Page 48 of Crossing the Line
"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'dfought 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 kissedHarper 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.
Carmen pulled back just enough to meet Harper's eyes in the dim lighting. "Are you sure about this?" she whispered, though her hands were already tracing the curve of Harper's waist through her scrubs. "Here, where anyone could?—"
"No one's coming up here in this fog," Harper said, her voice rough with want. "And I'm tired of waiting for the perfect moment that might never come."
