Chapter 131: Reid
I’m caught in the kind of position that could end with someone in the hospital.
To my left, Finn’s sitting there with that dumb, dazed grin, like he doesn’t even realize what the hell he’s just done. To my right, Sloane’s about one breath away from knocking Madeline flat, fury shaking through her entire body.
And in the middle—Madeline.
Wide-eyed. Shaking. Terrified.
She’s stammering something, her voice breaking, trying to explain—but Sloane isn’t hearing a damn word, and Finn isn’t saying anything. My hands are fists at my sides, jaw clenched so tight it aches. Because I saw it. I saw the whole thing.
Finn kissed her.
Not the other way around.
She didn’t lean in, didn’t flirt, didn’t give him a single reason to think she wanted it. She froze. Tried to pull back. Her hands went to his chest, pushing, not holding. She looked confused, not coy.
She didn’t want it.
And I know that with absolute, unwavering certainty.
But knowing that doesn’t make me any less furious. It just shifts the target.
I take a long, slow breath through my nose, my chest tight, every muscle locked. I want to break Finn in half. Crack every rib in his lanky body and make him understand what it feels like to take something that isn’t his. But Sloane—Christ, Sloane’s already shaking with so much rage she could combust. And the way she’s glaring at me now, daring me to intervene, I know she’ll handle him.
So I turn and go after where Madeline just ran off to.
The hallway is narrow, dimly lit, the bass from the music thudding through the floorboards under my boots. I’ve always thought this setup was a bad idea—the washrooms are tucked all the way at the end, too far from the main room, too easy for someone to get cornered.
She’s not there yet. I stop, lean against the wall, cross my arms, try to breathe.
I can still see her face when she ran. The panic, the shame, the way she couldn’t even look back.
I close my eyes for a second.
I’m angry—God, I’m furious—but not at her. Never at her.
I wait there, head against the wall, counting the seconds until she comes out. The hallway smells faintly of cleaning supplies and beer. My jaw’s locked, my fists ache.
Then, finally, the soft click of the door.
She steps out, head down, rubbing at her eyes. Her eyes are a little red at the rim, cheeks still damp, and that sight alone guts me. I move before she can, easing into the doorway, guiding her back with my body until the door closes behind us with a muted thud.
She startles, back pressed against the cool tile. “Reid—what are you doing here?”
I don’t answer. Because the second I look at her mouth, my head goes blank.
Her lips are pink, trembling, and all I can think of is him—his drunk, clumsy mouth on what’s mine. My pulse spikes hard enough that I have to drag in a breath through my teeth. I raise my hand slowly and brush my thumb across her lower lip, light as a whisper, like I could somehow erase the memory of Finn from her skin.
Her breath catches, and she whispers, “I didn’t start it. He did.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“I promise, I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t—didn’t do anything back at the house, or—”
“I know.”
Her eyes flicker with panic. “Reid, please... don’t fire me.”
That stuns me. Of all the things she could’ve said—that’s what she’s worried about?
She thinks I’m angry at her. She thinks I came here to punish her. That SWMRI is what I'm worried about after finding my deckhand all over her.
I shake my head once, slow. “That’s not why I’m here.”
But she doesn’t look convinced. She’s trembling, hands twisting together in front of her like she’s bracing for something bad. And that… that ruins me a little bit.
I step closer. She doesn’t move. Another step, until the air shifts with her breath, until I can see the tiny freckles at the bridge of her nose, the way her lashes tremble. My arm comes up on instinct—forearm braced above her head on the wall, boxing her in completely, just like I did on the Vigil.
She’s shaking now, just a little, but she doesn’t look for a way to leave, to put space between us.
“Did you like it?” I ask.
Her head jerks up, eyes wide. “What?”
I keep my voice low, even. “Did you like it.”
She blinks, mouth opening and closing, and her throat bobs when she swallows. “No. I don’t—I don’t see Finn like that.”
Good.
“Good,” I say out loud.
Her brow furrows, confusion crossing her face. “Why good?”
I lean down until my mouth is a breath away from hers, my voice low enough that she can feel it more than hear it.
“Because it makes my blood boil to watch another man touch you. But if that’s what you wanted—if you liked it—I wouldn’t stop it.”
Her eyes go huge. Her breath hitches—once, then stops entirely. She just stares up at me, wide-eyed and trembling.
Then the tears come, glinting in the harsh bathroom light.
“Reid…” she whispers, her voice cracking. “What about Charlie?”
That name again. That fucking name. I can't fucking comprehend what Charlie has to do with any of this.
I grit my teeth. “What about her?”
Her expression twists, like I’ve just said something unforgivable. She pushes at my chest, her small palms warm against my shirt, and I let her.
“How can you do this to Charlie?” she says, her voice rising, shaking. “It’s clear how much she loves you—and you love her! So why do you keep coming this close to me, making me feel like this, when you’re already taken?”
The words slam into me, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
What.
In.
The.
Fuck.
She thinks—she actually thinks—Charlie and I are together.
For a second, all I can do is stare at her. The way she’s glaring at me, hurt and angry and beautiful all at once, chest rising and falling too fast, cheeks flushed. I look at her for a long minute, the word stuck in my throat, shock burning through the anger until all that’s left is the shape of her misunderstanding, huge and impossible between us. I don’t even know how to answer something this wrong.
“Madeline—”
But before I can stop her, she shoves past me, her shoulder grazing my arm, and bolts out the door.
The door swings shut behind her, the echo of her footsteps fading down the hallway.
I stand there, frozen, staring at the space where she’d been seconds ago.
She thinks I’m with Charlie.
Jesus fucking Christ.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t know whether I want to laugh, punch something, or run after her.