Chapter 13
Maddox’s hands were flat on the counter, the knife abandoned beside half-chopped bell peppers, and she couldn’t remember how to breathe properly.
Not panic, not exactly. Just the tightness creeping back in, the weight of almost losing this, almost losing herself.
Zeus watched from his spot near the table, his head tilted.
“Hey.”
Jade’s voice came from behind her. She was close, but not touching.
Maddox kept her eyes on the cutting board. “I’m okay.”
“I know.” Jade leaned against the counter beside her. “But you don’t have to be okay every second.”
The kitchen smelled like garlic and olive oil, pasta water just starting to boil. They'd been doing this—cooking together, rebuilding a new normal—for almost a week now, since Monday when Jade had shown up on her doorstep and refused to let her self-destruct. Since Maddox had said I love you.
The first few days after their reconciliation hadn’t been easy. She’d broken trust; she’d known that. She’d said things intended to hurt and pushed Jade away hard enough that the fractures still showed, even if they were invisible.
Jade had come back and fought for them. But it didn’t erase what Maddox had done.
“What do you need?” Jade asked.
The question nearly undid her. Not are you okay or what’s wrong, just focused on what she needed in the moment.
“I don’t know,” Maddox admitted.
“That’s okay too.”
Maddox finally looked at her. Jade wore one of Maddox’s old Marine shirts, her hair pulled back in a loose knot at the base of her head, expression open. She was comfortable, present.
“I keep thinking about what I said to you,” Maddox whispered.
“I know. We’re working through it.” Jade’s hand found hers. “You messed up, you apologized, and you’re doing the work to not do it again. I’m choosing to stay and rebuild trust. That’s what people do when they love each other.”
The pasta water boiled over, and the sharp, burnt scent of garlic filled the kitchen.
“How about we order takeout instead?” Jade suggested.
Maddox huffed something close to a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”
They ordered spicy Thai food and ate it on the couch with Zeus wedged between them, his head on Maddox’s lap, one paw stretched out toward Jade.
These were the small moments she cherished, ordinary yet precious.
This was what they were rebuilding. Not grand gestures, just being together and trust that neither of them were going anywhere.
The next morning, Friday, she had therapy with Carla. After they settled in and Maddox explained the past week, Carla shifted in her seat. Maddox knew that movement meant something new was coming.
“I want to suggest we start EMDR our next session,” Carla said. “It’s Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy, and it’s designed specifically for trauma processing.”
“I’ve been processing trauma.” Maddox felt her wariness sharpen. “We talk about it.”
“Talking about trauma and reprocessing it aren’t always the same. EMDR uses something called bilateral stimulation to help your brain process traumatic memories differently. It reduces the emotional charge.”
“Eye movements help with trauma?”
“The research says yes, especially for PTSD and single-incident trauma like what military vets and first responders experience.” Carla paused. “I’m suggesting it for Titan’s death.”
The name hit her like it always did.
“You’re still carrying guilt at a level that’s not sustainable,” Carla continued bluntly. “You still believe you killed him.”
She was right, of course. Maddox couldn’t argue that.
“EMDR might help you reprocess that memory better. Not erase it—you’ll still remember and miss him—but the guilt might loosen. You might grieve him without blaming yourself.”
Impossible, she thought. But I desperately need it too.
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then we try something else.” Carla’s expression stayed steady. “But you’ve been carrying this with you for eight years. Maybe it’s time to try setting it down differently.”
Maybe talking wasn’t enough anymore.
“Okay,” Maddox said quietly. “Let’s try it.”
That evening, Maddox told Jade while they sat next to each other on her porch, Zeus sprawled at their feet.
“How do you feel about trying it?” Jade asked.
Maddox watched Zeus sleep, his chest rising and calling in a steady rhythm. “Nervous, but I’ve been carrying around Titan’s death for eight years and it’s not getting lighter on its own.”
“Then it sounds like you’re ready.” Jade’s voice was warm and supportive without being pushy.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, then Jade added, “I’m around Thursday afternoon if you need anything after. No pressure, but if you want company…”
“Thanks,” Maddox said, grateful that Jade respected that Maddox had to do this work on her own but without leaving her completely alone.
The next few days passed in strange suspension, and on Wednesday night, Jade stayed over. They went to bed early, neither sleeping much. They just lied together in the dark, Jade’s hand over Maddox’s heart.
“You’re going to be okay,” Jade whispered.
Maddox was silent for a beat, her thoughts getting loud again. “What if I’m not, though?”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.”
Thursday morning arrived too soon. Maddox moved through her routine on autopilot, taking a shower and putting on her uniform, despite having taken the afternoon off. Zeus watched her with unusual stillness, sensing something.
Jade was already in the kitchen when Maddox came down. She looked up, reading Maddox’s face. “Want me to drive you? I can drop you off then pick you up after. One less thing to handle.”
Maddox hesitated. She could drive herself. Should, probably. But her hands were shaking slightly when she picked up her keys, and the thought of sitting in traffic with her mind spinning—
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Thanks.”
Maddox grounded herself with a deep breath, then held it for five seconds. Accepting help wasn’t a weakness, just letting someone help with the parts that didn’t matter so she could save her energy for the part that did.
The drive was quiet. Jade kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift where Maddox could reach it if she wanted. She didn’t push conversation or fill the silence with reassurances. Maddox watched the streets pass, a familiar route that felt different today.
“You okay?” Jade asked when they stopped at a red light.
“No.” Maddox’s honesty surprised her. “But I’m going anyway.”
Jade squeezed her knee briefly. “That’s the brave part.”
When they pulled up to the building, Jade put the car in park but didn't immediately say anything, just waited.
"I'll text you when I'm done," Maddox said.
"I'll be here."
Maddox got out, closed the door, and walked toward the entrance, not letting herself look back. Some things she had to face alone, even if knowing Jade would be there after made it possible to walk through the door.
Carla’s waiting room smelled like lavender and old magazines. She sat in the chair by the window that she sat in last week and grabbed a National Geographic magazine from the side table, flipping through it absent-mindedly, grateful for something to do with her hands.
A couple minutes later, right on time, Carla opened her office door and stepped into the waiting room. “Maddox, ready?”
Maddox stood up, replaced the magazine on the side table, and walked toward the office. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Carla smiled warmly and led her into the office and gestured to the moss-colored loveseat. Maddox obliged, grabbing one of the soft taupe pillows to use as a shield. Her pulse was already elevated, her body anticipating something it didn’t quite understand yet.
Carla sat in her chair and picked up her reading glasses on the seafoam beaded chain, securing them in place. She looked up at Maddox and offered a small smile.
“These are the tappers,” Carla said, gesturing to the device on the table between them. “Bilateral stimulation. They’ll alternate vibrating in your hands: left, right, left, right. It helps your brain process while you’re accessing the memory.”
Maddox picked one up. It was plastic, lightweight and slightly warm from sitting in the sun from the window. Strange that something so simple could supposedly help with eight years of guilt and pain.
“We’ll start by establishing your safe place,” Carla continued. “Somewhere you feel completely calm and secure. You can return to it any time during the session if you need to ground.”
“Zeus,” Maddox said immediately. “In our backyard, early morning when it’s quiet.”
“Good. Close your eyes and picture it clearly, details and all.”
Maddox let her eyes fall shut. The image came easily: Zeus lying in a patch of sunlight—his head on his paws, completely relaxed—the grass slightly damp with dew, birds just starting to wake up. Peace.
“Hold that,” Carla said. “Feel it in your body. That’s your anchor.”
Maddox breathed into and let the imagined calm settle through her shoulders.
“Now,” Carla’s voice was gentle but firm, “when you think about Titan’s death, what number would you give your distress? Zero being none, ten being the worst you can imagine.”
Maddox opened her eyes. “Eight, maybe nine.”
Carla nodded, unsurprised. “And when you think about that memory, what does it make you believe about yourself?”
The words came automatically, carved deep after all this time. “I killed him. It’s my fault.”
“And what would you prefer to believe?”
Maddox's throat tightened. "That I...followed protocol. That it wasn't my fault." Saying it out loud felt wrong, the guilt was so ingrained she couldn't imagine not carrying it.
"We'll work toward that," Carla said. "Take the tappers.
When you're ready, I want you to bring up that memory—the moment you gave the command, what happened after.
Just notice what comes up. You don't have to explain it to me unless you want to.
Just let yourself be with it while the tappers are going. "