Page 25 of Christmas On Call
Max’s breath caught. This was dangerous. Anyone could walk by. But she didn’t pull away.
“The trend looks stable,” Asha continued, her voice betraying nothing even as her finger pressed more firmly against Max’s. “Continue current feeding schedule and recheck in six hours.”
“Understood,” Max managed.
They stood there for another heartbeat, pretending to study data while their hands had an entirely different discussion. Maxwanted to turn, wanted to kiss her, wanted to drag her into the supply closet and?—
“Doctor Patel?”
They sprang apart like teenagers caught by a parent. Max’s heart shot into her throat.
Dr. Harrison stood fifteen feet away, clipboard tucked under one arm, expression neutral but observant. Max didn’t know how long he’d been there. Didn’t know what he’d seen.
“Doctor Harrison.” Asha’s voice was perfectly level, not even a tremor. “I didn’t realize you were on tonight.”
“Just checking on Baby Rodriguez. His parents requested an update before the weekend.” His gaze moved between them, lingering just a beat too long. “Is everything all right here?”
“Yes,” Asha said smoothly. “Nurse Benson and I were reviewing Baby Liu’s overnight labs. Everything’s stable.”
“Good, good.” Harrison nodded, but something in his eyes made Max’s stomach clench with anxiety. “Carry on, then.”
He walked away, footsteps measured and unhurried. Max stood frozen, staring at the computer screen without seeing it, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Beside her, Asha had gone very still. When Max glanced over, she saw that Asha’s face was pale, her jaw tight, the careful composure intact but her hands gripping the edge of the desk hard enough that her knuckles had gone white.
“Asha—” Max started, voice low.
“I should finish rounds,” Asha said, already stepping back. “Thank you for the update, Nurse Benson.”
She walked away quickly, spine straight, and Max was left standing alone at the computer, wondering if Harrison had seen anything, if he’d noticed, if their careful performance had already slipped.
The rest of the shift passed in a fog of anxiety.
Asha kept her distance—maintained that careful professional bubble that Max had learned to navigate but never liked. They crossed paths during a code in pod six, worked together with their usual flawless synchronization to stabilize a baby whose oxygen levels had tanked, but even in the urgency of the moment, Asha wouldn’t meet her eyes.
By 2 AM, Max was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the work.
She pulled out her phone in the break room and texted,Are we okay?
The response came five minutes later.Yes. Just need to be more careful.
Max stared at the message, frustration and fear warring in her chest. She typed,Can we talk?
Later.
Max wanted to throw her phone across the room. Instead, she pocketed it and went back to work, trying to ignore the hollow feeling spreading through her ribs.
Friday night was supposed to be different.
Max spent the afternoon cleaning her apartment with nervous energy—vacuuming, doing dishes, changing the sheets even though Asha had said she probably wouldn’t stay over. She picked up Thai food from the place on Sunset that Asha liked, set out wine glasses, and tried not to check her phone every thirty seconds.
Asha arrived at 7:08 PM, eight minutes late, which for her might as well have been an hour. She stood in the doorway in civilian clothes—dark jeans that fit her perfectly, a soft beige sweater, hair loose around her shoulders in waves that still took Max’s breath away every time.
“Hi,” Asha said, suddenly shy.
“Hey.” Max pulled her inside and kissed her properly, deeply, trying to communicate everything she couldn’t say at work. “I missed you.”
“It’s only been six hours,” Asha said, but she was smiling against Max’s mouth.
