Page 37 of Crossing the Line (Phoenix Ridge Medical #6)

So why did victory feel exactly like losing everything that actually did?

Carmen's townhouse echoed with emptiness that pressed against her chest like a weight. She dropped her keys on the entry table, the metallic clatter unnaturally loud in the silence.

Every surface held evidence of Harper's presence. The throw pillows on her couch remained rumpled from where Harper had curled against her side, and even the air seemed to hold traces of Harper's floral perfume, a ghost of intimacy that made Carmen's throat constrict.

She moved through her evening routine on autopilot: changing into comfortable clothes, reviewing surgical notes that blurred together on the page, and opening a bottle of wine.

The mundane tasks that usually grounded her felt hollow, performed by someone going through the motions of living while everything meaningful had been stripped away.

Carmen sat on her couch, surrounded by the debris of what she'd destroyed, and finally allowed herself to process the magnitude of her choices.

She'd protected her career, maintained her professional reputation, and preserved her friendship with Natalie—all the things that were supposed to matter.

But the victory felt exactly like defeat in ways she couldn't have anticipated.

The wine remained untouched beside her as Carmen stared at the harbor lights through her floor-to-ceiling windows.

Somewhere out there, Harper was probably packing boxes again, preparing to start over with a different supervisor who wouldn't look at her with the complicated mixture of love and regret that Carmen could never fully hide.

Carmen had given Harper exactly what she'd claimed to want—professional distance, ethical boundaries, and a chance to succeed without the complication of their relationship.

So why did it feel like she'd amputated part of herself?

Her phone buzzed with a text from Julia. "Heard there was some drama at the hospital today. You okay?"

Carmen stared at the message without responding. How could she explain that she'd voluntarily destroyed the best thing that had happened to her in years?

The doorbell rang at nine-thirty, cutting through Carmen's spiral of self-recrimination. She considered ignoring it, but the sound came again, more insistent this time. Carmen moved to the front door with leaden steps, already knowing who she'd find on the other side.

Julia stood on her doorstep in civilian clothes, her expression carrying the particular concern Carmen recognized from their years of friendship.

Her dark hair was slightly mussed from the evening wind, and she held a bottle of wine in one hand—the good stuff from the vineyard they'd visited last summer.

"You didn't answer my text," Julia said without preamble. "And word travels fast in a hospital. Can I come in?"

Carmen stepped aside without speaking, her composure already beginning to crack under the weight of Julia's genuine concern. The living room felt different with another person in it, less like a tomb and more like a space where actual human connection might be possible.

"You look terrible," Julia observed, settling onto the couch with easy familiarity. "When's the last time you ate anything?"

Carmen couldn't remember. Food had become an abstract concept sometime around the moment Harper had walked out of her office for the final time. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Julia's police training made her impossible to lie to, especially when Carmen's defenses were already in shambles. "Talk to me. What happened?"

Carmen opened her mouth to deflect, to offer some sanitized version of events that would preserve her dignity and avoid the messy reality of what she'd lost. Instead, what came out was a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"I ruined everything," Carmen whispered, the words scraping her throat raw. "I had something real, something that made me feel alive for the first time in years, and I threw it away because I was too afraid to take a risk."

Julia's expression shifted into the focused attention Carmen remembered from their most serious conversations. "Are we talking about Harper Langston?"

Carmen's head snapped up, surprise cutting through her emotional haze. "How did you?—"

"Carmen, I'm a cop. I notice things. Plus, half the hospital is gossiping about some kind of confrontation between you, Harper, and Dr. Langston.

" Julia's voice remained gentle despite her directness.

"I also saw how you looked at her during that trauma response last week.

Like she was the most important thing in the room. "

The observation knocked her off balance. She'd thought she'd been so careful and professional in her interactions with Harper. But apparently her feelings had been written across her face for anyone with eyes to see.

"It's over," Carmen said, her voice barely audible. "I ended it tonight. Submitted her reassignment request and told her there was no future for us professionally or personally."

"And how do you feel about that decision?"

Carmen looked at Julia's patient face, seeing no judgment there, only genuine concern for her wellbeing. The kindness in her friend's expression was almost unbearable after hours of self-recrimination.

"Like I just cut out my own heart to save my reputation," Carmen admitted, the honesty bleeding out of her like a wound she'd been trying to ignore. "Like I've been so busy following rules that I forgot why I wanted anything worth protecting in the first place."

Julia leaned forward, her presence solid and anchoring in Carmen's dissolving world.

"Then maybe it's time to figure out what actually matters to you.

Because from where I'm sitting, watching you destroy yourself to maintain professional boundaries doesn't look like protecting anything worth having. "

Julia opened the wine she'd brought and poured two glasses with the efficient movements of someone who'd navigated countless difficult conversations. She handed one to Carmen, then settled back onto the couch with the patience of someone prepared to stay as long as necessary.

"Start from the beginning," Julia said. "And don't give me the pretty version. I want the truth."

Carmen took a sip of wine, surprised to find it actually had flavor. The familiar ritual of sharing wine with her closest friend created a pocket of safety in her emotional storm, making honesty feel possible for the first time in hours.

"We met at Lavender's," Carmen began, her voice steady despite the chaos in her chest. "The night before her first day. She lied about her name, her age, everything. I didn't know she was Natalie's daughter until I saw her in the surgical prep area the next morning."

"Jesus." Julia's eyebrows rose. "That must have been a shock."

"Devastating. I tried to get her transferred immediately, but Natalie denied the request. She didn't know why I was asking.

" Carmen stared into her wine glass, watching the light refract through the burgundy liquid.

"So I was stuck supervising the woman I'd just slept with, trying to pretend it had never happened. "

"How'd that work out?"

Carmen laughed. "About as well as you'd expect. The attraction and chemistry were still there. We kept getting thrown together for cases, and every time she looked at me..." Carmen trailed off, remembering the way Harper's eyes had seemed to see straight through her professional facade.

"You fell in love with her," Julia said. It wasn't a question.

"Completely. Stupidly. Against every rational thought in my head.

" Carmen's voice cracked slightly. "She's brilliant, Julia.

Not just intelligent, but genuinely gifted at cardiac surgery.

She thinks about procedures the way I do, sees the same beauty in the work.

And when she looked at me, it wasn't as Dr. Carmen Méndez, respected surgeon. It was just...me."

Julia nodded, her expression encouraging Carmen to continue.

"We tried to keep it professional, but we kept crossing lines. Secret meetings, stolen moments. Tonight we were in my office and things got...heated. Natalie walked in on us."

"Ah." Julia's understanding was immediate. "And she didn't take it well."

"She was furious. At both of us, but especially at me. Said I was taking advantage of Harper, that I'd compromised my professional judgment, and that Harper's reputation would be permanently tainted by the assumption that she'd slept her way into good evaluations."

Carmen felt tears prick behind her eyes as she remembered Natalie's devastated expression. "The worst part is, she was right about everything. I did compromise my judgment and put Harper's career at risk and betray Natalie's trust."

"Did you?" Julia's question was sharp enough to cut through Carmen's reflections. "Let me ask you this—were Harper's evaluations based on her performance or your personal feelings?"

"Her performance, obviously. Harper is exceptional?—"

"Then where's the compromise? You evaluated her fairly despite having feelings for her. That sounds like professional integrity, not corruption."

Carmen blinked. "But the appearance of impropriety?—"

"Is not the same as actual impropriety." Julia leaned forward, her voice taking on the authority Carmen recognized from her police work. "Carmen, you've been so terrified of crossing ethical lines that you can't see the difference between appearance and reality."

"Professional ethics exist for good reasons," Carmen protested weakly.

"So does love," Julia shot back. "And sometimes they conflict. When that happens, you have to choose, but you've been choosing fear over everything else."

Carmen felt her defenses rising despite her emotional exhaustion. "It's not that simple?—"

"Isn't it?" Julia's challenge was direct. "What exactly do you think would happen if you told the hospital administration about your relationship with Harper? Not what you fear might happen, but what would actually happen."

Carmen opened her mouth to list the dire consequences, then stopped. She'd been so focused on worst-case scenarios that she'd never actually considered the realistic outcomes.

"Hospital policies allow for workplace relationships with proper disclosure," Julia continued. "Harper would need to be reassigned to avoid conflicts of interest, but that's already happening. Where's the career-ending disaster you're so afraid of?"

"People would talk. They'd question every evaluation I gave her?—"

"Let them talk. You know your work was fair. Harper knows it. That's what matters." Julia's voice softened slightly. "Carmen, when did you decide your career was worth more than your happiness?"

Carmen couldn't remember making that decision consciously, but somewhere along the way, professional safety had become more important than personal connection.

"After Claire," Carmen admitted quietly. "After she destroyed my trust and stole my work. I decided it was safer to keep my professional and personal lives completely separate."

"And how's that working out for you? This perfectly controlled, completely safe life you've built?"

Carmen looked around her immaculate townhouse—every surface clean, every object in its designated place, everything perfectly controlled and completely empty of meaning.

"It's not," she whispered. "It's not working at all."

"Then why are you fighting so hard to protect it?" Julia's question was gentle but relentless. "Carmen, you've been hiding from your life, not protecting it."

The words resonated with devastating accuracy. Carmen had spent years building walls to keep pain out, but she'd also kept out every possibility of genuine connection.

"Harper deserves someone willing to fight for her," Julia continued. "Not someone who'll hide with her in secret, but someone who'll stand up and say 'this matters, this is worth the risk.' Do you love her enough to be that person?"

Carmen closed her eyes, seeing Harper's face when she'd said "I love you too" with such fierce determination. Harper had been ready to fight for their relationship and face whatever consequences came with choosing her, and Carmen had responded by abandoning her at the first sign of real conflict.

"I've been such a coward," Carmen said.

"Yes, you have," Julia agreed without mercy. "But cowardice isn't a permanent condition. You can choose to be brave."

"What if it's too late? What if Harper can't forgive me for giving up on us?"

Julia smiled for the first time since arriving. "There's only one way to find out. But Carmen, if you're going to fight for her, you need to fight properly. No more hiding, no more half-measures. Harper deserves someone who's all in."

Carmen felt something shift in her chest—not hope exactly, but possibility. The recognition that she didn't have to accept the safe, empty life she'd built. That love might require risk, but some things were worth any risk.

"How do I do it?" Carmen asked. "How do I prove to her that I'm ready to choose love over fear?"

"You start by being honest," Julia said. "With the hospital, with Harper, and with yourself. You stop making decisions based on what might go wrong and start making them based on what could go right."

Carmen nodded, feeling something like determination beginning to replace the despair that had consumed her evening. Julia was right—she'd been hiding from her life instead of protecting it. But it wasn't too late to choose differently.

It wasn't too late to choose Harper.