Jade's chest tightened, but she stayed quiet, letting Maddox find her way.
"It started with mandatory therapy," Maddox continued, her gaze still fixed on the darkening trees. "The warehouse call is what sent me to you, then there was that barricaded teen. Every major moment between us has been in a crisis or because of one." She paused. "We’ve shared trauma and a mutual understanding of what it's like to carry guilt you can't put down."
Jade felt the heaviness in her words, but simply sat there, watching Maddox and nodding slowly.
"I was terrified," Maddox said, even softer now. "I was terrified that it was just proximity and that we needed each other's brokenness. That maybe when the crisis ended and I started healing—" Her voice caught. "That the attraction would fade."
Jade's throat went tight. She'd had the same fear, but hearing it from Maddox made it real in a way it hadn't felt before.
"I thought maybe I needed you because you understood the darkness." Maddox finally turned to face her, and Jade could see tears gathering in her eyes. "Because you didn't flinch from my PTSD or my walls or the fact that I couldn't say Titan's name without drowning."
Jade wanted to reach for her, but her instincts told her that Maddox needed to finish this first.
"But these past weeks"—Maddox's voice strengthened slightly—"doing the therapy work, the EMDR sessions and processing the warehouse call, processing Titan, I’m…I’m better." She swallowed. "I'm lighter and more whole than I've been in eight years."
A tear slipped down Maddox's cheek, and she didn't wipe it away. Jade tucked her hands underneath her thighs to avoid reaching up to wipe it for her.
"And I still need you." The words came out rough and honest. "Not because I'm broken or because you're the only one who understands what it's like to make impossible choices." She met Jade's eyes fully. "Because I love you."
Jade's vision blurred.
"This isn't trauma bonding anymore," Maddox said. "I don’t think it ever really was. It's just...love."
The declaration hung there between them, raw and vulnerable and true.
"I need to know this isreal," Maddox continued. "Not just convenient or us filling voids. Real." Her hand found Jade's, gripping tight. "Tell me it's real. That you feel it too."
Jade's chest cracked open. All the fear she'd been carrying, all the worry that she was only needed when Maddox was broken, that her intensity would become too much once Maddox healed—it came pouring out.
"It's real," she managed, her voice thick. "It was always real."
She set down her own wine glass, needing both hands to hold Maddox's. "I worried too," she admitted. "That I was too much for you and that you needed my intensity because you were drowning, and someone had to be the life raft."
Maddox made a small sound in her throat, but Jade kept going.
"My ex told me I was exhausting. She told me I was too caring, too involved, too emotional." The old wound still ached when she pressed on it. "I thought maybe you needed that because you were broken. That when you healed, you'd realize I was..." She trailed off.
"Too much," Maddox finished quietly.
"Yeah." Jade wiped at her eyes with her free hand. "But you're healing and you’re doing the work. And you still choose me."
"Every day," Maddox said.
"Not because I'm useful." Jade's voice broke. "But because you love me."
"Because I love you," Maddox confirmed. "Not your therapeutic skills or your ability to talk me down from panic attacks. You. The woman who laughs at Zeus's antics and burns toast and cries at nature documentaries. You."
Jade let out a sound that was a half-laugh, half-sob.
"I love you," she said. "Not your brokenness, not what you needed from me. I love the woman who gives Zeus too many treats and pretends not to cry during sad movies and makes terrible coffee."
"My coffee's not that bad," Maddox said, but she was smiling through the tears.
"It's really terrible," Jade said, unable to conceal her grin. "But I love you anyway."
They both laughed, the sound watery and relieved.
"We started in a crisis," Maddox said after a moment.
