And Maggie wondered whether what she’d been protecting herself from wasn’t loss—but living.
8
EVIE
Evie had learned to read silences.
Not the comfortable kind that settled between friends over coffee. Not the productive kind that accompanied focused work. The other kind—the tense, loaded silences that preceded storms.
Maggie Laurel was wrapped in one of those silences now.
Evie watched her across the conference room, cataloging the micro-expressions that most people missed. The way Maggie’s jaw tightened when Dr. Patel asked about case assignments. The way her fingers pressed just slightly too hard against her tablet. The way her gaze swept the room without ever quite landing on Evie.
Professional distance, Evie thought bitterly. As if two nights ago hadn’t happened. As if Maggie’s hands hadn’t traced every inch of her skin with devastating precision. As if Evie hadn’t felt completely seen for the first time in years.
“Doctor Brooks.”
Evie’s head snapped up. “Yes, Doctor Laurel?”
Maggie’s expression was neutral. Perfectly, maddeningly neutral. “You’ll be presenting Carter’s case at grand rounds tomorrow. Prepare accordingly.”
It wasn’t a request.
“Of course,” Evie said, matching her tone.
Their eyes met for half a second—not long enough for anyone else to notice, but long enough for Evie to see the flicker of something beneath Maggie’s control. Regret? Fear? Want?
Then it was gone.
Maggie dismissed the team with her usual efficiency, and Evie was left standing in the conference room, watching her walk away.
Again.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of routine. Vitals. Notes. Lab reviews. Evie moved through it mechanically, her mind elsewhere.
She kept thinking about the way Maggie had looked at her in the hallway yesterday. The conversation that had started as professional courtesy and ended with Maggie’s walls slamming back into place so hard Evie could practically hear them lock.
This is exactly why boundaries exist.
The words had been clinical. Definitive.
But Evie had seen Maggie’s hands shake when she said them.
By noon, Evie was exhausted—not from the work, but from the mental gymnastics required to pretend everything was normal. To stand three feet from Maggie during rounds and not think about how those same three feet had felt like miles the morning after. To hear her voice give orders and not remember how it had sounded in the dark, rough and vulnerable and real.
She was reviewing Daisy’s latest labs when her pager went off.
MY OFFICE – 10 MIN
Evie stared at the message.
Her pulse kicked up despite her best efforts. She told herself it was professional. A case discussion. Nothing more.
She was lying to herself and she knew it.
Ten minutes later, she stood outside Maggie’s office, hand raised to knock.
She hesitated.
