Page 23 of Crossing the Line (Phoenix Ridge Medical #6)

The question offered an escape route from dangerous personal territory, and Harper seized it gratefully. "It's challenging, but in a good way. The cardiac surgery department is incredible—the level of expertise, the cases we see, the teaching quality."

"And your supervisors? I know Carmen can be demanding, but she's an excellent teacher when she chooses to engage."

Harper felt her emotional control threaten to crack. "She's...thorough. She expects excellence and doesn't accept excuses."

"That sounds like Carmen." Natalie's voice carried obvious affection. "She's been like that since we were residents together. Driven, perfectionist, and absolutely brilliant at what she does. Sometimes I worry she's too isolated and focused on work at the expense of personal connections."

The irony was suffocating. Natalie was worried about Carmen's isolation while Harper sat across from her, hiding the fact that she'd been the one to offer Carmen connection—and then watched her retreat in terror when she realized what she'd almost risked.

"What about the other attendings?" Natalie continued. "Dr. Parker in trauma surgery has an excellent reputation, and Dr. Hassan in emergency medicine is supposed to be very supportive of female residents."

Harper grabbed onto the safer topic, describing her experiences with different supervisors while carefully editing out any mention of the emotional complexity surrounding her work with Carmen.

They discussed surgical techniques, teaching styles, and career development with the easy familiarity of two medical professionals who understood the challenges of surgical training.

"I'm proud of you," Natalie said as their conversation wound down, her voice carrying the particular warmth that had sustained Harper through years of academic pressure and professional uncertainty.

"Not just for your surgical skills, but for your maturity and professionalism.

You're becoming exactly the kind of physician this profession needs. "

The praise should have felt wonderful. Instead, it felt like a knife between Harper's ribs, a reminder of how far she'd fallen from the professional standards her mother admired.

Harper wasn't mature or professional. She was a liar living a double life, someone who'd compromised her supervisor's professional standing and her mother's friendship through selfish choices and spectacularly poor judgment.

"Thank you," Harper managed, the words feeling inadequate for the weight of her mother's faith in her.

As Natalie signaled for the check, Harper realized that every compliment, every expression of pride, every moment of maternal love was building the foundation for an inevitable reckoning.

The truth would come out eventually—it always did—and when it happened, she would lose more than just Carmen's respect.

She would lose her mother's trust, and that felt like losing everything.

They walked back to Phoenix Ridge General together, Natalie's arm linked through Harper's with the casual intimacy that had always made Harper feel both protected and exposed.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the hospital's entrance, and Harper found herself slowing her steps, reluctant to end this moment of normalcy before returning to the complicated reality of her professional life.

"Thank you for lunch," Harper said as they approached the main doors. "I needed that."

"We should do it more often," Natalie replied, squeezing Harper's arm gently. "I know we're colleagues now, but you're still my daughter. I don't want the professional relationship to overshadow the personal one."

The words hit Harper with devastating accuracy. Her mother was worried about professional boundaries overshadowing their personal relationship, while Harper was living the opposite nightmare: her personal choices threatening to destroy both their professional standing and family bond.

"I'd like that," Harper managed, meaning it completely despite the lies she was carrying.

They stepped into the hospital lobby, and Harper's facade shattered completely.

Carmen stood near the elevator bank, reviewing what looked like patient charts, her dark hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the lobby windows.

She looked professional, controlled, and absolutely beautiful in a way that made Harper's chest ache with recognition of everything she'd lost.

"Carmen!" Natalie called out with obvious pleasure, steering Harper toward the elevator bank. "How was your afternoon?"

Carmen looked up from her charts, and for a split second, Harper caught something raw and vulnerable in her expression before the professional mask snapped into place. Their eyes met briefly—barely a heartbeat of contact—but Harper felt the impact like electricity.

"Natalie. Harper." Carmen's voice was perfectly neutral, professionally appropriate. "Productive afternoon. Surgical consultations, patient rounds, the usual. How was your afternoon?"

"We just had lunch," Natalie said warmly. "Mother-daughter bonding time, though we ended up talking mostly about work. I can't seem to turn off the physician mindset, even during personal time."

"It's a common occupational hazard," Carmen replied, her gaze carefully focused on Natalie rather than Harper. "The work has a way of consuming everything else."

Harper watched the interaction with growing horror, seeing her mother's genuine affection for Carmen and Carmen's polite but distant responses.

This morning, Carmen had admitted she wanted Harper "more than anything in years.

" Now she was treating Harper like a stranger, someone barely worth acknowledging beyond professional courtesy.

"Harper was just telling me about her simulation session this morning," Natalie continued, completely oblivious to the undercurrents crackling between Carmen and Harper. "She's learning so much from you. I appreciate you taking her under your wing."

Carmen's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Ms. Langston is a competent intern. She requires minimal supervision."

The formal address felt like a slap. This morning, Carmen had used Harper's first name with intimate warmth, had admitted her feelings and seemed on the verge of choosing courage over caution. Now she couldn't even acknowledge that they had a personal connection beyond supervisor and student.

"Well, I should get back to my patients," Natalie said, glancing at her watch. "Carmen, we should grab coffee later this week. I feel like we barely see each other outside of hospital meetings anymore."

"Of course," Carmen agreed, her voice warming slightly when addressing Natalie directly. "I'll check my schedule."

Natalie kissed Harper's cheek. "Get some rest tonight. You look exhausted."

As Natalie disappeared toward the elevator bank, Harper found herself alone with Carmen in the lobby. The silence stretched between them, filled with everything they couldn't say in public and everything Carmen had apparently decided they would never say at all.

"Dr. Méndez," Harper said quietly, testing whether Carmen would maintain the professional distance or acknowledge what had happened between them.

"Ms. Langston." Carmen's voice was carefully neutral, but Harper caught the slight tension around her eyes. "I trust you found the morning's simulation educational."

The word choice was deliberate, a reminder that Harper should treat their private session as nothing more than professional development. Carmen was making it clear that she intended to pretend their emotional breakthrough had never happened.

"Very educational," Harper replied, putting slight emphasis on the word to let Carmen know she understood the message. "I learned a great deal about...boundaries."

Carmen's expression flickered for just a moment—surprise, perhaps, or recognition of Harper's subtle challenge. But her professional composure held firm.

"Boundaries are essential in this profession," Carmen said coolly. "They protect everyone involved."

The words were clearly meant as a warning, a reminder that Carmen had chosen professional safety over personal risk. But Harper felt something shift in her chest—not heartbreak this time, but a growing spark of anger.

Carmen was treating her like the problem, like Harper had been the one to cross lines and create complications.

As if Carmen hadn't been the one to invite her to the private simulation session, hadn't been the one to admit her feelings, hadn't been the one to lean in for a kiss before panic made her retreat.

"Of course," Harper said, her voice steady despite the emotions churning beneath the surface. "Professional boundaries are...illuminating."

She turned and walked toward the intern lounge, leaving Carmen standing alone by the elevators. With each step, Harper felt her perspective crystallizing into something approaching clarity.

Carmen was afraid of risk, exposure, and anything that might threaten the curated professional life she'd rebuilt after being betrayed.

Harper understood that fear now, especially after hearing about Carmen's past from her mother.

But understanding didn't make Carmen's retreat any less heartbreaking.

Harper had been honest about her feelings She’d been brave enough to ask for what she wanted and willing to risk everything for the possibility of something real. Carmen had responded with an intimate connection wrapped in warmth, then abandonment followed by ice-cold professionalism.

Harper was done being the only one taking risks. She was done being treated like a mistake Carmen needed to correct or a problem that required professional distance to solve. Most importantly, she was done living her life around someone else's fear.

As the intern lounge door closed behind her, Harper felt something settle in her chest—not peace, exactly, but resolution. She knew she couldn't change Carmen's choices. She couldn't force her to be brave or make her choose love over professional safety.

But Harper could choose for herself. And she was choosing to stop hiding and lying. And, most of all, she was choosing to stop accepting less than she deserved from the people she loved.