Page 31 of Take What Hurts

Elliott bristled. “Mackenzie, it’s nearly midnight. Take the Uber—I’ll pay for it. Please. Or—” Elliott cut herself off, thinking. “Or I’ll walk with you.”

Mackenzie’s stomach did a little flip. Had anyone ever offered to walk her home? “And then what? You’ll walk back by yourself?” Mackenzie scoffed. The Uber pulled away from the street, leaving that option null and void. “Not a chance. I have pepper spray. It’ll be fine.”

Elliott’s eyes flicked around the street, almost like she was trying to spot anyone ready to jump out from a dark alley. “Well, you’ll text me when you get home?”

“Of course. I promise.”

“All right, well—” Elliott frowned, reluctance clear in every frown line that creased her sharp features, and the urge to kiss her was overwhelming. “I don’t like it, but…” She trailed off, and butterfly wings beat madly against Mackenzie’s ribs. After a beat, Elliott exhaled shakily and nodded at the cute red shiplap building adorned with black steel balconies. “Right—well… this is me.”

To Mackenzie, it was slightly thrilling—the fact that they lived in such close proximity. That when they had first met at the airport, they had both left in separate Ubers from blocks away. That they lived and loved and cried and were happy and miserable and worked in the same sphere of the law all within the same general radius, and yet they had never crossed paths until Mackenzie had noticed the tall, slightly awkward Elliott staring forlornly at a departing plane in the middle of a heaving Sea-Tac.

And Mackenzie had had fun with Elliott. More fun than she’d had with another person, including Frankie, in years. Repeatedly. Aside from that one awful conference in San Francisco, which their clients had made far more difficult than it needed to be, every time they’d run into each other—the airport, the grocery store, the coffee shop, the market—it had been easy and pleasant and warm and had left that gaping hole, which cut through Mackenzie’s chest like a trench, feeling just a little smaller each time. Mackenzie’s stomach clenched with the thought of “what if.” What if she hadn’t been assigned this matter and she’d never been at the airport in the first place? Would they have continued to elude each other, their circles of life being so similar, so close, but never quite touching?

Then her stomach roiled, hot and sick. Because gradually, somehow—spending any amount of time with Elliott, but especially tonight—she’d felt the safety and acceptance found with a person who understands you. Like she could finally breathe easily in the presence of another human being and like she’d waste away if she couldn’t have some level of familiarity with Elliott beyond professional collegiality.

But it was ridiculous, and wrong, and generally incorrect to feel this way, given their circumstances. Given how important this file was for her career—her future. Her sense of fucking self, if she was being completely honest. But Mackenzie could feel it slipping. The restraint. Every interaction, every day, she got further away from the resolution she’d made to herself to keep Elliott at arm’s length. To focus on closing out this file as efficiently as possible, and to the highest standard, and waltzing into her managing partner’s office and demanding that promotion that she could well and truly, at that point, say she thoroughly deserved.

To make sure her relationship with the lawyer on the other side stayed amicable and professional. To make sure the respect that existed between them remained. And, absolutely essentially, to ensure that lawyer’s image of Mackenzie was the image of the formidable litigator that Mackenzie projected to the world, rather than the capitulating mess she was in every other sphere of life.

But it appeared that the universe was working to push her toward Elliott. And stronger women than Mackenzie had caved to the universe.

It was dangerous to feel this way.

Wasn’t it?

But god. It didn’t feel even remotely dangerous when Elliott looked at her like she was looking at her now. With her eyes soft and smoldering like hot honey, the sweetest smile pulling at her mouth.

It was while Mackenzie was staring at Elliott, trying desperately to decide how to proceed, that Elliott seemed to shake herself from her own, mysterious thoughts, her smile turning tighter. Almost regretful. “Well⁠—”

“I wanted to text you.” The words rushed out of her mouth before she could even properly consider them. What the fuck? Well, I guess this is happening.

Droplets of mist clung to the curls on the top of Elliott’s head, the light refracting so it looked like she was glowing. Mackenzie’s breath left her as she openly gazed at Elliott, standing under the streetlight, eyes tired but alive. Whatever restraint Mackenzie was clinging to like a life raft evaporated, and she finally let the tide of Elliott pull her out into the unknown. “Again, I mean.”

Mackenzie watched those glorious eyes drop to brogue-covered feet for a moment, before they lifted back up to Mackenzie’s face. “Why did you text me at all?” Elliott wasn’t unkind or accusatory. She only studied her patiently, like Mackenzie was a puzzle she had to solve. Mackenzie noticed the little line between Elliott’s eyebrows that appeared when she furrowed them in thought or curiosity, and fuck if Mackenzie didn’t love to be responsible for the appearance of that little line. “I mean, I know it was about the file, but how could you think that⁠—”

“It wasn’t…”

The furrow in Elliott’s brow deepened. “What do you mean?”

“… about the file.”

Elliott was silent, and Mackenzie thought if she listened hard enough she might be able to hear the cogs in Elliott’s brain turning. Finally: “But your text. It said you wanted to talk about⁠—”

“—the offer. I know.” Mackenzie squeezed her eyes closed and let out a long breath that hung as a mist in front of her when she reopened them. She shrugged and huffed out a laugh and marveled at just how far her grip on this attraction to Elliott had slipped, as her brain threw words at her. They were out of her mouth before she could even consider the broader implications. “I texted you because I wanted to,” she whispered, taking a step toward Elliott, stomach swooping pleasantly.

Elliott’s pupils blew wide in the glow of the headlights of the car passing by, tires hissing on the road. Hope bloomed like a rose in Mackenzie’s chest, and she closed her eyes against the feeling, willing it to crush itself back into the ground. “Mackenzie⁠—”

“Just listen, okay?” Another step.

Elliott’s feet appeared to be rooted to the pavement, and she stared at Mackenzie’s face with brows furrowed and slim, sharp cheeks flushed, just slightly, just enough. Adorable.

Elliott gave a minute nod, and Mackenzie’s shoulders relaxed. “That day in the airport. I don’t know what came over me.” She pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. “And maybe it’s because I never thought I’d see you again that I was able to talk to you—very unlike me.” She laughed, and Elliott’s lip curled pleasantly, hands burying themselves into the pockets of her coat. “But I started talking to you, and I felt warm and”—she paused, searching for the word, trying to remember the visceral feeling she’d had that day—“confident, for the first time in a really long time. And then we were running into each other all over the place, and you didn’t just”—she waved an arm in the air around her head—“run away.” Elliott was nodding, eyes on Mackenzie’s face like what she was saying was the most fascinating thing rather than the ramblings of a lunatic, and it gave Mackenzie the permission to continue. “And then I started to think maybe you were enjoying this as much as I was, but, god, we’re on opposite sides, and I⁠—”

“You want me?” Feet finally uprooting themselves, Elliott closed the distance between them to inches. Mackenzie could only nod. Shakily. Tentatively. With all the trepidation of a person flaying themselves open for another. “But why?”

The abject wonderment lacing the simple question was, for Mackenzie, akin to walking into a brick wall, and she blinked. Why? Was Elliott actually, really asking that? “What—? I need some clarification. What do you mean, ‘why?’”

Elliott stepped closer again, wonder in every feature of her face. “I’m just—” She cleared her throat. “I’m not⁠—”