Chapter 122: Reid
What a fucking idiot.
That’s all I can think as I watch her breathing slow, the color finally coming back into her face. Jake should’ve known better—should’ve thought. He knows what she’s been through, what she’s afraid of. The sound she made when she screamed is still crawling under my skin, sharp and cold.
She smiles now, though—soft, forgiving—and points to Jake’s hand. “What do you have there?”
Jake glances down like he forgot he was holding it. “Oh. This?” His grin breaks through, easy and boyish in a way that pisses me off and still somehow makes her eyes light up. “We thought you’d be hungry.”
He pulls out the paper bag, crouches, and hands her one of the sandwiches inside. She perks up immediately, crossing her legs on her towel like a kid at a picnic. “You thought right,” she says, unwrapping it. The first bite makes her hum in this low, content sound that has both of us staring at her like idiots.
“It’s so good,” she mumbles with her mouth half full, smiling at us.
Jake grins back. “We didn’t make it or anything. Diner special.”
She still looks impressed, which makes him grin wider.
“Why’d you come back?” she asks a minute later, brushing a crumb from her lip. “I thought you guys left with the others.”
I frown. “You thought we’d just leave you here alone?”
Jake shakes his head, half laughing. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”
She blinks at us, surprised—and then she smiles again, softer this time. “You know, you guys are pretty fun outside of work.”
That earns a smirk out of me. “And at work, we’re what?”
She giggles—this light, unguarded sound that shouldn’t do what it does to my chest—and says, “Terrors. We all shake in our boots.”
Jake laughs under his breath. I just shake my head, trying not to smile too much, but failing.
“Terrors,” I repeat quietly, mostly to myself, watching her take another bite like we didn’t nearly give her a heart attack five minutes ago.
She hums, teasing. “Total terrors.”
Yeah. Maybe.
But right now, watching her barefoot in the sand, my hoodie swallowing her frame, the sun catching the water in her hair—
we’re something else entirely.
She takes a few more bites, quiet and content, before looking up at us again—hesitant, like she’s been working up the courage.
“I’m sorry,” she says suddenly.
Jake frowns. “For what?”
She swallows, looking away. “For not saying happy birthday today.”
I exchange a glance with him, then shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”
She does anyway, of course. “No, I do. I actually…” She hesitates, her cheeks already turning pink. “I actually got you something.”
Jake blinks, then laughs, low and surprised. “You what?”
Her blush deepens. “It’s really small. It’s not like Northhaven has much to shop at.”
I lean back, crossing my arms. “Madeline, we tell the team every year—don’t get us anything.”
Jake nods. “Yeah. We mean it.”
She narrows her eyes at both of us, pressing a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
Jake raises an eyebrow at me like, You hearing this? I’m too busy watching her crawl across the towel toward her bag to answer.
The sand shifts under her knees, the sun catching on her skin. The hoodie still hangs half open over her bikini, slipping just enough to bare the smooth line of her shoulder, the curve of her back. Her hair falls forward when she reaches for her bag, and the sight of her like that—barefoot, flushed, smiling to herself—has something hot and dangerous crawling under my skin.
She could be reaching for anything right now, and I wouldn’t give a damn.
Because the way she moves—slow, easy, unaware of what she’s doing to me—is enough to make me forget everything she just said.
Jake shifts beside me, clears his throat, probably thinking the same thing.
Madeline sits back on her heels, holding two small, neatly wrapped packages in her hands. She looks up at us with a shy smile.
“See?” she says, all bright and proud. “Told you it’s small.”
She wrapped them carefully—too carefully for something she keeps calling “small.”
Northhaven newspaper, folded just so, corners tucked neat, and tied with a tiny bow made of twine. Jake and I exchange a look before unwrapping them at the same time.
The paper gives with a soft crack, and when I lift the lid of the little box inside, my brain stops.
It’s a piece of seaglass. Blue—deep, rich, and almost glowing in the sunlight. Not just a shard, though. It’s smoothed, curved just right, and attached to a delicate little metal loop—a keychain.
Madeline starts rambling before either of us can say a word.
“It’s, um—blue seaglass,” she says, her voice light but nervous. “I tried to find some that matched the color of the Vigil—you know that sort of steel-blue shade it gets when it’s clean? But that’s actually a really specific color, and apparently nature doesn’t just make that on command, so I had to—well, I found these, and I thought they were pretty close—”
She keeps going, hands fluttering as she talks, and I can’t look away. The glass catches every bit of sunlight, glinting like water.
Jake turns his over, and I do the same.
Then she says, “Hold it up to the sun.”
We both glance at her, confused, but do it anyway.
And then—holy shit.
When the light hits, a carving appears inside the glass, like it’s alive beneath the surface. A whale—precise, fluid, every line perfect. The fluke, the curve of the body, the sense of movement. It’s not amateur work. It’s… her. Real. Thoughtful.
And just above the carving—our names.
Reid etched into mine. Jake into his.
I stare. I actually can’t speak for a second.
Jake finally breathes, “Where the hell did you find this?”
“The rocky shore near the harbor,” she says quickly, cheeks flushing. “You have to go at low tide—it’s the best time for seaglass. I, uh, spent a while looking.”
He glances at me, still turning the keychain in his fingers. “And the carving?”
She nods, eyes bright, proud in this shy, uncertain way that wrecks me. “Yeah. I did that. I’m not great at drawing or anything, but whales I can do. I found some little tools at the house that worked for engraving, and I got these keychain rings at the hardware store, so I drilled the holes and—uh—it took some trial and error.” She laughs softly. “A lot of trial and error, actually.”
She’s rambling again, the words tripping over themselves, hands moving like she’s trying to apologize and explain at once.
“It’s small, I know, but—”
Jake cuts her off, voice low and sincere. “It’s incredible.”
“Madeline,” I say, still staring at the way the light burns through the glass. “It must’ve taken you forever.”
She looks down, smiling faintly, brushing hair from her face. “It wasn’t that long.”
But it was. I can tell.
Because now I can see it—the whole process.
Her scouring the rocky shore, pockets full of wet glass and saltwater. Sitting at her kitchen table, hair falling in her face, working over the pieces with a steady hand. Testing the light, engraving lines until it looked right.
Jake exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. “You made this for us.”
She shrugs like it’s nothing, smiling that small, bashful smile. “Of course I did.”
And for the first time all day, I can’t think of a single goddamn thing to say.