Page 77 of Deadly Hope
As did learning the truth about James.
The relief of knowing her brother hadn’t taken his own life was staggering. He’d been murdered—a horrible truth that somehow hurt less than believing he’d lost hope and she hadn’t been there to save him.
And then there was the CIA agent, sacrificing herself to save them all. Redemption coming from the most unexpected place.
She glanced out the window toward Knight Tactical’s hangar, looming against the morning sky. So close to her office. She’d see it every day, knowing Axel was inside. Knowing exactly how his hands felt gripping hers as they ran for their lives. Knowing how his voice softened when he talked about faith. Knowing how carefully he guarded his trauma, and how badly she wanted to help him heal—as a woman, not as a therapist.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She’d spent so long hiding behind her professional persona, reading other people’s emotions while keeping her own carefully contained. Even now, she could sense the undercurrents of tension in the kitchen—Team Tank still processing in the other room, the weight of decisions and changes hanging in the air.
And she needed to go. Back to her office. Back to her patients. Back to being Dr. Kane, who kept everyone at a safe, professional distance.
She stood, gathering her things, when heavy footsteps approached the kitchen. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Her curse, that ability to sense emotions, picked up his agitation immediately.
Axel.
He stood in the doorway, radiating tension. Her professional mind automatically cataloged the signs—the tight set of his jaw, the controlled breathing, the way his fingers flexed and curled at his sides. But her heart ... her heart just wanted to reach out.
“You’re leaving?” His voice was rougher than usual.
“Back to real life.” She aimed for lightness, but the words felt wrong. What was real anymore? The ordered world of her practice, or these intense days of danger and connection?
“Olivia—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. The gesture was so uncharacteristically uncertain that her chest tightened.
“You’re agitated,” she said softly, then winced. Always the therapist. Always maintaining that professional distance.
His laugh held no humor. “Yeah. That’s one word for it.” He moved farther into the kitchen, his gaze falling on the coffee grinder. The same one that had triggered his PTSD what felt like a lifetime ago.
She watched him stare at it, feeling the weight of that memory. Of him breaking down. Of her instinct to help. Of the walls that had gone up immediately after.
“I need—” He stopped, squared his shoulders like he was facing enemy fire. “I need your help with something.”
The words cost him. She could see it in every line of his body, feel it in the charged air between them. Axel Reinhardt didn’t ask for help. Ever.
“Of course.” Her response was automatic, professional. Safe.
“No.” He turned to face her fully. “Not Dr. Kane’s help. Yours. Olivia’s.”
Her carefully maintained composure cracked. This was Axel choosing vulnerability, deliberately stepping into his fear. Like he had in that firefight. Like he had protecting her. But this was different. This was harder.
“I—” She swallowed, feeling her own walls trembling. “I’m not sure I know how to be anything else anymore.”
“Yeah.” His voice gentled. “I know something about hiding behind who we think we need to be.” He gestured to the coffee grinder. “Help me make an espresso? And maybe we can both stop pretending?”
The double meaning hung between them. Help with the trigger. Help with the walls. Help with everything they’d been dancing around since that first morning.
Her professional mask slipped further as understanding dawned. True healing—true connection—couldn’t happen behind walls. Not his. Not hers.
“Okay,” she whispered, and took a step toward him. Toward vulnerability. Toward whatever this was becoming.
She moved closer to the counter, hyperaware of his presence beside her. “Talk me through what you need.”
“Funny you should say that.” His voice was low, intimate. “Because what I need is to tell you something I should have said days ago, instead of pushing you away.” He took a deliberate breath. “And I’m really, really glad you never became my therapist.”
Her heart stumbled. “Axel?—”
“Because I don’t want fifty-minute time slots with Dr. Kane. I want to get to know Olivia.” He turned to face her fully. “I want to know what makes you laugh. What scares you. What you dream about. I want to face every trigger, every fear, every challenge—together. Not as patient and therapist. As friends. Maybe more. I mean, hopefully more.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “It won’t be easy. We both have wounds, walls ...”
