The bathroom door opened again, and Gwen’s voice cut through the rush of water. “I brought your pajamas.”
Maggie cracked an eye. Sure enough, Gwen was standing there like it was the most natural thing in the world, holding up the soft cotton set Maggie always packed for trips — navy shorts, striped tank. The domesticity of it made her want to laugh and scream all at once.
“You planning to dress me, too?” Maggie shot back, stepping out and grabbing a towel a little too aggressively. Water dripped down her legs, pooling at her feet. “What’s next? Bedtime story? Glass of warm milk?”
Gwen didn’t flinch. Just held out the pajamas. “You can barely stand up.”
“I’mfine.” Maggie snatched them, tugging the tank overher damp skin, the fabric clinging. “You know what, Gwen? You don’t get to—” She broke off, pulling the shorts on, fumbling with the drawstring. “You don’t get to swoop in like this. Not after months of silence and complacency.”
“I wasn’t silent.” Gwen’s jaw tightened, her voice still maddeningly even. “I was giving you space.”
Maggie laughed, sharp and ugly. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? Space?” Her wet hair was seeping into the fabric of her shirt. “Funny, because from where I’m standing, it looked a hell of a lot like you were giving your attention to Lillian.”
The silence that followed was worse than shouting. Gwen’s eyes darkened, her mouth a thin line.
Maggie hated the way her chest heaved, hated how close Gwen was standing, hated that she could still smell her perfume under the steam. She wanted to shove her. Kiss her. Both.
“Say something,” Maggie snapped, voice breaking.
Gwen did — finally. Quiet, but cutting. “I never chose anyone over you. Not once. You’re the one who walked away.”
The words hit harder than the water had. Maggie swallowed, throat raw. Her fingers fumbled at the towel like it might shield her from the truth in Gwen’s voice.
“What was I supposed to do?” The words ripped out of Maggie before she could corral them. Her chest hurt, tight and messy, but she powered through. “You’re married to your job. You never prioritized me.”
The second it landed, Gwen’s expression shifted into something sharp, jaw tightening, like Maggie had hit the precise nerve she’d been aiming for.
“That’s not fair,” Gwen said, voice clipped. “I worked so hard forus. For our life.”
Maggie barked out a laugh, wet hair plastered to her cheeks. “Ourlife? What life was that? The blueprints youspent nights with while I—” She cut herself off, biting down hard before she admitted too much, before she confessed how many nights she’d lain awake staring at the empty side of the bed, wondering if Gwen would even notice if she left.
“I did it for us,” Gwen said again, quieter this time, like repetition would make it true.
“No,” Maggie whispered, shaking her head, the fight leaking into something softer, smaller. “You did it for you. And maybe I was supposed to understand, to wait around forever, but I—” Her throat closed. “I couldn’t.”
The silence that stretched between them was unbearable. Steam curled in the air, water still dripping from Maggie’s hair to the tile. Gwen looked at her like she wanted to argue, like she had an entire courtroom of evidence stacked up in her favor — but underneath, Maggie swore she saw something else. Regret. Ache.
“You think I’m on this fucking trip for my own benefit?” Gwen’s voice cut sharp through the steam. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes blazing in a way Maggie hadn’t seen in months. “I’m here for you.”
Maggie blinked, thrown. “Why? Why now?”
“I’m here because I—” Gwen broke off, hands flexing at her sides like she didn’t trust herself with them. “Because you scare the hell out of me, Maggie. And I fucking love you.”
The words lodged in Maggie’s chest like shrapnel. She wanted to throw them back, twist them into something ugly. But her mouth was dry, her pulse wild.
And then — she wasn’t sure who moved first.
One second, there was a gulf of air between them, and the next, it was gone. Gwen’s mouth was on hers, desperate and sure, Maggie’s hands fisted in the fabric of Gwen’s shirt, pulling her closer like she could somehow climb inside the steadiness she both craved and resented.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. Months of silence, weeks of tension, years of history poured out in the press oflips, the scrape of teeth, the muffled sound Maggie made against Gwen’s mouth.
The towel slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, but Maggie didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything except that Gwen was kissing her like she’d been starving, like all that restraint had finally cracked open.
And Maggie kissed back, messy and hungry, because despite everything — despite the anger, the jealousy, the endless ache — god help her, she still wanted her.
The kiss turned feral in seconds. Gwen’s hands were on her face, then her neck, then sliding down, urgent, like she’d been holding back so long she couldn’t remember how to stop. Maggie gasped against her mouth, her back hitting the bathroom wall hard enough to make the mirror rattle.
“Jesus, Gwen,” she muttered, but her hands betrayed her, yanking at Gwen’s shirt, tugging her closer. Anything between them was suddenly too much. She wasn’t sure if it was her or Gwen who removed her pajama top. Months of anger didn’t matter, not when Gwen’s body pressed flush against hers, not when her tongue slid against Maggie’s and she moaned like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
