Chapter 2 #4
Jade continued writing, building the assessment that would guide their work, but underneath the clinical language, her thoughts wandered to the human truth of it: Maddox Shaw was carrying something heavy, and she’d been carrying it alone for too long.
The weight of it showed in the tight set of her jaw, the meticulous control of every word, and the way she’d held herself ready to bolt, even while sitting still.
Resistance expected and appropriate. Trust must be earned. Client responded to tactical language and familiar military framework. Avoid pathologizing, and meet her where she is.
Her phone buzzed, and Carla’s name appeared on the screen right on schedule. Jade had texted her mentor earlier to request a brief supervision call after the session.
“Hey,” Jade answered, tucking the phone between the crook of her shoulder and her ear while she finished writing her notes.
“How’d it go?” Carla’s voice was warm and familiar. They’d worked together at the VA before Jade moved to Phoenix Ridge, and Carla had become more than a supervisor. She was a friend, sounding board, and someone who deeply understood the weight of this work.
“About how I expected. There was significant resistance. She’s not happy about being mandated.”
“Did she threaten not to come back?”
Jade smiled slightly. “Yes.”
“Will she?”
Jade set down her pen and looked out of the window at the bustle in the parking lot below. “Yes. She’s not ready to quit.”
Carla paused before speaking. “What makes you think so?”
“She stayed for the full session. If she truly didn’t care, she’d have left after ten minutes, but she stayed, answered questions, and even engaged when we talked about her K-9 partner. That’s not someone who’s given up.”
Carla’s laugh carried through the phone. “You’ve got good instincts, Jade. What’s your read on her?”
Jade leaned back in her chair, organizing her thoughts. “She’s a former Marine with combat deployment and a K-9 handler, and now, she works K-9 for Phoenix Ridge PD. She has textbook PTSD presentation with strong protective instincts, and she’s isolated outside of her bond with her dog.”
“Sounds like half the first responders we worked with at the VA.”
“Pretty much, yeah, but there’s something else.” Jade paused, searching for the right words. “She’s competent, really competent, and she’s using that competence as armor. As long as she can do the job perfectly, she doesn’t have to acknowledge what it’s taking from her.”
“Until her body forces her to stop,” Carla supplied.
“Exactly.”
“So, what’s your approach?”
Jade glanced at her notes, even though she already knew her answer.
“I’m building trust slowly and using tactical language that she responds to, and I’ll focus on her K-9 partner since it’s the one relationship where she allows herself to be vulnerable.
Right now, I’m just holding space and letting her see that showing up doesn’t have to mean falling apart. ”
“It sounds solid.” Carla’s tone shifted, becoming more serious. “How are you doing with it? First responder work can be triggering given your background.”
Jade appreciated the personal check-in. Carla always asked and made sure Jade wasn’t taking on more than she could carry.
“I’m good. It’s familiar territory, but not overwhelming.
Mostly, I just see myself five years ago when I was convinced I was fine, white-knuckling through every day, and refusing to admit I needed help. ”
“And what about now?”
“Now I know better, which is why I think I can really help her.”
They talked for a few more minutes—case planning, ethical considerations, and self-care reminders—before ending the call. Jade added a few more notes to Maddox’s file, then closed the folder and stood, stretching out her stiff legs.
Time to pack up for the day. She gathered her things: notebook, water bottle, the lamp she’d plug in again tomorrow morning. The converted conference room still didn’t feel quite right as a therapy space, but she was making it work with small improvements and gradual settling.
Jade stepped into the hallway, locking the door behind her. The department hummed with late afternoon activity as shift change approached, and a few people nodded as she passed, faces becoming more familiar each day. Julia appeared from around a corner, coffee mug in hand.
“Hey, Jade, how’d it go?” she asked as she got closer.
Jade kept her expression neutral. “About what I expected. She’s resistant.”
Julia’s smile was knowing. “Yeah, that tracks. Do you think she’ll come back for another session?”
“Yeah, she’ll come back,” Jade said, her tone equally as knowing and confident.
Julia pressed her lips together. “What makes you so sure?”
Jade adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Because she cares about her job, and deep down, maybe really deep down, she knows she can’t keep going on like this.”
Julia studied her for a moment, something like respect in her eyes. “I hope you’re right, Jade. We need her, but more than that, she needs herself, and for her to have that, she needs help.”
“I know,” Jade said, keeping her eyes trained on Julia.
They parted ways at the main corridor, Julia heading back toward the offices while Jade made her way to the exit.
The fresh spring air hit her as she stepped outside.
It was cool and tinged with salt from the harbor, carrying the cry of gulls overhead.
She breathed it in, letting the day settle as she crossed the parking lot toward her car.
And that’s when she saw it.
Maddox’s older Ford truck was still parked in its designated spot near the back. The driver’s side door was closed and the windows dark, but Jade could just make out the shape of someone sitting in the driver’s seat. Zeus’s head was visible in the passenger seat, pressed close to Maddox.
Maddox was still here. Not inside working, not gone home, just sitting in her truck, not ready to face whatever waited for her in an empty house.
Jade recognized the pattern instantly. She’d done the same thing for months after coming home from her last deployment.
She sat in her car outside her apartment, not quite ready to walk into the silence, not quite ready to face the pace where no one needed her, where there was nothing to do except sit with her own impossibly loud thoughts.
The loneliest place wasn’t the battlefield but coming home to the unfamiliar quiet.
Jade didn’t approach her or wave. She just unlocked her own car and slid into the driver’s seat, giving Maddox the privacy she clearly needed. But as she pulled out of the lot, her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror one more time.
Maddox was still there, still sitting, still not ready.
Next week, Jade thought, turning onto the main road. I’ll try a different approach and figure out what she loves. That’s where vulnerability hides.
And maybe she could focus more on Zeus or the work itself or what drew Maddox to K-9 handling in the first place. She needed to find the passion beneath Maddox’s fortress, and the rest would follow naturally.
Jade knew how to be patient. She’d been doing this work long enough to understand the healing didn’t happen in one session, or even ten. It happened in the small moments, in showing up and offering space without demanding someone fill it.
Maddox would come back next Tuesday; she was sure of it. And Jade would be ready.