Page 40 of Losing Control

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.

7

The heat was wrong. It was desert heat, the kind that baked through kevlar and turned breath to sandpaper in your throat. Maddox knew it wasn’t right even as the nightmare pulled her under. Phoenix Ridge didn’t have deserts, and she hadn’t worn that uniform in eight years, but knowing didn’t stop it.

Titan moved ahead of her, seventy pounds of German Shepherd muscle, his dark coat rippling with each step. His ears swiveled, tracking sounds she couldn’t hear, and the sight of him working settled something in her chest the way it always had. He was the perfect partner, the best she’d ever had.