Page 20 of Christmas On Call
Thank you for being patient with me. I really wish we didn’t get interrupted. You seriously make me feel all kinds of things. Too inappropriate to text you it, though. - A
Max stared at the screen, her heart doing something complicated and wonderful. She typed back:
Maybe you should just show me sometime. See you next shift.
The reply came immediately:
Yes. You will.
Max smiled all the way home, exhaustion and hope tangled so tightly she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. She rode through LA’s early morning traffic, the city waking up around her, and thought about Asha’s hand on her cheek, the vulnerability in her eyes, the careful admission.
For now, it was enough.
7
ASHA
New Year’s Eve arrived with the kind of eerie quiet that made Asha feel like she was walking through a hospital frozen in time. The NICU hummed at half-capacity: most of the families had been cleared to go home for the holiday, leaving only the most critical cases and a skeleton crew of staff who’d drawn the short straw—or, in Asha’s case, had volunteered specifically because the alternative was spending the evening alone in her apartment, watching the clock tick toward midnight while her phone sat silent and her parents’ voicemail grew increasingly pointed.
She arrived at 6:52 PM, eight minutes early, which was late by her usual standards but still respectable. The hallways were dim, the overhead lights set to evening mode, and the usual bustle of shift change was muted to a few tired voices and the squeak of sneakers on linoleum. She signed in at the nurses’ station, noted the census—twelve babies, down from the usual twenty-four—and allowed herself a moment of something that felt dangerously close to relief.
Fewer patients meant fewer emergencies. Fewer emergencies meant more time to think.
And thinking, lately, had become both her greatest comfort and her most persistent torment.
Five days. It had been five days since the supply closet, since the on-call room, since Max’s hand on her cheek and the almost-kiss that had left Asha hollow and aching. Desperate for more. Five days of text messages that started professional and drifted, by increments, into something much more unprofessional. Five days of lying awake at three in the morning, staring at her ceiling, replaying every word, every touch, every moment of vulnerability she’d allowed herself. Five days of finding quiet moments to slide her fingers in between her legs and climax over and over again at the thought of Max.
Five days of trying to convince herself she could maintain distance while knowing, with increasing certainty, that she’d already lost that battle.
She was in love with Max Benson.
The realization had arrived two nights ago, at 2 AM, while Asha sat at her kitchen table with a cup of chamomile tea gone cold and her laptop open to a half-finished research article she couldn’t focus on. It hadn’t been dramatic—no lightning bolt, no sudden clarity. Just the slow, dawning understanding that the tightness in her chest when she thought about Max wasn’t anxiety or fear or even attraction.
It was longing. Pure, simple, heart-twisting longing.
And she had no idea what to do about it.
She hung her coat in the staff room, checked her bun in the mirror—already loosening—and headed back to the unit. The charge nurse tonight was Kelly, a twenty-year veteran with a dry sense of humor and a habit of reading romance novels between med passes. She looked up as Asha approached.
“Quiet night so far,” Kelly said, tapping her pen against the census board. “Rodriguez and Chen are both stable. The twins inpod five had a good day—Mom got to hold them both for the first time.”
“That’s excellent,” Asha said, scanning the list. “Any concerns?”
“Nah. It’s New Year’s Eve. Even the babies are taking it easy.” Kelly grinned. “You pulling the whole shift, or are you planning to sneak out at midnight for champagne?”
Asha managed a small smile. “I’ll be here.”
“Course you will.” Kelly stood, stretching. “Well, I’m posted in pod eight if you need me. Max is handling one through four.”
Asha’s pulse stuttered at the name, but she kept her expression neutral. “Understood.”
Kelly wandered off, leaving Asha alone at the station. She forced herself to focus on the charts, updating orders, reviewing overnight labs. But her attention kept drifting to the far end of the unit, where she could just make out a flash of movement—auburn hair in a messy bun, lime-green sneakers, the sound of Max’s voice, low and gentle, talking to one of the parents.
Asha closed her eyes, took a breath, and made herself count to ten.
Professional. Controlled. This is work.
But even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. Work had stopped being a refuge the moment Max kissed her. Now it was just another place where she had to pretend she wasn’t falling apart.
