Chapter 6 #3
“Yeah, three tours. Afghanistan, Iraq, then back to Afghanistan.” The familiar recitation came easily. “I saw enough trauma to know I couldn’t keep working in it. Not like that.”
“So you became a therapist.”
“Eventually. It took me a while to figure out that’s what I needed.” Jade watched Maddox’s face carefully, seeing genuine interest instead of polite deflection. “I spent two years after discharge just…existing. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so disconnected from everything.”
“What changed?”
“Therapy, actually. Someone convinced me to try it, and I fought them the whole way.” Jade smiled at the memory. “Sounds familiar, right?”
Maddox’s mouth quirked. “Slightly.”
“Once I started processing my own stuff, I realized I wanted to help other people who’d made impossible choices and were carrying them alone do the same.
” Jade’s fingers tightened around her mug, and she inhaled deeply.
“I had a soldier die because I triaged someone else first. Marcus Lambert, nineteen years old, new father. I made the medically correct call…and he bled out ten feet away from me.”
Maddox stayed very still. “I’m sorry.”
“I know now that I did what I was trained to do, but knowing this doesn’t always help the guilt.” Jade met Maddox’s eyes. “That’s why I do this work. Because I know what it’s like to carry the weight of decisions that were right and devastating at the same time.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Maddox seemed to be processing, turning something over in her mind.
“K-9 work made sense after I left the Marines,” Maddox said finally. “Clear mission, straightforward purpose. Zeus doesn’t need me to explain myself or open up. He just needs me to be consistent.”
“It’s the perfect partnership.”
“Something like that.” Maddox’s eyes softened the way it did whenever she talked about Zeus. “There are no complications or misunderstandings, just trust and the work.”
Jade heard what wasn’t being said—that human relationships were far more complicated and likely to disappoint. “Is that why you moved to Phoenix Ridge? To get a fresh start?”
“Partly. Also to get distance from”—Maddox gestured vaguely—”everything. My ex, people who knew me from before, the whole mess.”
“I understand that.” Jade leaned back in her chair. “I came here after a breakup too. She told me I was too much—too emotional, too invested in my work, too intense about everything.”
“Well, that’s bullshit.”
The quick defense surprised Jade. “Thanks, but she wasn’t entirely wrong. I do get intense about things that matter.”
“That’s not a flaw.” Maddox’s voice was firm. “That’s just caring.”
Something warm unfurled in Jade’s chest. Well, she couldn’t handle it, so here I am trying to have a fresh start in a city where nobody knows me.”
“Same,” Maddox said. “Though I’m out past the city limits. I bought a place on the outskirts with lots of land, and the nearest neighbor is almost a mile away.”
“Sounds pretty isolated.”
“That’s the point.” Maddox caught herself and shifted in her chair. “I mean, it’s practical for Zeus. He needs lots of space to run.”
“Right. For Zeus.” Jade kept her expression neutral, but she understood perfectly that the isolation was intentional and protective. Maddox had built walls out of geography just as much as emotional distance.
They fell into a comfortable silence, and Jade looked through the window.
Outside, the spring golden light slanted across the street.
The coffee shop had emptied around them, just a barista wiping down the counter and two college students hunched over laptops in the far corner.
Jade realized with a start that they’d been here over an hour.
Her coffee had gone cold, and the light outside had shifted from afternoon to early evening.
Time had slipped by unnoticed, which seemed impossible given how aware she was of every small detail—the way Maddox’s fingers drummed against her mug, the way her face brightened when she smiled, the intensity of her attention when Jade spoke.
“I should probably head out,” Jade said, not moving. “Things to still do.”
“Yeah.” Maddox didn’t move either. “Zeus needs dinner.”
Neither of them stood. The moment stretched, and Jade became acutely aware of the space between them across the small table. Close enough to reach across if she wanted. Close enough to—
Stop it, she chastised herself.
“The thing about Robert,” Maddox said quietly, “watching you with him today…”
“What about it?”
“You’re good at this. The crisis management and grounding and all of it. You make people feel safe enough to fall apart.” Maddox’s eyes were dark and searching. “That takes real skill.”
“So does what you do. The way you handled the space, brought Zeus into it, and gave Robert what he needed without making him feel weak.” Jade leaned forward against the table. “We worked well together.”
“We did.”
The silence that fell was different than before, heavier and charged.
Jade watched Maddox’s throat work as she swallowed and watched her fingers still poised against the mug.
Their eyes met and held the contact. Something passed between them—recognition, awareness, a question neither was quite ready to ask.
The coffee shop faded to background noise.
Jade’s breath caught, and Maddox’s pupils were dilated, her gaze intense and searching all at once.
This isn’t just professional respect. The thought landed with certainty, undeniable and terrifying. Jade saw the same realization dawn on Maddox’s face, saw the moment Maddox recognized what was happening.
And then Maddox stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. “I need to go.”
The spell broke, and Jade blinked, trying to recalibrate. “Okay.”
“Zeus has been in the truck for a while,” she said as a way of explanation. Maddox was already moving toward the door, not quite fleeing but close. “I’ll see you around. Next Tuesday at two.”
“Yeah, see you.”
Maddox was gone before Jade could find anything else to say. Jade sat alone at the small table, staring at her cold coffee, her heart hammering in her chest. What the hell was that?
Jade watched through the window as Maddox climbed into her old truck. Even from here, she could see Zeus’s head pop up, pressing against Maddox’s shoulder. A moment later, the engine started and the truck pulled away.
Jade released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She drank the last cold dregs of her coffee and wiped her mouth with a napkin before leaving.
The walk to her car felt mechanical. Her hands shook slightly as she unlocked the door. Inside, she sat gripping the steering wheel, replaying that moment—the eye contact, the silence, the almost…
What?
Almost something.
Her phone buzzed, and she flipped it over to see a text from Maddox.
Maddox: Made it home. Zeus forgives me for leaving him in the truck so long.
Jade stared at the message. It was light, almost casual, but also, it was a clear acknowledgement of how long they’d sat in that coffee shop, time slipping past them.
After a beat, she sent a response.
Jade: Glad he’s not holding a grudge. Thanks for today, both the situation with Robert and the coffee.
There was a brief pause after she sent the text before Maddox replied.
Maddox: You did the hard part with Robert.
Jade: It was a team effort with all three of us.
She sent the message, and before she second-guessed herself, she sent another.
Jade: Coffee was good. We should do it again sometime.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared again. Finally, Maddox replied.
Maddox: Yeah, maybe.
Jade set her phone down and started the engine. Her apartment was only ten minutes away on a good day, but she barely registered the drive. Her mind kept circling back to that moment when Maddox’s eyes were on hers and she felt something shift between them.
She knew Maddox felt it, too, but then she’d run.
Of course she did. Maddox Shaw didn’t do vulnerability or feelings or anything at all that required lowering her walls.
But still…she texted afterward to reach out and find any excuse, however flimsy, to stay connected. It was a small step, but it was a big shift for Maddox.
Jade pulled into her apartment complex and sat in the parking lot longer than necessary, rereading Maddox’s texts, even though there wasn’t anything new or particularly significant in them.
Except there was. She knew better than anyone that subtext mattered more than the text.
Inside her apartment, Jade made tea she didn’t drink and sat on her couch staring at nothing. The space felt emptier than usual, her mind too full of details.
This is complicated, she thought.
Maddox was technically still her client, and the therapy sessions were ongoing, even if the mandate had ended. The ethical lines were blurry at best and problematic at worst.
And Maddox was so clearly not ready for anything beyond professional respect. But that moment had been real—the pull between them and the simmering awareness—and both of them had felt it.
Jade’s phone lit up one more time that evening. Another text from Maddox.
Maddox: Good work today.
Jade stared at the message, just breathing, before typing back her reply.
Jade: You too.
She didn’t expect a response and didn’t get one, but later, lying in bed unable to sleep, she kept returning to those shared moments throughout the night.
This time felt different. She wasn’t just the therapist trying to help a resistant client heal.
This time, she was on the other side of the wall.
And she wasn’t sure if that made it easier or infinitely more complicated.