Robert’s chest was heaving now, his hands gripping his knees. “Can’t…can’t breathe…”
“You’re breathing. I can see you breathing. It feels wrong, but your body knows what to do.” Jade kept her voice steady. “Can you feel your feet on the floor?”
He nodded, his eyes wild.
“That’s good. Focus on that. Feel the pressure of your feet against the floor. You’re here in this room in Phoenix Ridge, not anywhere else.”
Maddox had stepped back, giving Robert space, but she hadn’t left the room. Zeus sat beside her, watching Robert withthose intelligent brown eyes, sensing distress without reacting to it.
“The crowd,” Robert managed between gasps. “Too many people, too loud. I thought I could—but then?—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Jade said. “Just breathe with me. In through your nose slowly, out through your mouth slower.”
She demonstrated, exaggerating the movement so he could see and copy it. Robert tried to follow, failed, and tried again.
“That’s it. You’re doing it. Keep going.”
Minutes passed. Jade kept talking, grounding him in the present and kept reminding him that this, too, would pass. Slowly, incrementally, Robert’s breathing began to even out. The terror in his eyes receded, replaced by exhaustion and shame.
“I’m sorry,” he said when he could finally speak normally. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“Don’t apologize.” Jade’s voice was firm. “What just happened wasn’t weakness. That’s your nervous system doing exactly what it was trained to do. It kept you alive once, and now it’s trying to keep you safe, even when there’s no danger.”
Robert looked at her, something like hope flickering across his face. “You know about this stuff?”
“I do. I’m a trauma counselor, and I work with vets. What you just experienced was a panic attack. Common with PTSD and very treatable.”
“I haven’t talked to anyone about it.” The admission came out quiet, ashamed. “Didn’t think anyone would understand.”
“A lot of people understand.” Jade pulled out one of her cards and passed it to him. “You don’t have to do this alone. There are resources, people who’ve been through it, and treatment that works.”
Robert took the card and held it like it might crumble. “Thank you, really. I thought I was—” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“You’re not,” Jade said gently. “You’re having a normal reaction to abnormal circumstances. Your brain is doing its job. We can teach it to do it differently.”
Zeus shifted, and Robert’s attention went to him. “Can I— Would it be okay to pet him?”
Maddox stepped forward. “Zeus, easy.”
The dog moved closer and let Robert’s shaking hand rest on his head. Some of the tension bled out of Robert’s shoulders, and he stayed like that for a long moment, his hand on Zeus fur as his breathing finally stabilized.
“Dogs always helped,” he said quietly. “On tour, whenever we saw dogs, it meant we were somewhere safe, somewhere human.”
Maddox’s expression shifted, something Jade couldn’t quite read passing her face. “Zeus has that effect on people. He’s good at reminding you what matters.”
Robert managed a weak smile. “Yeah, he is.”
When Robert felt stable enough to leave, Jade walked him to the main entrance, made sure he had her card and the crisis line number, and confirmed he had transportation home. He thanked her three more times, apologizing between each one, and she reassured him each time that there was nothing to apologize for.
By the time she returned to the main hall, the wellness fair had thinned out. Late afternoon now, families heading home for dinner and volunteers began to pack up tables.
Maddox stood near the PD setup, breaking down the demonstration area with Riley. Zeus lay nearby, next to Sarge, watching both officers with the patient stillness of a dog who knew the work was done for the day.
Jade knew she should go back to her own table to finish packing, but instead, she found herself walking toward Maddox.
Riley spotted her first and grinned. “There she is, the crisis management expert herself.”
“It was a team effort,” Jade said.
