Chapter 111: Reid
Since Charlie left, Jake and I have been half-working, half-talking about whether we’re actually going to show up to the beach tomorrow.
I’m firmly in the no fucking way camp.
Jake too.
Whatever Charlie’s got planned after — cake, decorations, something loud and embarrassing — that’s enough. I don’t need to stand in the sand pretending I’m having fun.
Now we’re sprawled on opposite ends of the couch, both quietly reading reports while we wait for the motivation to make dinner. The house is quiet, warm, and for once, peaceful.
Then there’s a knock at the door.
Jake groans. “If it’s Charlie, I’m pretending we’re dead.”
He gets up anyway.
From the couch, I hear his tone change — lighter, surprised.
“Oh. Hi. You okay?”
Then her voice — soft, bright, so sweet.
“Yes—more than okay! Did you see the video?”
Madeline.
The sound of her hits something deep in me, like the faint pull of a tide.
Jake chuckles. “Yeah, we saw.”
“I don’t want to bother you,” she says quickly. “But I put a tracker on it, and I can’t get the software to work.”
“You’re not bothering. Come in,” Jake says.
A few seconds later, she appears in the doorway of the living room.
Her skin’s still damp with salt, cheeks flushed pink from the sea air, hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She looks like she just stepped out of the ocean itself — wild, bright, untouchable.
Then she sees me.
And freezes.
Color rises up her neck and into her cheeks, and I feel it — that quick flicker of awareness that hits both of us at the same time. Her lips part open just so.
I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from lifting. “Evening, Madeline.”
“Hi,” she says, voice small, giving me the tiniest wave. “Sorry for interrupting.”
“You’re not.” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to.
Jake, smooth as ever, places his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the table. “Come on, let’s see what’s up.”
She lets him, her laptop already halfway out of her bag, her eyes bright again as she explains something about the tracker.
Jake’s been at it with her for a few minutes now, leaning over her laptop, trying to help her with the software. From the couch, I can hear every second of it — the way her voice lifts when she’s excited, the way she keeps apologizing for taking up his time.
He tells her she should relax since everyone’s off tomorrow, but she shakes her head, all stubborn focus. “The Dtag only holds for twenty-four hours or less,” she says. “If I don’t start tracking it now, we’ll lose the whole thing.”
Jake hums, half amused, half impressed. “Okay, okay. But how did it feel? Seeing them like that?”
That’s all it takes.
She lights up — her whole body changes. Her words spill out in this breathless rush, hands moving as she talks about the whales, about the Dtag, about how maybe, maybe one of them’s a hybrid. How they almost left, how she’s never seen one that close before, how—
Jake glances over his shoulder at me, and we both can’t help it. We chuckle quietly.
Even when I tried convincing myself I didn’t like her — hell, that I hated her — her rambling always killed me. It’s just so her. Unfiltered, genuine, unstoppable.
Jake finally admits he doesn’t really get the software, looks back at me with that look that says you handle it.
So I sigh, set my pen down, and get up.
The lights in the house are dim — only the warm glow from the dining table lamp and the faint blue of her laptop screen. Thank fuck for that. The shadows hide the small cuts near our jaws, the bruises that’ll fade by morning but still sting when I move.
I walk over and lean behind her.
One hand on the table beside her laptop. Then the other.
I’m close — close enough that my chest brushes against her back, close enough to feel the tiny catch in her breathing when she realizes how close I am.
Good. Let her feel it. Let her know she’s not the only one who can’t breathe when we’re this near.
“Click there,” I say quietly, my voice low by her ear. “Now type that line in. Yeah, right there.”
Her fingers are trembling slightly, but she does what I say. The screen refreshes, data starts loading, and a map pops up, blinking with tracking coordinates.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. Her voice is full of awe. “It worked!”
She twists in her chair, looking up at me with that huge, radiant smile that always manages to gut me. “Thank you.”
I nod once, keep my voice steady. “You’re welcome.”
Then I push off the table and head back toward the couch, every nerve in my body still buzzing from the feeling of her against me.
For one twisted, fucked up second, I let myself think about the fact that if this small touch is enough to set my whole fucking body on fire, what the heck would happen to me if we went further? If I took off her clothes, if I felt her bare skin, if I got to kiss the hollow of her neck...
Yeah, no.
I can't think about her naked right now, not when she's feet away, not when my bed is only a few feet further.
Jake’s talking to her about the Dtag software now — something about satellite ping intervals and why the transmission’s so slow this early in the season. She’s half listening, half trying to troubleshoot, her brows pulled tight together in that way she does when she’s deep in her head.
Then she says softly, almost to herself, “It’s weird they’re here this early, though. Blues don’t usually migrate up this far until late summer.”
Jake hums in agreement, leaning closer. “Could be currents. Or a bait bloom earlier than usual.”
She nods, eyes still fixed on the screen, hair falling loose from her ponytail. “Maybe. Still… it’s strange.”
Her phone buzzes against the table, making her jump.
At the same time, the notification also pops up on her laptop screen — and I catch it before she slams the lid halfway down.
Jake squints. “What was—”
“—Nothing!” she blurts, too fast. Her face goes red, the nervous kind of red that crawls up her neck. “It’s, uh, it’s just Charlie. She’s, um, blackmailing me to wear one of these bikinis tomorrow.”
There’s a pause.
Then Jake, deadpan: “Blackmailing.”
Madeline laughs nervously, waving her hands. “Not real blackmail! Just—you know how she is. She sent… options.” She bites her lip and looks away. “I already know I won’t have a choice. She’ll pick one herself if I don’t.”
I catch Jake’s eye, and he glances at me over her head, one brow raised in silent amusement.
A few more minutes pass. Jake helps her finish up with a couple last files, and when the last line of code loads correctly, she sighs with relief and closes her laptop.
“Thank you,” she says softly, looking between us. “For helping me. I’ll, um… I’ll go home and keep reviewing it. Sorry for bothering you both.”
“Didn’t bother us,” Jake says, but she’s already giving a small wave, cheeks still pink, eyes down.
When the door clicks shut behind her, silence settles back over the house.
Jake walks back to the couch and drops down beside me with a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. For a few seconds, neither of us says a word.
Then he exhales through his nose, grinning faintly. “Yeah,” he says. “We’re going to that beach tomorrow.”
I chuckle, leaning my head back against the couch. “Yeah,” I mutter. “We are.”