Chapter 138: Reid
The second Charlie’s gone, the air shifts. What’s left is tension and too much noise in my head.
In front of us, under the flickering light of the bar sign, stand Sloane, Finn, and Liam. Liam’s trying to stay small, hands shoved in his pockets. Finn looks sick. Sloane’s jaw is tight, shoulders squared, eyes still full of that same venom she threw at Madeline earlier.
I fold my arms, step forward once. “Alright,” I say, calm but hard. “Now that Finn's delt with—Sloane, tell me. What the fuck is your problem?”
Her eyes narrow. “I told you weeks ago,” she fires back, voice sharp, chin up like she’s ready for a fight. “She’s a distraction. She creates a wedge between everyone on the team. I warned you at your house.”
Before I can even answer, Jake steps in, his voice cold and controlled in that way that makes people shut up. “Yeah?” he says. “Because from what I’ve seen tonight, she certainly didn’t create a wedge between her and Finn. Or her and Charlie. Or me and Reid. Seems like everyone’s fine—except you.”
Liam shifts, uncomfortable, but when Jake turns to him, he says quickly, “It’s fine, man. I don’t have a problem with her.”
“Exactly,” Jake says, looking back at Sloane. “So that just leaves you. Why is that, Sloane?”
She huffs a bitter laugh. “Oh, come on. Don’t you think it’s weird? Someone with her education—her background—coming here of all places? SWMRI? Not a big-name lab, not a city job, not some prestigious research center. Why the hell here? Why Northhaven?”
I tilt my head. “Why are you here?” I ask flatly. “You could be a captain anywhere. Better pay, better resources. Yet here you are.”
Her mouth opens, then shuts again.
Jake steps closer, his tone darker now. “And that’s not even the point. The point is—earlier today, you were laughing about how Liam said he wanted to kiss Madeline.”
Liam’s eyes go wide. “Hey—”
Jake ignores him. “That was funny to you. But when Finn actually does it, you nearly punched Madeline in the face. Why’s that, hm?”
She stiffens. Her nostrils flare. “Because—”
But then she stops. And the silence stretches.
And I see it. The flicker in her expression. The flush in her neck. The way her gaze slides, unbidden, toward Finn.
Jake sees it too.
We don’t say it out loud—no need to—but the truth’s clear.
She likes him.
And that, right there, is the fucking problem. It's why she's been hating Madeline all along.
I exhale, slow, measured. “Look,” I say, voice low. “I don’t give a shit about your reasons. You want to ruin your night over some guy, be my guest. But you don’t put your hands on another member of this team. Ever.”
Her jaw works. “I didn’t.”
“Were you going to?” I ask, eyes locked on hers.
A pause. Then, quietly but without hesitation—“Yes.”
Jake and I both go still. The fury between us spikes.
I take a step closer, my voice dropping an octave. “Is it safe to send you back to the house with Madeline tonight, or do you need to spend the night at our place to cool the hell off?”
She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “I’m not gonna hit your little princess, don’t worry.”
Jake mutters, “Careful.”
She straightens her spine, glaring at both of us. “Message received,” she says tightly.
“Good,” I say. “Then we’re done here.”
She turns on her heel and walks off, her steps sharp and angry against the pavement.
Finn still looks like he’s about to puke, and Liam’s staring after her like he’s watching a bomb walk away.
We dismiss them with a few clipped words — “Go.”
Finn doesn’t even look up, just nods and stumbles after Sloane, Liam on his heels. The three of them disappear around the corner, their shadows stretching long under the streetlight until they vanish completely.
Jake leans back against the brick wall, exhales hard, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck,” he mutters.
The night’s gone quiet again, except for the far-off hum of the ocean and the muffled thump of music leaking from inside the bar. The air smells like salt and spilled beer.
I fold my arms and stare after them. “You think it’s a good idea to have them all in one house right now?”
Jake doesn’t answer right away. He’s still staring at the empty street, eyes half-lidded, thinking. He pushes a hand through his hair, jaw tense. “Charlie’s with Madeline,” he finally says. “Finn and Liam are so drunk they’ll either puke or pass out. And Sloane…” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Sloane’s pissed, but she’s not stupid enough to try anything after that.”
“Not tonight,” I echo quietly.
He nods, slow. “Yeah. Not tonight.”
The silence between us stretches a little longer. The adrenaline’s wearing off, leaving behind exhaustion and the sharp ache of everything we’ve had to keep under control tonight — the anger, the protectiveness, the way I can still taste Madeline when I breathe too deep.
Finally, I push off the wall. “Alright. Let’s go in, make a round, thank whoever’s left, and get the hell out.”
Jake straightens, runs a hand along his jaw. “Good plan.”
We step back into the bar. The heat, the smell of alcohol, the press of bodies — it all feels heavier now, dulled around the edges. People cheer when they see us, someone shouts another happy birthday, and we manage to smile, shake hands, accept a few pats on the back.
We do a slow loop around the room — thanking, nodding, making it look like we’re still part of the night. But both of us are already halfway gone, our minds miles away, following the same two threads: Madeline safe at home, and the storm that’s definitely not over.
After a few minutes, we slip out quietly.
The walk to the SWMRI house is wordless. The road’s empty now, the night air cool against the skin, the sea dark and endless beside us.
We don’t need to say anything — we’re thinking the same thing.
Tonight was supposed to be a celebration.
And instead, everything shifted again.