Page 40 of Take What Hurts

The path forward crystallizing, Elliott sighed heavily, squeezing Mackenzie’s hand. “I think I have to recuse myself from the matter.”

Mackenzie promptly choked on a mouthful of tea. “What?”

“I have a conflict of interest.” She said it quietly, eyes locked on Mackenzie’s.

Mackenzie sat up straighter in her spot on the sofa. “Look, okay, I’m acutely aware of what we just spoke about. But first and foremost, we’re friends. We’re allowed to be friends.”

Despite herself, Elliott laughed and raised their interconnected hands just high enough to make her point. Mackenzie scoffed and took another sip of her tea. “We are,” Elliott said. “But I think the bar might take issue with us kind of having each other ‘on hold’ until the matter’s over, don’t you? And there’s this,” she said, motioning to their hands again. “And there’s the fact that you kissed me,” she whispered. “And I kissed you back. And that, well, that—it meant something to me, and maybe it didn’t mean as much to you⁠—”

Mackenzie’s eyes blew wide, and she lurched forward until she was almost in Elliott’s lap, somehow keeping her tea inside the mug, before she quickly placed it on the coffee table. “Oh god, no. Please don’t think that. God, Elliott⁠—”

Elliott cut her off. “No, don’t. Just—” She shuddered in a breath and let out a humorless laugh. “Fuck, Mackenzie. I’m struggling to think about how I’m going to do my job when all I want is for the matter to be over.” She stared at her, imploring her to understand. To see how far gone Elliott was for her. For this. Them. “I think that’s the definition of a conflict of interest, don’t you?”

Mackenzie nodded like she was fighting with herself. It was unclear to Elliott whether she was agreeing with the sentiment or answering the question. Elliott was too exhausted to ask the clarifying question.

“You might be right.” Mackenzie said it so quietly, with fingertips pressed lightly to her lips, that Elliott wasn’t sure whether she was talking to her or to herself. “But, Elliott, I can’t do the same. I have to keep going with it.” Elliott had expected this and wanted to tell Mackenzie the same, but she was curious, so she let Mackenzie speak.

“I want—well, actually, no, it’s more than that.” Her ribs expanded against Elliott, and the air rushed out of her heavily. “I need to make partner. And if I can close this out, it’s a guarantee.” She lifted her head off Elliott’s shoulder, and Elliott smiled despite herself. Because it was fucking ironic that they’d both been pinning their hopes on this one file. But Mackenzie’s goal was tangible, and right there, and Elliott wanted that for her. She wanted to ask Mackenzie more about it but sensed this wasn’t the moment. Mackenzie’s eyes flicked over Elliott’s face. “Do you—I mean. Is that okay?”

Elliott grazed her knuckles over Mackenzie’s cheek. “Of course it is. I never expected you to do the same. I can’t imagine it would be necessary for us both to recuse ourselves.”

Mackenzie smiled shyly and gently pulled Elliott’s face down to her. The light brush of her lips against Elliott’s had dizzying heat rushing right to Elliott’s head. “Thank you,” she murmured against Elliott’s lips.

Elliott smiled and settled back into the soft cushions of the couch, bringing Mackenzie with her. “Okay, then. I’ll do it Monday first thing.”

Mackenzie nodded once more, and like she was capitulating to their new reality—one where they’d kissed and where work wasn’t going to be a barrier any longer—she settled herself against Elliott’s body, and Elliott smiled, every atom singing as Mackenzie’s head came to rest on her shoulder again. Then her soft voice floated up to Elliott’s ear. “I’ll wait for your email, and then I’ll talk to my managing partner and let him know you’re recusing yourself and why.”

Elliott wrapped her arm around Mackenzie’s waist, and in the silence that followed, they sat together, breaths syncing. Elliott’s brain niggled with the question of what they were to do now, before Mackenzie’s head lifted off her shoulder and she looked up at Elliott with eyes that were big enough to swim in.

When she spoke, her voice was a wavering whisper. “Did you want to stay?”

Elliott smiled down at her. “I think if I tried to get up, I’d collapse. Okay if I sleep right here?”

Mackenzie nodded with a smile. “Of course.” She pushed herself up off the sofa. It was late, and Elliott surmised that they’d both had enough for the day. Enough to think about. Enough to process. “The bathroom is down the hall—on the right. Good night, Elliott.”

TWENTY

MACKENZIE

Mackenzie shot up in bed on Sunday morning with the strong smell of coffee curling in her nostrils. For one disoriented moment, she wondered why an intruder would be making coffee, until she remembered, Elliott slept here last night.

And what a night it had been, because Mackenzie couldn’t understand why it hadn’t occurred to her earlier that kissing Elliott would hold greater consequences than simply crossing a boundary of friendship. “Stupid,” she groaned, pulling her duvet over her head. Thankfully, Elliott was apparently not as stupid as Mackenzie and had identified, correctly, that the only way forward that kept them both out of trouble—now they’d done, well, what they’d done—was for them to not be working on the same file.

Extracting herself from the duvet, she sighed, then dressed in her nicest sweatpants and her softest, most worn Stanford Law T-shirt. Even for company. Hot company. Who had almost kissed the life out of Mackenzie not twenty-four hours before. Even for that sort of company, she refused not to be comfortable.

Because when Mackenzie had left Elliott in the car the night before, she had practically levitated to her apartment and had automatically gone to the window overlooking the city, unable to keep the beaming smile off her face. She’d stood at the window, looking out over the twinkling downtown lights and had reveled in the cozy feeling of starting something new. Of feeling a sense of belonging with another person, a belonging she hadn’t experienced maybe ever, but certainly not since the early days of life with Reilly. Even then, though, she’d never been as safe and warm with Reilly as she was in Elliott’s presence. Even without all the kissing.

Then her eyes had wandered down to the street, and she’d frowned. She could faintly make out Elliott sitting stationary in the car. She watched for another minute as the car stayed there, unmoving. She had worried that there was a problem with the car, so she’d slipped into her slides and hurried back down to the street. Only to find Elliott practically unmoving and in a panic-stricken state behind the wheel. She’d been gripped by a fear more intense than she’d experienced in many years. Like a loss was imminent. Like there was an urgent need to fix whatever was wrong. Because there was obviously, obviously something wrong.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to bring Elliott into her apartment, but it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time—she’d been unsure if Elliott was even capable of driving to her house. All she knew was that she couldn’t, wouldn’t let Elliott go home to a lonely apartment. Aside from that, she’d been desperate—protective in a way she’d never been—to keep her close. To look after her. And likely that’s where the terms of endearment she’d let slip out came from. Because she fucking cared—far too much—about Elliott. About her happiness and her safety. Certainly more than a friend should.

So now Mackenzie concluded that Elliott was right. Elliott had a conflict of interest, and, fucking well, so did she.

And now Elliott was in her apartment, making coffee. Presumably for both of them. The domesticity of it all made her heart ache in its deepest and most desperate place, which craved this. The slow mornings with perfectly curated coffees made without prompting. Just handed over and laden with unspoken care and knowing. Breakfasts where they moved unthinkingly around each other—all soft brushes of arms and stolen kisses as pieces of toast passed between warm fingers and plates.

“Good morning.” Elliott glanced up from where she was adding milk to Mackenzie’s coffee, and a smile that crinkled her eyes cracked across her face. Gone was the pinched tightness that had lined her cheeks and forehead the night before, and Mackenzie was here for it. That smile. It did things to her, and, honestly, that should have been evidence enough to Mackenzie about the state of their “friendship.”

And Mackenzie was all too aware of exactly how close she was letting Elliott get. Physically and otherwise. To the point where Mackenzie had willingly let Elliott into her apartment, full of ghosts and broken promises. She shoved the worry to the back of her mind.