Page 16 of Christmas On Call
But she only made it halfway.
The supply closet door was cracked open, light spilling into the dim hallway. Max saw Asha slip inside, clipboard in hand, shoulders tight.
Max didn’t think. She just followed.
The door clicked shut behind her. The space was small and fluorescent-bright, shelves of supplies crowding the walls. Asha stood in the center, her back to the door, and when she turned, her expression was startled.
“Nurse Benson, I’m in the middle of?—”
“Stop,” Max said, and her voice came out harder than she intended. “Just stop. We need to talk.”
Asha’s jaw set, her chin lifting in that way she did when she was preparing for battle. “There’s nothing to discuss. We have work to do.”
“We kissed.” Max took a step closer, her frustration finally spilling over. “Three days ago, outside this hospital, we kissed. And it wasn’t nothing. I know it wasn’t. Why are you pretending it never happened?”
Asha’s hand tightened on the clipboard. “It was clearly a mistake.”
“Bullshit.”
The word landed between them like a slap. Asha flinched, just slightly, and for a second Max saw her—really saw her—beneath the armor: scared, fragile, human.
“We were exhausted,” Asha said, her voice quieter now but no less controlled. “The shift was emotional. People do things they don’t mean when?—”
“You don’t kiss someone like that by accident,” Max interrupted, stepping closer still. “I felt it, Asha. And I know you did too. You can’t deny it when it’s so obvious.”
The use of her first name made Asha’s breath catch. Her knuckles went white against the clipboard.
“I can’t,” Asha whispered, and the word came out cracked, broken. “Max, I can’t go any further with this.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” Asha’s voice wavered. She looked away, staring at the wall of sterile supplies as if they held answers. “This is my career. My reputation. Everything I’ve worked for. If people find out, if we—” She stopped, unable to finish.
Max felt her anger softening, melting into something gentler. She took a breath, forced herself to speak calmly. “I’m not askingyou to announce it to the whole hospital. I’m not asking you to be reckless.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“To be honest,” Max said simply. “With me. With yourself. To stop pretending you don’t feel this. At least acknowledge what actually fucking happened.”
The silence stretched, thick and charged. Asha looked like she was fighting a war inside herself, every muscle tense, every defense crumbling piece by piece.
“You want honesty? I’m terrified,” Asha finally admitted, so quietly Max almost didn’t hear it. Her eyes were too bright, her voice raw. “I don’t know how to do this. How to be... this vulnerable. That part of me is wrapped up and locked away and you just brought something out that I’m not ready to feel.”
Her pager went off, shrill and insistent in the small space.
Asha looked down at it, then back up at Max, and the moment fractured. The walls slammed back into place, visible and immediate.
“I have to go,” Asha said, her voice hardening back into professionalism.
“Asha, wait.”
“Please.” The word was almost a plea, her eyes searching Max’s face. “Just... give me some time. Please don’t push me.”
She moved past Max, their shoulders brushing, and slipped out the door before Max could find the words to stop her.
Max stood alone in the supply closet, surrounded by boxes of gloves and sterile gauze, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know if she’d made progress or made everything worse. All she knew was that Asha was running, and Max didn’t know how to make her stop.
At 2:45 AM, the alarm shrieked through the unit.
