I step into the donut room sometime in early afternoon, eager to look out at the snow I heard of as I scrubbed in on an endovascular repair. This is my first winter at 5,000 feet, and I have to say, I fucking love it. Everything is better when it’s snowing outside. I’ve loved the fluffy white stuff since childhood, and living up in Maryland didn’t dull my appreciation for it. Out here, though, it’s better. It’s draped over mountains.

I saw Evie’s name scrawled on the board for the VP shunting going on in OR 3, so when I blink around the room, I’m not expecting her.

She’s seated at the table nearest to the fridge, leaned over one of those plain avocados—a travesty, here in the donut room. She’s got her iPhone ear buds in her ears, her brows scrunched in quiet intensity. I bet she’s listening to one of those dirty novels that she’s secretly obsessed with—ones where some domineering doctor straps a naughty surgeon to a bed and gives her an exam.

I watch her scoop a bite of avocado from the shell and eat it as she stares off into space, the snowy mountains spread behind her like a postcard. It’s as if the stunning scenery exists as a mere backdrop for my much-more-stunning wife.

I grin, and wait for her to notice me. How can it be that someone skilled enough to save a life with a laser or a blade can fail to notice that another human moved into her sphere—her husband at that. I laugh as she rubs her nose. Evie doesn’t hear me. All around her shoulders, through the long glass pane, snow falls from a pale pink sky, cloaking the cityscape.

Evie’s hand reaches into her hair. She pulls her rubber band thing out and lets her tresses spill around her shoulders. Another scoop of avocado. Evie swears they’ve kept her healthy while the rest of us have coughed and sneezed our way through respiratory season.

I step closer. Finally, she jumps, and her hands fly up to her face. “Landon!” She laughs, pulling out the ear buds. “Oh my God, you scared me!”

I shake my head, tsk-ing. “Eating avocado in the donut room.”

“We shouldn’t have a donut room, Landon. This is a hospital.”

I grab a chocolate one and claim the chair beside hers. “So I’ve heard.”

“Those things are awful for you. I know I might eat them sometimes, but—”

“You mean all the time?” I laugh.

“I don’t eat them all the time.” She sniffs. “I have one maybe once or twice a week.”

She’s lying—even to herself, poor girl. She eats one almost every day. We all do. Typical doctorly hypocrisy, I guess…or maybe we need to do something that defies the awful truths we know. One day we’ll all be gone, so why not eat a fucking donut?

“Sure you do,” I tease her. I reach over, thumb the corner of her mouth.

“What are you doing?”

“Little flake of icing there.” I smirk, and Evie kicks my leg.

“I have not had one of those today. Or yesterday.”

I chuckle, and her lips scrunch. “Okay—maybe yesterday. But only half of one.”

I grin, shaking my head. The truth is, I give zero fucks, but it’s fun teasing her. Teasing Evie is the best part of my day. Well, second behind some other things that only happen on the second floor.

I reach down into my bag and pull out the newspaper. Ev arches her brows.

“There’s nothing wrong with being informed,” I inform her.

She shakes her head. “Mmm-hmmm.”

Sometimes I can’t believe I’m married to a woman who hates politics.

“So how’s it going?” She props her chin in her palm and looks up at me with her blue eyes. It’s a dreamy look—the one she gets sometimes only for me. “How’s your morning going?”

“Pretty sure it’s afternoon.”

She looks down at her phone. “Oh yeah—I guess it is.”

“It’s been good. Busy but good. How was that VP shunting?”

“Good.” She smiles. “You jealous?”

“Nahh.” They did the surgery on a baby, placing a shunt to help him live a normal life with a condition called hydrocephalus. I’ve been on two, and both times, I felt like a fucking champ. Working with kids is always like that for me.

“Eilert let me do a lot,” she says, getting another scoop of avocado.

“Sweet.”

She flashes me a quick, proud smile, and my heart catches. It’s been years since I met Evie, but it still feels like the first day sometimes. I remember when she followed me up to the school’s front doors and watched me punch the wall. I didn’t know, of course, that I should kick the fucking thing, and spare my hands. I couldn’t fathom that I’d be a surgeon one day. But I think Evie always could. She looked at me, and she saw something no one else did. Even I don’t know what.

It amazes me sometimes to think the boy who sneaked into the family room to watch the girl sleep on the couch grew up and went to med school, tracked her down and married her. I feel weirdly proud of younger Landon. And Evie—fuck. She had a baby, gave her to a better life, and went on living. Thriving. There’s no one stronger than Evie. My wife.

We shoot the shit a little longer, and then we both head to the annual meeting to discuss new patient safety objectives. I kiss her right behind the door before we step into the hallway and walk past the nurse’s desk to Conference Room 2. It’s packed with all the residents and attendings who signed up at this hour. We have to stagger these meetings, but still—there’s lots of us.

Evie stands beside me in her sneakers, paired with dress pants, and her coat. She pulls her hair back up as Peterson gives the lecture. As he drones on, she touches her mouth, rubs her neck, adjusts her coat. And I watch her. I admire her freckles, watch the way her coat falls over her breasts. I think of opening the coat, pulling her sweater up, and freeing her breasts from her bra. I’d cup them…nip them. Annnd—I’m getting hard. Fuck.

Evie catches my eye, noting my strange look, but she doesn’t know why. Not until the meeting ends. We all file out. That’s when I ask her for a piece of gum. Her eyes hold mine for just a second too long. “Yeah—sure.” She reaches into her coat pocket. I unwrap the gum and chew. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Not a problem, Dr. Jones.”

I arch a brow. “Well, thank you, Dr. Rutherford.” I give her my polite smile. “Until we meet again.”

We part ways by the nurses’ station—and I go straight down to floor two. Half the time, we’re paged, and have to finish in five seconds, or don’t get to start at all. But the other half…

Evie bursts into the door a minute after I do. I pull her coat off. She goes for my pants, her skilled hands pushing them down in record time. Her fingers find my dick and start to stroke, before I even get her pants unbuttoned.

“Evie—fuck.”

“I’ve been wanting this.” She squeezes…tugs and strokes. With heavy eyelids, I smile and peel her pants down, finding her warm pussy with my hand. We end up on a stretcher, going at each other with our hands and mouths until that’s not enough, and I’ve got the defiant doctor bent over the table, getting pounded with a stiff, hard dose of Vitamin D.

Evie gasps and groans and grips the table as my knees go weak, I start to pant…and, fuck, I’m so hard.

“Evie—”

“Yes!”

A few more rough strokes, and she cries out, taking me over the ledge with her. I lean down over her as I pant, and Ev’s hands reach back, stroking my chest.

“Oh God,” she breathes, still panting. She laughs. “That was good.”

“It’s always good.”

I dress her carefully and slowly—still no page for either one of us—and when there’s still no page—the world has ended—I push her pants back down, hook a finger through the crotch of her thong, and bathe her slick clit with my hungry tongue. She comes with a sharp cry. I’m hard as marble when my pager vibrates, but that’s okay. It’s worth it. Every day. All this is worth it.

All the shit we had to go through to get here—right here on floor two, in this dusty storage room where we have at each other: worth it. Every time I stalked her online throughout college, looking painfully at her new profile pictures, at her changing hair and different poses, at those pictures that I wasn’t in—until I was again: worth it.

Running from the group home: worth it.

Tracking down my mother: worth it.

Missing Ashtyn’s birth and ten years with her: worth it.

Not because it’s easy now. It’s not easy. This shit is the opposite of easy.

Evie’s off at nine. I’m not finished till ten, and so I wait—eating a donut—which, by now, is stale. On the drive home, we try to talk about the weirdest shit we saw that day so that whoever’s driving—six blocks—doesn’t fall asleep behind the wheel.

Worth it.

In one month, we share one single off day.

Worth it.

Because it has to be. There’s only two choices: it’s either worth it, or it’s not. So I choose blindly. Desperately. I choose Evie. And our love—our fractured, splinted, restored love—is fucking worth it.

* * *