If Maddox was brave enough to say she was falling in love, Jade could be brave enough to share the worst of herself—and hope Maddox stayed anyway.
By the time Jade pulled into her apartment complex, her decision to be completely, terrifyingly honest with Maddox crystallized.
She hauled her work bag up the stairs, unlocked her door, and immediately changed into something more comfortable—soft lounge pants and a faded Army t-shirt from her deployment days. The fabric was worn thin in places, familiar against her skin.
In the kitchen, she pulled out ingredients for pasta. It was nothing fancy, just something to keep her hands busy while they talked. Garlic, olive oil, cherry tomatoes from the farmer's market last weekend, and fresh basil she'd been keeping alive on the windowsill.
The routine steadied her. Chop the garlic, halve the tomatoes, set water to boil—simple tasks that didn't require thought, leaving her mind free to circle around what she needed to say.
Marcus Lambert.
She hadn't spoken his name aloud in years. Not to her ex, not to Carla in supervision, not to anyone. It lived in her chest like a stone, smooth and heavy from years of carrying it.
A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
Jade wiped her hands on a towel and crossed the room to open it. Maddox stood there in civilian clothes—dark jeans, a charcoal-gray henley that brought out her eyes, and her signature leather jacket—and her hair was still damp from a shower. She looked tired but lighter than this morning, some of the tension gone from her shoulders.
"Hey," Maddox said.
"Hey." Jade stepped back to let her in. "How was the rest of your shift?"
"Quiet. Two fender benders, one noise complaint, and Zeus spent most of it sleeping in the back." Maddox followed her into the kitchen and set a bottle of wine on the counter. "I brought red. Wasn't sure what you were making."
"Pasta. Red works."
They moved around each other easily now, Maddox finding the corkscrew without asking and Jade pulling down glasses. The water had started to boil, and Jade added salt and pasta, then stirred once.
"Need help?" Maddox asked.
"You can do the garlic." Jade handed her the cutting board and knife. "Just a rough chop, nothing fancy."
Maddox's knife work was efficient, the kind of competence that came from years of taking care of herself. Jade heated olive oil in a pan and added the garlic when Maddox slid it across to her. The familiar golden aroma filled the small kitchen, warm and savory.
"Long day?" Maddox asked, pouring wine into both glasses.
"I had two heavy sessions this morning." Jade added the tomatoes to the skillet with the garlic and watched them start to blister. "One of the firefighter’s nightmares are getting worse. She's carrying guilt that isn't hers to carry," Jade said quietly. "But knowing that doesn't help."
“No,” Maddox agreed. “It doesn’t.”
The pasta timer went off, and Jade checked to make sure it was al dente before she drained the pasta, tossed it with the tomatoes and garlic, and added torn basil and a splash of the pasta water. Simple comfort food, the kind her mom used to make after long shifts.
They ate at Jade's small table, the one that barely fit two people, and their knees bumped underneath it. Outside, the evening light was turning gold, stretching long shadows across the floor.
"This is good," Maddox said after a few bites.
"It's easy."
"Still delicious."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Jade watched Maddox twirl pasta around her fork then eat it. There wassomething calming for Jade about eating together, sharing space and food and quiet.
"Can I ask you something?" Maddox said eventually, breaking the silence.
Jade looked up. "Yeah, of course."
"This morning, when you said you needed time"—Maddox set her fork down carefully—"is that really what it is? Or are you trying to let me down easy?"
Jade's chest tightened. "No. God, no, that's not—" She reached across the table and clasped Maddox's hand. "That's not what I'm doing."
