Off The Record Ch. 20

I'm going to apologize in advance for these next few chapters because I fear you're going to hate me for them, but I promise it's all temporary (she said, begging her lovely readers to bear with her while she brings everything full circle) ;)

All characters are over 18.

***

The lines were so blurred that Harper thought she was going blind.

She eyed Morgan over the rim of her coffee mug. Her dark hair was still wet from the shower--the shower that Harper had joined her in, despite her protestations.

She really had tried to say no when Morgan had taken her hand that morning and pulled her toward the bathroom door with a flirty smile. Worried that Morgan's concussion hadn't healed enough, Harper had dug her heels in, ignoring the desire that had crashed through her at the suggestion.

She had taken a deep breath and settled on the bed with her laptop, distracting herself from the knowledge that Morgan was wet and naked one room over. She told herself that she was being considerate.

And then, two minutes later, Morgan had sauntered out of the bathroom wearing absolutely nothing, claiming to have forgotten a fresh pair of underwear to change into. Harper had stared at her, slack-jawed, while she took her time looking through her drawer. As she'd headed back into the bathroom, she had thrown a scorching look over her shoulder, her fingertips lingering on the doorknob, leaving the door cracked like a siren beckoning to her.

Harper had folded like a piece of paper.

Stripping her clothes off as she'd closed the distance between the bed and the bathroom door, she'd justified it by telling herself that she would let Morgan set the pace, and if they had to stop, they would.

And Morgan had, indeed, set the pace--that pace being fast and hard inside of Harper while she was pinned against the shower wall, her moans echoing through the bathroom.

But not even hot shower sex was enough to distract Harper from the shift that had occurred between them Thursday night.

Morgan had slipped up and called her 'love.' But was it a slip up, or was it intentional? Did she even remember saying it? After all, she did have a concussion. It might not mean anything at all. She had been exhausted and right on the verge of sleep when it happened, that one small word working its way through Harper's body like a bolt of lightning. Her head spun every time she thought about it.

Morgan's breath had evened out almost immediately after she'd said it, and Harper had laid there, absently running her fingers through her hair, wide awake.

It wasn't like she'd said 'I love you.' It was just a term of endearment because of how Harper had helped her that day at the hospital, just like how she'd called her 'darling' a few times, and 'baby' in the bedroom. It was all just circumstantial.

Right?

Harper had never felt so conflicted in her entire life. On one hand, she was ecstatic; if Morgan really did reciprocate her feelings, then that was the best case scenario for her heart.

But on the other hand, she was terrified. Mutual feelings meant figuring out what to do next, and Harper had no fucking clue where they'd go from here. Agreeing to be together openly would essentially be detonating a bomb in both of their professional lives, damaging their reputations and making it nearly impossible to be hired elsewhere.

With the attention Morgan had gained through the national trial coverage, there was no way the media wouldn't notice her spending time with Harper publicly.

Harper had considered it, and she knew without question that she would be willing to sacrifice pretty much anything to really be with Morgan, and that included her job. But if Morgan wasn't on the same page, or wasn't ready to take that step, then Harper needed to be prepared for the agonizing heartbreak that she would undoubtedly suffer if they broke things off.

It also didn't help that Cam had been texting her the entire weekend, pressuring her to be honest with Morgan about all of these jumbled thoughts and emotions.

And she almost had, several times. But she chickened out each time the words had been just about to bubble out of her throat, coming up with excuses. Telling herself that Morgan didn't feel well, that she had a lot going on with the trial--pretty much everything that Harper could possibly think of to prolong the inevitable.

Harper was spiraling.

"You're staring at me, Cassidy." Morgan's gaze flicked upward from where it had been focused on cutting up a banana for her morning smoothie. She wiped her hands on the dish towel hanging in front of the stove and smiled gently at her.

Harper took another sip of coffee before asking, "How are you feeling today?"

It was Sunday morning. Nearly three days after Morgan had called her from the emergency room, and somehow, Harper was still at her apartment. Thursday night had been a no-brainer, of course. And Harper had still been too worried to leave her alone Friday, so she had spent the day working from Morgan's couch while she rested.

Her intention had been to head home on Saturday, but the day had gotten away from her and then Morgan had asked her if she wanted to stay for dinner, and she'd found herself powerless to say no.

Harper knew that she was playing a very dangerous game, but she just couldn't get enough of her.

What were they doing? Helping out a 'friend' for a few nights was one thing. But as Morgan rounded the countertop to place a smoothie in front of Harper, the sheer domesticity of the situation crashed into Harper like a train.

They were playing house, and she didn't understand why.

The butterflies in Harper's stomach reminded her of just how far gone she was as Morgan leaned in and kissed her, her hand caressing her cheek. Harper sighed into her mouth, allowing herself to indulge in the feel of her lips against her own.

It was a slow, sweet kiss--one reserved for lazy Sunday mornings when they had nowhere to be.

Morgan pulled back and said, "After this morning, I thought it was clear that I'm feeling very much like my normal self." She raised an eyebrow, daring Harper to disagree.

Not giving her the satisfaction of a response, Harper gave her a crooked smile and reached a hand up to brush her fingertips against the bump on her forehead. The swelling had gone down significantly and the other small bruises on her beautiful face had faded into shades of blue and green that indicated relatively quick healing. "This looks a lot better," she said softly.

Morgan's hand caught hers and intertwined their fingers together. "I'm feeling perfectly fine. I promise." She brought Harper's fingers to her lips and Harper felt her heart thud in her chest.

Yeah, she was definitely a goner. Head over heels, hopelessly, desperately in love with Morgan.

Moments like this had been happening a lot more frequently too. Sweet and tender exchanges taking the place of their typical sarcastic, witty back-and-forths.

And Harper loved it. Having one hundred percent of Morgan's attention on her was like having the sun shining only on her, keeping her warm.

Morgan gave her hand one more squeeze before retreating back to the other side of the counter. "So, what do you want to do today?"

Harper tried to ignore the adorable smoothie mustache on Morgan's upper lip after she took a sip.

Harper sighed and smiled at her. "I do have to go home eventually, Morgan."

Morgan frowned and opened her mouth to respond when there was an insistent knock on the door. She furrowed her brow and held up one finger as she breezed past Harper toward the entryway. "I have no idea who that could possibly be," she said.

Straining to listen from where she was seated along the kitchen island, Harper heard what she thought was a hushed argument followed by loud footsteps headed directly toward her.

"Maeve, wait." Morgan's pitch rose as she practically chased her sister into the kitchen.

"Oh." Maeve stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Harper. "I'm sorry, Morgan. I didn't realize you had company." A slight smile played at the corners of her mouth.

Offering Maeve an awkward smile and a little wave, Harper again marveled at just how much they looked alike. The resemblance truly was startling.

Maeve was just as strikingly beautiful as Morgan, with the same blue eyes and dark hair, although Maeve's was cut a bit shorter, falling just past her shoulders. She had that Monroe height as well, probably standing at just about the same height as Morgan. Her face was slightly more angular, giving her a sharp elegance that exuded a certain maturity.

Harper knew from what Morgan had told her that she was in her early thirties, but she could easily pass for still being in her twenties.

In the back of her mind, Harper wondered which parent they favored, and if Olivia had had similar features.

"You could have at least texted me to tell me you were coming over," Morgan muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and casting her gaze downward. If the situation wasn't so uncomfortable, Harper might have laughed at how the mannerisms made Morgan look so incredibly young.

Maeve whirled on Morgan. "Why would I bother texting you if you haven't answered my calls?" She narrowed her eyes at Morgan, daring her to continue arguing with her.

Harper wiped her mouth with a napkin and cleared her throat. She made eye contact with Morgan and gave her a gentle smile as she said, "I was actually just about to head out."

"You don't have to leave," Morgan said, throwing her sister a not-so-subtle dirty look as she moved further into the kitchen.

"I should get home and do some chores before the work week starts back up tomorrow," Harper said, offering a lame but believable excuse. "I'm going to go pack up quickly."

Giving Morgan's hand a squeeze, Harper stood and moved toward the bedroom.

Moving slowly, Harper collected her scattered items from around Morgan's bedroom. She couldn't help but smile looking at their toothbrushes next to each other in her bathroom. The past few days had felt so seamless, like their lives blended together effortlessly. That their uninterrupted time together was coming to an end pulled at Harper's heart in a way she'd never experienced before.

Within minutes, Harper was just about ready to go.

"Thank you for taking care of me this weekend," Morgan said from behind her.

"Always," Harper replied without hesitation. Her hands stilled on the sweatshirt she had been about to pack into her bag. She smiled to herself before she turned and handed Morgan her maroon Stanford University crewneck.

"This isn't mine," she said, savoring the feel of the soft material as it slipped through her fingers.

Morgan gave her a teasing smile and said, "Seems like it is with how many times you stole it these past few days."

Harper felt heat wrap around her neck. So maybe she'd worn the sweatshirt every night she'd been at Morgan's apartment. And maybe that had been because it was soft and smelled like her and made Harper feel warm and safe.

Morgan held the sweatshirt loosely in her grip while she regarded Harper with a gentle smile. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment before holding it back out to her. "Take it," she said.

Harper's gaze flickered between Morgan's eyes and the crewneck. For some reason, it felt like much more than a piece of clothing. "You want me to take it home with me?" Harper's voice was quiet.

Uncertainty flashed across Morgan's gorgeous face, but she covered it quickly with one of her classic smirks. "It looks better on you anyway." She was wringing her hands in front of her, a rare indication that Morgan was anxious.

"Okay," Harper said, tightening her grip on the crewneck. "I'm just going to use the bathroom quickly if that's alright."

"I'll wait in the kitchen to walk you out."

As soon as Morgan left the bedroom, Harper sank onto the bed, her legs practically giving out.

The problem was that she wanted to take the sweatshirt. The thought of not taking the sweatshirt made Harper want to cry for some absurd, confusing reason.

But the sweatshirt wasn't just a sweatshirt. It was more than that, a symbol of much more than their idiotic friends with benefits agreement, more than their unspoken emotional connection that was so strong Harper could feel it like a physical thing attaching her to Morgan.

If she took this crewneck home with her, she'd be condemning herself to the possibility of having her heart shattered.

It was all just too much, with everything feeling like it was coming to a head too quickly; she needed time to think.

She blinked away the stinging tears that sprung to her eyes, and before she could change her mind, she folded the crewneck neatly and left it on Morgan's bed.

Taking a deep breath, she headed back out to the kitchen with her duffel bag in hand.

Maeve and Morgan had obviously just been whispering about her, given the way that they both shut up immediately when they saw her, four blue eyes locking onto her while Harper pretended not to notice.

"It was nice seeing you again," she said, looking at Maeve and plastering her best attempt at a smile onto her face.

Maeve smiled back. "You too. I'm sure we'll be running into each other at some point soon." That knowing glint in her eyes did nothing to assuage the hyperventilation that Harper was just barely managing to stave off.

Morgan rolled her eyes slightly, standing to lead Harper to the door.

"I know I said it before, but thank you again for this weekend," Morgan said when they reached the entryway. Her hand landed on Harper's elbow, turning her to face her.

Harper's breath quickened, and she felt herself start to shut down. She was overwhelmed by so many different emotions coming at her from all sides. A long, intense workout with Cam would help to clear her head. All she could think about was getting to the gym and working out all of this pressure in her head and body.

"Of course," Harper said. "But please try not to get concussed again for the foreseeable future."

Morgan laughed softly. "I'll try my best."

Morgan moved closer, dipping her head to kiss her, pressing her back against the door.

Harper wanted so badly to relax into the kiss, but she could feel the tautness of her own shoulder blades where they rested against the apartment door. It was difficult to enjoy the kiss when her gut was twisted into knots.

Morgan pulled back, a crease forming between her eyebrows as she furrowed them, cobalt eyes searching Harper's face intently. Her hand came up to cup her jaw, and Harper's stomach swooped with a combination of staggering love and crippling anxiety.

"Are you okay?" Morgan asked quietly, a slight frown turning the corners of her mouth downward. "You seem off. Is it because of Maeve?"

Harper looked into those gorgeous blue eyes shimmering with concern, eyes that had become her home over these past few months.

She forced a smile and shook her head, praying that Morgan wouldn't see through her blatant lies. "Yeah, I'm fine." She pushed herself onto her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to Morgan's cheek. "Text me later and let me know how you're feeling," she said.

She pulled the door open and slipped out before a full-on panic attack could consume her.

***

Morgan closed the door behind Harper gently, resting her forehead against it, taking a moment to gather herself.

Something was wrong. Morgan was sure of it.

That had been such a strange goodbye.

When they'd kissed, Morgan could feel the tension in Harper's body, like she was holding herself back intentionally. Harper had never done that with her before, had never hesitated in her affection for Morgan.

And there had been a minuscule sliver of a second when this gut-wrenching look had crossed Harper's face--a look that turned Morgan's stomach inside out, and she couldn't put her finger on why.

It had been...fear maybe? And a little bit of sadness, and it just didn't sit right with her. Morgan would call her later and talk to her about it. Maybe Maeve showing up had made her uncomfortable.

Morgan raised her hand to her cheek, where she could still feel her skin tingling where Harper's lips had left a lingering kiss.

Harper had lied to her when she told her she was okay, that much Morgan was certain of.

Exhaling heavily and unable to shake the sinking feeling in her stomach, she turned back toward her apartment and made her way back to the kitchen.

"So," Maeve said when Morgan rounded the corner, her long fingers drumming her against the table, "were you just not going to tell me that I've been replaced as your emergency contact?"

Morgan cut her a glare, not saying anything as she began to move around the kitchen, cleaning up from breakfast.

Maeve gave her the space that she obviously needed, staying quiet.

After a few minutes of silence, Morgan braced her arms on the counter and blew out a breath. "You should have told me you were coming over."

Maeve narrowed her eyes. "I've called you three times since Thursday," she said defensively. "I'm not going to apologize for being worried that my sister's brain was swelling so much that she couldn't answer her phone." Her eyes sparked knowingly as she glanced in the direction of the door. "But, now I know that you were occupied."

Morgan grunted out a noncommittal sound, turning back to the sink to wash the dishes.

"How's your girlfriend?"

"I don't have a girlfriend," Morgan responded without missing a beat.

"Right," Maeve drew out the word. "So the drop-dead gorgeous blonde who I can only assume has been at your apartment since Thursday is what? Just a friend?"

Morgan sighed, tossing her dish towel over her shoulder. Deep down, she knew that she wasn't actually angry at Maeve for coming over and interrupting them. Her attitude was stemming entirely from the fact that Harper wasn't in her apartment anymore, and that there was something incredibly unnerving about the way they'd left things.

Now that Maeve knew about Harper, it was safe to talk to her about all of it, right? Morgan had gone months with no outlet for all of her thoughts and feelings surrounding Harper, and she felt like she was going to explode.

"She is gorgeous, isn't she?" Morgan all but swooned as she thought about her infuriatingly perfect journalist.

Maeve laughed quietly, shaking her head.

Morgan took a now-clean butter knife and pointed it at Maeve. "But, seriously, Maeve. You need to forget that you saw her at my apartment."

Maeve scoffed, plucking a strawberry off of the cutting board that still sat in front of the blender. "Why? Is she in witness protection or something?"

Morgan pinched the bridge of her nose. "Something like that," she muttered.

All teasing dropped from Maeve's expression. "Morgan." Her tone instantly became serious.

"It's complicated," Morgan breathed out, starting to move again, finding it impossible to stay still. "We work together."

"Is she a lawyer?" Her sharp gasp made Morgan jump. "Is she a prosecutor?"

Morgan hesitated, rolling her lips as she considered how best to explain. She really shouldn't be having this conversation, but she trusted Maeve with her life. There was no chance of Maeve doing anything to compromise her or Harper and their respective jobs.

And, her brain reminded her again, she had been holding so much in about Harper, and it had felt nice for someone else to find out, even if Maeve barging into her ER room the other day had stressed her out and thrown all of her plans off course.

"No," Morgan replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "She's a journalist."

"Oh," came Maeve's somewhat confused reply. And then a much more understanding, "Oh."

"Yeah," Morgan said simply, running a restless hand through her hair. "She also happens to be the journalist that the law firm specifically requested for trial coverage."

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