I wokeup with Ava in my arms.
It still surprised me, even after all these weeks. The weight of her against my chest, her hair tickling my chin, her breathing slow and steady in the early morning light. Watson had claimed the foot of the bed at some point during the night—he always did—and was watching us with the vaguely disapproving look of a cat who believed he deserved more real estate.
This was my life now.Ours, somehow.
I pressed a kiss to the top of Ava's head, careful not to wake her. She'd worked a double yesterday, came home exhausted, and still insisted on quizzing me for an hour before we fell into bed together.
"Drug interaction: epinephrine and beta blockers."
"Reduced effectiveness. Higher doses needed. Watch for rebound hypertension."
"Good. Pediatric adenosine."
"0.1 mg/kg IV push, max 6 mg first dose."
“Perfect. You're going to pass this exam.”
“Only because I have the best teacher.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Torres.”
“Do I get a reward?”
She'd raised an eyebrow at that, a smile tugging at her lips. “What kind of reward did you have in mind, Torres?”
I'd shown her exactly what I had in mind. And she obliged—enthusiastically—until we were both breathless and tangled in the sheets, the flashcards scattered forgotten across the floor.
I was getting very good at pharmacology.
Ava stirred, made a soft sound, and burrowed closer. I tightened my arm around her and let myself have this moment. The quiet before the day began. The certainty of her.
We'd fallen into a rhythm, these past few weeks. Mornings tangled together, reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed. Shifts that sometimes overlapped—and those were the best days, the ones where I'd bring a patient into her ER and catch her eye across the trauma bay, mid-shift.
Professional. Appropriate. But the look she'd give me when no one was watching made the twelve-hour shift worth it.
Once, I'd cornered her in the supply closet. Just for a minute. Just long enough to kiss her breathless and remind her I was thinking about her.
"Torres, we're at work," she'd whispered, but she was smiling.
"I know. I don't care."
"Someone could walk in."
"Then you better stay quiet."
She hadn't been quiet. Not entirely. But no one had walked in, and the flush on her cheeks when she emerged had been worth every risk.
Evenings were study sessions—with her curled on the couch with my textbook, Watson supervising from the armchair, me pacing the kitchen while she drilled me on trauma protocols and cardiac rhythms. She was demanding. Exacting. Accepted nothing less than perfection.
I'd never loved anyone like this.
And every night, we fell into bed together. Sometimes desperate, sometimes slow. Always with the same overwhelming certainty that this was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I was in love with Ava Rothwell. And she loved me back. Still couldn't believe it.
The exam was in three days. The case against the Langs was finally moving. Everything I'd wanted finally felt within reach.
The call came while I was at the station, halfway through equipment checks.
