want anything more than what I already have. That I don’t care if he leaves.
The one that says “Adam doesn’t deserve my mess.”
Because he’s probably going on to better, bigger things like New York or the West Coast or some dream job where he’s the golden vet with a heart of gold and a clipboard full of perfect puppy stats.
Where he’s going to be someone who makes him laugh.
Who hugs him without second-guessing herself. Who kisses him without overthinking.
And me?
I’m still here trying to prove that I’m not the girl who fell apart. That I’m not a risk. That I’m not too much.
Maybe I’ve spent so long trying to show I can carry my own weight that I never stopped to ask if it’s okay to want someone who might carry a little with me.
But Adam doesn’t get that choice. Not really. Because I’ve already decided for him. That this was one night. That my story doesn’t fit inside his future.
I grab my phone again. One unread message from my mom, timestamped 11:42 p.m.
Mom
Ran into Dr. Ronon. He says you’re his favorite success story. Did you see that job opening last week? Cape Cod Regional posted for Trauma Nursing Director. Great pay. Full benefits. View of the ocean. Just saying. Love you.
Cape Cod.
When I got diagnosed, friends left for college and came back for the holidays, talking about dorm food and new boyfriends, while I stopped posting online because I didn’t want to explain why my hair was falling out. Most of them didn’t ask.
One night, I drove out to Nauset Light and cried until my lungs hurt, because it was the only place I could breathe without pretending to be okay.
Papet made me a plaque that year, Eve Foster, future veterinarian, before I knew that future wouldn’t happen.
Cape Cod is where I fought for my life. But it’s also where everything I’d imagined dissolved into the salty air that used to be my favorite kind of smell.
Mom knows I’m not looking at jobs there.
I’m going back for New Year’s. That’s enough.
I don’t reply. Not yet.
Instead, I scoop up LoverBoy and carry him back into the room.
Adam’s still asleep, one hand curled near where I used to be. Blanche and Dorothy haven’t moved. They’ve shifted around the blanket on the floor, claiming it completely.
And I could crawl back into bed. Could press against him again and pretend the silence between us is safe.
But I don’t.
I lower myself onto the floor beside the dogs, curl around the space we made last night, and pull the corner of the blanket over my legs.
LoverBoy snuggles into my side, warm and small and steady.
I lie there, staring up at the ceiling.
Feeling everything: the warmth, the ache, the confusion.
Then I close my eyes.
And wait for morning.
The bathroom mirror is still fogged from the shower, my hair damp around my face, the towel wrapped tight around me like armor. I press my palm against the glass, clearing a small circle. My reflection stares back: flushed cheeks, a bite mark purpling at my collarbone, eyes too bright.
Evidence of a night I wasn’t supposed to have.
I pause at the door long enough to breathe.
Long enough to put my face back on. To rearrange my features into something neat. Professional. Not wrecked by a kiss, or a man, or a feeling I thought I buried seven years ago.
I ease the door open, expecting the room to be empty. Or maybe find a goodbye note and another shirt I could hold onto for decades to come.
Instead, I’m met with quiet. Soft morning light seeps through the curtains. The dogs are a tangle of fur across the couch. The bed is made with my flannel pajama on top of my pillow.
And Adam is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, phone in hand.
His voice is calm. Steady.
“Yeah, through the 26th. That’s fine. Happy to stay in Pine Creek for a bit longer. I’ll cover night shifts, holidays. Whatever you need.”
The words land in my stomach like cold metal.
December 26th.
It’s December 2nd.
That’s almost a month.
Before I can react, he makes another call. “Mike? Hey. You still have the guest room?”
He listens, nodding slowly. “Right. Wes’s staying with his daughter until the 16th... yeah, I figured. Probably not great for me to be getting in at 2 a.m. with a half-housebroken chihuahua. Didn’t think your kid would appreciate that.”
A pause.
“Yeah, no, it’s okay. Thanks anyway.”