Page 30 of Crossing the Line (Phoenix Ridge Medical #6)

"I don't know how to do this," Carmen admitted, the words scraping her throat raw. "I don't know how to want someone this much without losing everything else."

Harper's grip tightened slightly, anchoring Carmen to the present moment instead of letting her spiral into worst-case scenarios. "You don't have to figure it out alone," Harper said. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. We can figure it out together."

The fog had crept closer while they talked, beginning to soften the harsh edges of the city lights below. Soon, Phoenix Ridge would be blanketed in silence, the kind of weather that made private conversations feel sacred and protected from the outside world.

Carmen turned to meet Harper's gaze directly, and what she saw there made her stomach drop and soar simultaneously.

Harper looked at her with the same intensity Carmen remembered from their first night at Lavender's, but now it was layered with something deeper: recognition.

Harper saw her fear, her vulnerability, her desperate desire to be brave enough for what they could build together.

"Tomorrow night," Carmen said, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice despite the chaos in her chest, "when you come over, what exactly are you going to ask me for?"

Harper's smile was soft but unwavering. "Everything," she said simply. "I'm going to ask you for everything, Carmen. Because that's what you deserve, too, even if you're too afraid to ask for it yourself."

The words hit Carmen like a wave, stealing her breath and making spots dance at the edges of her vision. Harper wasn't just demanding more for herself; she was offering to fight for them both.

Carmen felt tears prick behind her eyes and a lump forming in her throat that made speaking impossible. All she could do was nod, squeezing Harper's hand like a lifeline, and hope that when tomorrow came, she'd be brave enough to deserve what Harper was willing to give.

The fog had wrapped around them like a cocoon, muffling the distant sounds of the city and creating an intimate bubble on the rooftop garden.

Carmen could barely make out the harbor lights through the haze, but Harper's presence beside her felt more vivid than ever—the warmth radiating from her body, the soft sound of her breathing, the way her thumb continued its gentle rhythm against Carmen's knuckles.

"Tell me what 'everything' means," Carmen said, her voice hoarse with the weight of unshed tears. "Because I need to know what you're asking for before I—" She stopped, swallowing hard against the panic rising in her throat.

Harper shifted on the bench, angling her body to face Carmen more directly. The movement brought their knees together, a point of contact that sent heat shooting through Carmen's nervous system despite the cooling evening air.

"I want to be able to text you good morning without coding it in professional language," Harper said, her voice steady but gentle.

"I want to have dinner together without worrying about who might see us at a restaurant.

I want to tell my friends about the woman I'm falling in love with instead of deflecting every question about my personal life. "

Each word hit Carmen like a physical blow, making her chest tighten until she felt like she was drowning in open air. Her free hand pressed against her sternum, trying to ease the pressure building there.

"I want my mother to know about us," Harper continued, and Carmen's breath caught so sharply it made a sound in the quiet evening.

"Not tomorrow, not next week, but eventually.

Because hiding from her feels like hiding from family, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life pretending to be someone I'm not. "

Carmen's vision blurred at the edges, spots of light dancing in her peripheral vision as Harper's words sank in. "Harper, you don't understand?—"

"I understand that you're terrified," Harper interrupted, her grip on Carmen's hand tightening. "I understand that Claire hurt you in ways that still make you wake up in cold sweats. But I'm not Claire, Carmen. I'm not going to steal from you or betray your trust or use your feelings against you."

The mention of Claire's name made Carmen's stomach drop like she'd missed a step in the dark. Her throat constricted, making it hard to swallow, and she felt sweat break out along her hairline despite the fog's chill.

"This isn't about Claire," Carmen managed, though her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. "This is about reality. About hospital policies and professional ethics and?—"

"About fear," Harper said quietly, and the simple truth of it made Carmen's defenses crumble like sandcastles against a tide. "About you being so afraid of losing control that you're willing to lose me instead."

Carmen's breath hitched, and she felt tears spill over despite her efforts to hold them back.

Harper's words cut through every rationalization she'd built, exposing the raw terror underneath.

She was terrified of wanting something so much that its loss might destroy her and trusting someone with her heart again.

"I don't want to lose you," Carmen whispered, the confession torn from somewhere deep in her chest. "But I don't know how to risk everything for something that might not last."

Harper's other hand came up to cup Carmen's cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that Carmen hadn't realized were falling. "That's the thing about love, isn't it? There are no guarantees. But there's also no reward without risk."

Carmen leaned into Harper's touch despite herself, her body seeking comfort even as her mind screamed warnings. Harper's palm was warm against her skin, steady and sure in a way that made Carmen want to believe in possibilities instead of just protecting against disasters.

"What if I'm not brave enough?" Carmen asked, her voice breaking on the words. "What if I love you so much that I make all the wrong choices trying to protect it?"

"Then we'll make mistakes together," Harper said simply. "And we'll figure out how to fix them together. That's what partnerships are for."

The word "partnership" sent a fresh wave of tears down Carmen's cheeks. Harper wasn't asking her to abandon her career or ignore professional complications. She was asking to be treated like an equal, like someone worthy of facing those challenges alongside her.

Carmen felt like she needed space to process, so she stood and walked toward the railing, leaning against it and stared at the twinkling stars.

"I've never had a partner," Carmen admitted, the words scraping her throat raw. "Not really. Claire was... She was someone who shared my bed and my research, but she never wanted to share my life. She wanted to take from it."

Harper materialized next to her, and her thumb traced the line of Carmen's jaw, the touch gentle but anchoring. "I don't want to take anything from you, Carmen. I want to build something with you. Something real and honest and worth fighting for."

Carmen closed her eyes, letting Harper's words wash over her. The fog had grown so thick that the rest of Phoenix Ridge had disappeared entirely, leaving them suspended in white silence where only truth seemed possible.

"I'm scared," Carmen whispered, looking directly at her, the admission bleeding out of her like a wound she'd been trying to ignore. She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm so scared of losing you that I can't see past the fear to see what we could have together."

"I know," Harper said, her voice soft with understanding. "But fear doesn't get to make our decisions for us anymore. We do."

Carmen opened her eyes to find Harper watching her with an expression so full of love and determination that it made her chest ache in entirely new ways.

This wasn't the woman who'd lied about her identity at Lavender's or the defensive intern who'd challenged Carmen's authority.

This was someone who'd fought through her own fears to offer Carmen everything she'd been too afraid to ask for.

Carmen felt something break open in her chest, a dam finally giving way after months of holding back flood waters. Harper wasn't asking for promises about the future or guarantees about their professional complications. She was asking Carmen to be present, whole, and to stop hiding.

Carmen looked at Harper through her tears. This woman was someone who'd fought through her own fears to offer everything Carmen had been too terrified to ask for. Harper's hand was warm against her cheek, her thumb still tracing gentle patterns that made Carmen's pulse race.

"I want to try," Carmen whispered, the words barely audible but carrying more weight than any promise she'd ever made. "I don't know how to be brave enough for everything you're asking, but I want to try."

Harper's smile was radiant even through the thick fog. "That's all I need," she said, leaning closer until Carmen could feel her breath against her lips. "Just you, trying with me."

When Harper kissed her, it felt like coming home and leaping off a cliff simultaneously. Carmen's hands found Harper's face, desperate to anchor herself to this moment and this choice, to the woman who was worth every risk she'd been too afraid to take.

The kiss deepened with the weight of everything they'd finally admitted, and Carmen realized that Harper was right: some things were too important to wait for the perfect moment. Sometimes you had to create the moment yourself, even when the world felt uncertain and the future remained uncharted.

Especially then.

Harper's hands wove their way in Carmen's hair as the kiss deepened, months of careful distance dissolving in the fog-wrapped privacy of the rooftop garden.

Carmen had kissed Harper before, but this was different.

This was the kiss of someone who'd stopped running and had chosen to be vulnerable.

Someone who was finally ready to build something real.