12. Cormac
Cormac
I felt it the moment it happened. When her breath hitched, the split second our eyes locked, and everything in the room seemed to draw closer.
The silence hung heavy and thick. It was a delicate thing, fragile, but it was there.
A connection. Not a spoken word, not a physical touch.
Nothing but the quiet understanding that passed between us in the briefest of moments.
It shouldn’t have happened. But it did.
I shouldn’t have felt it, but I did.
And that changes everything.
I close my office door, the soft click of it shutting behind me cutting through the hum of the fluorescent lights above.
I don’t even notice the chilly air in here anymore.
My focus is on the files in front of me, a stack of them I have to get through for the surrogacy program.
But my mind isn’t on the papers. It’s on her.
Elena.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since that moment in the exam room. Her eyes, wide and uncertain, but there was something else in them. Something I shouldn’t have seen, but I did.
Attraction.
It’s an undeniable thing, a current between us.
There was no denying it. The way her breath caught when I touched her shoulder.
The way her pulse quickened when I steadied her on her feet.
I could feel it in my own body. How much she wanted to pull away but couldn’t.
How much she wanted me to stay close, even if she was too afraid to admit it.
I was too close. But it’s more than just that.
She’s Liam’s ex. My son’s former partner.
The woman who, despite the past, still carries the echoes of him in her eyes.
That history, that personal connection, should be something that keeps me at a distance.
But instead, it’s a complication I cannot ignore.
She’s not with Liam anymore. But for reasons I can’t bring myself to dissect right now, I don’t want her to be anyone else’s, either.
I try to center myself, placing both hands on my desk and closing my eyes briefly.
The rhythm of my breathing slows, but even the air in this room feels suffocating.
I push the thought of her away and open my eyes, scanning the files in front of me.
The routine paperwork should ground me, should give me something to focus on.
But the truth is, nothing feels real right now. Nothing but her.
That brief moment in the exam room keeps resurfacing. The warmth of her skin beneath my fingers. The tremble of her breath when I steadied her. How her body seemed to crave my presence in a way that made me want to give it to her.
Letting out a slow exhale, I force myself to focus. The program is my life. My responsibility. It’s what I’ve built my career on. And yet, here I am, fantasizing about a woman who is more than just a participant. A woman who, for all intents and purposes, shouldn’t be in my thoughts like this.
But I can’t stop myself. I can’t let go of what happened between us.
Distance. That’s what I need. That’s what she needs. I’m her doctor. I’m responsible for her well-being, but that responsibility ends with medical care. What I’m feeling is an ethics violation. It’s what I’ve built my career on avoiding.
But it’s still there. The pull. The desire.
Her hands, shaking as I steadied her. Her scent, subtle and faint, lingering in the air as I helped her find her balance.
It doesn’t matter that I’m not touching her anymore.
I can still feel the weight of her skin beneath my fingers.
I still remember how she leaned into me just a fraction, trusting me without even knowing it.
I can’t let it go any further. I can’t let myself be pulled in.
I turn back to the desk and pick up the stack of papers, flipping through them absently, trying to force my mind to focus on something other than her.
The familiar rhythm of work helps… sort of.
But even as I try to read, my eyes drift over the page.
All I see is her face. Her eyes. The way she looked at me when I steadied her.
I know the signs; I’ve seen it before. The attraction. The want. It’s a natural thing in this line of work. People get too close, too comfortable. I’ve always kept my distance. I’ve never let myself fall into the trap of proximity, of making it personal. I’ve always kept it professional.
But this is different. Elena is different.
I try to ignore the fact that she’s Liam’s ex and all the complicated history between them.
He left her. Abandoned her. And I stayed.
I stepped in to care for her when Liam couldn’t.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter, because she’s my participant.
I’m not her caretaker beyond the medical scope of this arrangement.
I can’t make this about anything else. But despite my best efforts, it already is about something else.
I pick up my phone, dialing Dr. Walsh’s number without thinking.
“Dr. Walsh,” I say when she answers. “From now on, I want you to handle Elena’s routine appointments. No more personal check-ins from me.”
There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line. “Of course, Dr. Brennan. Are you sure? You’ve been... actively involved with her care.”
“It’s for the best,” I respond, the words feeling hollow in my mouth. “I’ll still oversee everything, but I need to keep my distance. I’m making an adjustment to our approach. Elena’s care will remain consistent, but I’ll be less involved on a personal level.”
She doesn’t question me further; I don’t think she can. She knows me too well. And she knows I never make decisions like this lightly.
I end the call and lean back in my chair again.
Distance. That’s what I’m imposing now. I won’t see Elena in the exam room anymore.
I won’t be close enough to see the way her lips part when she inhales sharply, or how she falters when I touch her.
I won’t feel the heat of her skin against mine, or the way her body reacts to the simplest of gestures.
I need to push those things out of my mind. But the truth is, the distance doesn’t change the structure of this program. I still control everything. Her housing. Her medical care. Her future. All of it is within my hands. She’s my participant. And she is carrying my child.
Even with the distance I’m imposing between us, I still have power over her.
It’s built into the very fabric of this program.
It’s written into every contract, every rule, every protocol we’ve set in place.
Elena might think that me stepping away from her might erase some of the closeness, but it doesn’t. It never will.
I can’t push that fact away, no matter how much I want to distance myself from the feelings I know I shouldn’t have. I can’t forget that she’s mine in more ways than one.
I stand from my desk and walk to the window, looking down at the parking lot below. The building is quiet now, the late hour leaving the halls empty except for the occasional staff member finishing their shift. The city lights flicker in the distance, a reminder of the world beyond these walls.
The fact remains: distance keeps her safe. And it keeps me safe. If I let myself get any closer, I won’t be able to control myself. And I can’t afford that. Not now. Not with her. Not with what’s at stake.
But I’m lying to myself if I think I can just erase this. Erase her. Distance won’t stop what I feel. It can’t. I’m still in control. She may not see me every day, but the rules of the program are the same. She still answers to me. She still relies on me for everything.
And nothing about that is going to change just because I’m not in the same room as her.
That, at least, I can still manage.