Page 38 of Take What Hurts

Elliott huffed out a laugh and winked at Mackenzie, reveling in the faint blush that dusted her cheeks. Elliott loved making Mackenzie blush. “Ahh, and now you’ve seen behind the curtain and you’ve realized I’m really just your regular walking lesbian disaster.” The mere thought Mackenzie might have that opinion caused a tightening of the vise around her rib cage, and she gasped with each hard squeeze.

But then, as Mackenzie smiled so, so warmly at her and shook her head slowly, twisting her body in the passenger seat to face Elliott, the vise relinquished its grip bit by bit. The blood ran to Elliott’s own cheeks and… other places, when Mackenzie reached out and squeezed Elliott’s knee gently. “An absolute disaster.”

A glow ignited in Elliott’s chest, the warmth emanating from Mackenzie seeping through her skin and lighting her up from the inside out. Everything about Mackenzie was heat inducing. Her smile, her laugh, the ways she chose to be tactile. All that sweetness and care and warmth rolled off her in waves and filled up all the lonely places in Elliott’s body. If Elliott could bottle it and drink it, she would. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” she asked as Mackenzie pushed the passenger door open.

“Of course. I can’t wait.” She said it so simply, so easily, and Elliott wondered whether it could be as simple as that, despite everything. Then she winked, and Elliott watched her walk away, her hips swaying gently the whole way to the glass door of her building. When she paused, Elliott sucked in a sharp breath at the way Mackenzie glanced back over her shoulder—the heat in that gaze the antithesis of the sweetness in the lifting of her hand in goodbye before she pushed through the door and was gone. Elliott wanted to hit rewind and feast herself on that look in Mackenzie’s eyes over and over until she expired.

Elliott’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, renewed wetness pooling in her boxers, the intoxicating swing of Mackenzie’s hips as she walked away replaying on a loop behind her eyes. The giddy rush of adrenaline that had been simmering in her stomach all day began a new wave. Because Mackenzie had kissed her. Kissed her. Wanted her.

In more than the way they could have each other right now. And she’d shown Elliott how much more she wanted. And Elliott had shown Mackenzie right back.

By kissing the living fucking daylights out of each other. In public. On a chairlift. Hours after Elliott had semiconsciously stroked the rigid nub of Mackenzie’s nipple in the bed they’d shared…

The adrenaline wave didn’t stop. It built, making her limbs loose, filling her abdomen, rushing through her veins, her arms, her brain—making her head spin. Filled her lungs more and more and more until she was drowning in it.

Because they’d kissed each other. When they both knew they couldn’t have each other. Because they both had clients to represent. On opposite sides of the same matter. And there was an offer on the table that they needed to negotiate in the best interests of each of their clients.

And so Mackenzie had told Elliott that they were friends. They’d agreed they were friends.

Just friends.

A niggle in the back of Elliott’s brain dug in. Took root. The word friend accompanied by a hot wave of nausea. Because what if friends were all they were ever going to be? What if so much time passed between now and the end of this wretched file that Elliott couldn’t extract herself from the dreaded friend zone? What if the whole notion—of being Elliott’s friend—was an out? A way to hedge a bet? Would Mackenzie do that? Surely not. But oh god. It made sense. Made sense that the longer they spent with each other, the longer Mackenzie watched Elliott fumble and muddle her way through this file they worked on together—and more generally, her life—the higher the likelihood Mackenzie wouldn’t want Elliott the way Elliott would inevitably still want Mackenzie.

Because despite Mackenzie’s gentle acceptance of Elliott’s inherent messiness, it was a lot when it manifested and when it was witnessed. In fact, it was too much. Mackenzie would tire of it exactly like everyone else had.

And oh god. The file. The fucking file.

Elliott’s lungs ached with the effort of sucking in air. She clutched at her chest like she’d be able to loosen the constricting tightness there.

They had to start negotiating on Monday. How the fuck were they going to do that when all Elliott wanted was to take herself out of the fucking friend zone right fucking now? When all she wanted was to close the file so she could avoid the unpleasantness of a courtroom and the inevitable ick Mackenzie would catch from witnessing the mess Elliott was when trying to run a matter in court. And a courtroom seemed inevitable if they couldn’t negotiate a settlement.

Her lungs were on fire. She scrambled for the buttons on her flannel, fingers heavy—like all the blood in her body was deoxygenated. The ache in her back behind her lungs forced her forward where she sat, and she clutched at her ribs, breath wheezing in the back of her throat.

This was bad.

Elliott wanted to tell Matilda to take the offer—unfavorable aspects and all. Take it and let it be over. So Elliott could preserve this fragile thing growing between Matilda’s lawyer and her ex-wife’s lawyer.

She sucked in another wheezing breath and wanted to scream—the pain of it hitting her lungs like a visceral, tangible punch. She clutched at her stomach, her chest—teeth grinding against the saliva building at the back of her throat and the acidic burn that ran up her esophagus. She swallowed hard.

How could she even be having that thought? When had she become so fucking weak to let her personal life interfere with her work?

Elliott brought her hands back to the steering wheel and clutched it like it was a life raft and she was drowning. Tried to focus on the smooth leather of the steering wheel under her palms. Tried to count the number of stars in the Subaru logo. Tried to count the number of stitches under her fingers in the leather.

It wasn’t working. Her breath came impossibly faster, heart pounding—bruising—behind her ribs. The bile rushed up again, and she doubled over, forehead against the cold of the Subaru logo, choking with the effort of keeping it all inside her body, where it belonged. She couldn’t breathe. She clawed at her throat, and a sob erupted from somewhere deep in her chest, wet warmth running down her cheeks and onto the leather between her legs. An animal racking sound filled the car—primal sobbing Elliott registered must have been coming from her.

When her vision started to go black around the edges, banging at the window by her spinning head made her jump in her seat. Before she could even look at who was responsible for the banging, the car door was open and soft, warm hands were on her face.

She managed to turn. She dimly registered flushed cheeks and sapphire-blue eyes—Mackenzie’s eyes—wide and worried under perfectly arched blond eyebrows furrowed with concern. Noticed the small white scar under the left eye. The blond hair framing soft cheeks. The lightly chapped, pleasingly pink lips moving as though speaking, but the roaring in her ears drowned whatever words were being spoken. Elliott focused on the faint freckles across the bridge of a long, slender nose and started to count.

She watched Mackenzie’s mouth form the words again. Her name, she thought dimly. Then Mackenzie’s face was lowering, and her hands were around Elliott’s waist, and strong, toned arms were pulling her tightly into her firm chest. She squeezed hard, and Elliott’s face found its way into the crook of Mackenzie’s warm, familiar neck. She breathed in the fresh scent. Something clean. Like laundered linen or eucalyptus, she thought. Maybe both. She’d never been good at that. At identifying scents.

It could have been minutes, but it felt like days before Elliott was finally able to take a satisfying breath that didn’t make her lungs burn and ache. She focused on the repetitive motion of Mackenzie’s blunt nails raking through the short hair on the back of her head. With every stroke, the thundering of her heart ticked down in speed, and with it, the tight knot in her chest released by degrees. Wet fabric stuck to her cheek, and she pulled herself away.

Mackenzie’s arms loosened around her waist, and she rocked back onto her toes from where she had been kneeling on the road. She pushed her hand through the longer hair around Elliott’s ear, smoothing the dark curls away from her brow.

Elliott’s throat constricted at Mackenzie’s expression—the creases and tightness around her eyes and mouth, the concern bordering on panic plainly written in every line. “Are you okay?”

Mackenzie’s brow dove into a deeper furrow. “Am I okay?” She took Elliott’s trembling hand, intertwined their fingers, and squeezed. “Elliott, I’m fine. Are you okay? Honey, what happened?”