Chapter 40
Chapter forty
EVE
GROUP CHAT: CHUCK'S PICKLE IS UP.
Harper
Really? That makes it sound like he has a hard on.
Changes group name to: CHUCK DOESN'T HAVE A PICKLE LEFT.
Julie
A Testicle? Also, I'm adding my brother to the chat, maybe that'll stop you.
Adds Jack.
Harper
Hi, love. Your sister's coming for Christmas. You know. Coming.
Jack left the chat.
Kellan
HA, Made that same joke.
Mike
Got Wes involved. He's building a case. There are stories.
Claire
I may have done something with IT.
Me
Thank you so much. Podcast with Maddie is ready.
Landon
And I got the vet funding.
Adam
Let's do this.
My phone beeps with a private message from Claire:
Claire
Check your email. NOW.
I curl deeper into Adam's side on the couch, both of us wrapped in the ridiculous Christmas blanket Sally left as a "room warming" gift.
The tree lights cast colorful shadows across the room while Blanche snores softly near the fireplace, LoverBoy curled against her side.
Dorothy, naturally, is methodically dismantling a gingerbread dog ornament with surgical precision.
But somewhere between HR conspiracies and emotional self-reclamation, she gets bored of pastry homicide and drags a small pink hand towel off the counter. She isn’t destroying it. She’s nesting with it, kneading it into a tiny dachshund bed like she’s finally decided this is home.
"Claire found something," I murmur, turning my laptop screen so Adam can see.
"Holy shit," Adam whispers, his arm tightening around me as we scroll through Claire's findings.
What she'd done wasn't technically a HIPAA violation—no patient records were touched—but accessing the hospital's secured email server without authorization? Using her IT credentials to pull restricted HR files and board meeting minutes?
"Claire could lose her job for this," I say quietly.
Adam nods, his jaw tight. "She knows. The message says she was willing to take the risk."
The emails between Chuck and his father make my stomach turn. Plans to "handle the nurse situation." Discussions about which board members needed "reminders about hospital funding." A systematic campaign to undermine anyone who questioned Chuck's authority.
"There's something else," Adam says, pointing to an email from three weeks ago. Chuck's father informing him that he's stepping down from the board due to health concerns. Chuck's protection is evaporating.
No wonder he's been escalating. The podcast threats, the ornament obsession, the constant undermining. He's frantically trying to silence me before his safety net disappears.
I take a deep breath. "Chuck's going to be getting off shift soon."
Adam's eyebrow raises. "Which means… he'll be on the app."
"Yep."
I grab my phone. And I wait.
I don't have to wait long. Within ten minutes, Chuck takes the bait.
Chuck: Your vet knows you're back on a dating app? Oh and I see you've changed your mind about Chicago. Good.
Eve: It looks that way. I wish I could have recorded all you told me before. I'd have everything I need. Even if you'd have destroyed me.
Chuck: I would have had. You're learning. But Eve? Even if you recorded whatever we said, it wouldn't change a thing. Shit, record this. Go the fuck ahead. It wouldn't matter. You lost.
I tilt my head toward Adam. He nods. That should be considered all-parties consent in Illinois and Pennsylvania. Sally would say he fucked around, and he's about to find out. I settle back against his chest, my dogs curled at my feet. Even they sense what's coming.
"Let's make him unravel," I murmur, sending Chuck a screenshot of an exit interview, then a nurse complaint about him that never made it to the board.
Eve: Remember when you spoke at that political fundraiser last spring?
The one where you discredited your own mentor while promoting those trials with questionable methods?
The ones that you'd have debunked when we met when you still cared about facts.
Interesting how your standard for evidence changes depending on who's holding the microphone.
Some might call that... selective skepticism.
The typing bubble appears immediately.
Chuck: That's standard practice. You wouldn't understand the complexities.
Eve: What I understand is you're becoming exactly the kind of doctor who erodes public trust in medicine. The work that kept me alive.
Chuck: You think anyone's going to believe you over me? The crazy ex who got suspended? I had the board eating out of my hand.
"A man who has to tell everyone he's winning? Isn't," Adam murmurs, his hand steadying mine on the phone.
He pulls up a spreadsheet on his laptop. "Look at this."
I gasp at the numbers. "Nurse turnover in his department is three times higher than any other unit?"
"Claire found fifteen formal complaints in three years. All mysteriously resolved with no action taken." Adam clicks through redacted exit interviews—the raw, painful truth of Chuck's legacy.
My phone chirps again.
Chuck: People believe what they want to believe, Eve. I just gave them the push they needed to see the truth.
There it is. The lie he's been telling himself since the day he met me.
Eve: You know what's funny? I finally understand what it's like to be with someone who actually cares about me. Adam doesn't need to control me to feel powerful. When he touches me, I don't have to fake anything.
I continue before he can answer, knowing the truth will infuriate him.
Eve: He listens when I talk. Actually listens. And when I come? It's real. Every. Single. Time. I never knew what I was missing until now. Turns out, it wasn't me who was cold after all.
The typing bubble freezes, then explodes.
Chuck: We can discuss your sexual awakening when you're back in Chicago. Maybe you've finally learned how to be a real woman. On your knees, preferably. Bring the heart ornament - we can hang it on my tree.
Eve: The heart ornament is gone. But its legacy stays. It represents everything you'll never understand.
Chuck: I'll sue you for it. And don't be dramatic. You'll come back. When you're done playing house with the dog doctor, I might even let you have your old job back.
Eve: The hospital board already has everything Claire found.
Jennie knows about your dating profiles.
Your podcast idea? Already countered with testimonials from every nurse you've harassed.
The ethics committee has scheduled an emergency meeting.
And I'm sending this to them to add to your file. It's over, Chuck.
Chuck: You ungrateful bitch. That vet doesn't know you like I did. I MADE you.
Chuck: That nurse who complained? Gone. I know whose ass to kiss and whose ass to threaten.
There's a pause. He totally forgot he said I could record this.
Chuck: Did you ever wonder what Adam wrote all those years ago? He was practically begging you to stay in touch. A little desperate, don't you think? Like a video-chat romance would have lasted. I had to delete those messages. For your own good. It was ethical, really.
Adam's arm tightens around me. "Keep going," he whispers. "Let him give us everything."
Eve: The thing about ethics, Chuck, is that they're not optional. Not for doctors. Not for decent human beings.
Chuck: You think you can prove anything? Screen recording isn't even allowed on this app. Do you even read the terms and conditions?
Oh, Chuck. You beautiful, dumb man.
Eve: Screen recording? Oh, you're right. That's not allowed. But you told me I could record it.
Chuck Edison thinks he's invincible.
Chuck Edison thinks he's untouchable.
Chuck Edison never learned to shut the hell up.
And as I watch my screen, I can feel Adam behind me. Warm, solid, watching too.
And then, with a smile so sweet it belongs in a Hallmark movie, I type: “You do know there’s one more way to record a screen, right?”
The typing bubble pops up, then disappears.
Pops up again, then disappears again.
Chuck: Eve, let’s be reasonable.
Chuck: I was messing with you. You never could take a joke.
Chuck: Eve, answer me.
I exhale. My heart pounds.
Adam shifts behind me, watching. Waiting.
I type the final message.
Eve: You always said I was too serious. But you know what? I know how to be direct. I know how to take control. I know how to fix things.
I glance at Adam. His jaw is tight. His eyes dark. He knows what's coming next.
I hit send.
Eve: And, oh, Adam? He says hi.
And I don’t wait for an answer. Because I don’t care if he finally learned how to shut the hell up. Because he’s going to have to face the consequences of his actions.
I let out a slow breath. My pulse should be racing, but calm washes over me.
“It’s done,” I murmur And Adam? He lets out a low whistle and holds me for a few minutes, letting my heartrate slow down, letting the dogs cuddle with us.
And then he checks his phone.
“Check his fiancée’s page,” he says, voice casual.
I blink.
Oh.
I tap the screen, scrolling quickly.
Jennie Sorino has changed her relationship status.
Engaged → Single.
My lips part. “Holy shit.”
Adam grins. “Merry Christmas, Chuck.” And when he laughs? It's low. Rough. Satisfying.
Then his hand slides to my jaw, thumb brushing once—slow and sure—like he remembers exactly where to touch to unravel me. My pulse stumbles.
From the floor, Dorothy lifts her head from her pink towel nest and gives us the deeply judgmental, deeply correct: finally.
“Foster,” he murmurs, laughter warm at the edges and hunger threaded low through it. “That was hot as hell.”
“Yeah?” My voice is barely a breath. “Good.”
His crooked and familiar smile appears, and he kisses me.
Not a dramatic dip.
Not a cinematic spin.
Not a Hallmark swoop where the snow falls perfectly on cue.
But ours.
Warm.
Certain.
Hungry without rushing.
His mouth is sure and steady and when my fingers catch in his shirt, he pulls me closer with a quiet, wrecked sound that lights up every nerve I have left. My hand slips into his hair.
The world narrows to heat and breath and the familiar shape of each other.
We break only when our lungs insist, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air, room glowing in quiet Christmas light.
My chest rises. Falls. Finds itself again.
My life is mine again.
My body is mine again.
My future is something I get to choose.
Tomorrow, I’ll check on the school nurse job.
I’ll call my grandfather.
I’ll tell my mom I'm not running anymore.
But tonight?
I get to choose this.
“Take me to bed, Dr. Harrison,” I whisper against his mouth, voice steady, wanting.
His exhale is a slow, wrecking thing.
“With pleasure,” he murmurs, hands steady at my waist as he walks me backward, the kiss deepening again—slower, closer, like we’re both learning each other and remembering at the same time.
This isn’t about fixing what we lost.
This isn’t a second chance written by fate.
This is us.
Dorothy resettles with her pink towel, job completed.
Blanche sighs. LoverBoy snuffles into her side.
And I lean into Adam, choosing him, choosing me, choosing us. Then, now, and what comes next in our story.
And I’m home.