Chapter 209: Madeline
I wake pressed between two walls—warm, unmovable, breathing. Reid’s arm is a steel bar over my ribs; Jake’s is locked across my hips. I’m honestly shocked I didn’t suffocate in the night.
I try to sit up. Reid pins me gently and blinks down, eyes heavy-lidded and stupidly beautiful. There’s something about seeing a man like him—always hard edges, always control—caught in that soft, sleepy place. It turns the world sweeter.
He leans in to kiss me. I flinch back into Jake’s chest. “I haven’t brushed.”
“Don’t care,” he murmurs, voice gravel. “I want your mouth to be the first thing I feel.”
My heart and everything south of it liquefy. I let him kiss me—slow, careful—until my lungs threaten mutiny. Then I sit up and Jake stirs, stretching long behind me as his eyes open.
“How are you feeling?” they ask together.
The answer climbs my throat as tears instead. I see the red crescents torn into both their forearms and gasp; fresh guilt floods me.
“Hey,” Jake says quickly, catching my look. “You did worse to our backs last night, trouble.”
Reid nods, mouth tilting. “Occupational hazard. Don’t worry.”
My lower lip wobbles. “I feel bad. For scaring you. For not telling you sooner. For still…not being able to get it all out.”
“We get it,” Jake says, palm warm at my knee. “As long as you’re safe and you can sleep, we don’t care how slow it is.”
Reid adds, “But if it escalates, you let us help. No debates.”
I nod. They fold me in—the kind of hug that makes my bones remember where they go—and when I breathe again, it’s easier.
“Good,” Jake says at my temple. “Now we go kick ass at the institute.”
That coaxes a smile. I dress in the outfit I packed for today—black midi skirt that swishes when I walk, soft white cardigan buttoned snug, white sneakers because my feet like me better that way—and sweep my hair into something that looks intentional.
When I step out, they’re finishing getting ready. Jake’s in a taupe knit polo, sleeves pushed to his forearms; Reid’s in a charcoal quarter-zip over a pale blue shirt, trousers cut indecently well. They look like sin and tenure walking.
“We’ve got time for a quick breakfast at the diner,” Jake says, checking his watch.
I practically drool. “You two cannot expect me to function when you look like… that.”
They both freeze, amused and wary. “Like what?” Reid asks.
“Like every fantasy I ever had grew legs,” I say, helpless. “You’re—” I wave at them. “Strong everywhere. Tall and long everywhere. Smart, business-brained, kind to your team, you do real science, you love the ocean—someone built my dream man brick by brick and then hit duplicate.”
They grin—wolfish and pleased.
“There you go,” Jake says. “We were made for you.”
“It still feels too good to be true,” I admit, heat creeping up my neck.
“It isn’t,” Jake says, certain.
“For us,” Reid adds, stepping closer until his knuckles brush my hip, “you’re the one who’s too good to be true.”
He glances past me, like he’s seeing something years away. “When I was a kid, my favorite days were when our mom baked. The house went warm and sweet, strawberries in June smelling like dessert even before you picked them. You smell like that to me—sweet, always.”
Jake’s voice drops, softer. “My favorite was a bonfire on the beach. Smoke in the wind, sparks lifting, sand catching the light. Your hair looks like that—fire and gold—and your eyes like seafoam over shallow water.”
I can’t speak for a second.
Reid tips my chin with a knuckle. “We’ve spent our lives being tough, watching our own backs. Now we get to watch yours.”
Jake nods. “We’ve usually been the smartest people in the room. Not anymore when you’re there. We love that.”
Reid finishes it, simple and sure. “We were made for you, Madeline. But don’t get it twisted—you were made for us.”
Something settles in my chest—heavy in the best way. I grab my tote before I cry again and ruin my face.
“Diner,” Jake says, offering his hand.
“Then kicking ass,” Reid says, opening the door.
I fit between them in the hallway, wrists brushing theirs, and—for once—I don’t question how good it feels.
The diner smells like coffee and hot griddle, the kind of morning that lives in syrup. I order chocolate-chip pancakes the size of a ship’s wheel; Reid goes bacon omelet with home fries; Jake, because he’s a menace, gets chicken and waffles.
We eat like thieves. I fork a corner of Reid’s omelet without looking; he steals a pancake triangle, drags it through my syrup, and hums like a sinner. Jake saws his waffle, swaps me a crisp quadrant for two chocolate-dotted bites, then spears a home fry off Reid’s plate with zero shame. The old waitress behind the counter watches us, smiling and shaking her head like we’re her favorite bad influence.
“Ready for the firing squad?” Jake asks, pouring more coffee into my mug. “Questions first, then lab.”
I nod, mouth full, then swallow. “I brought backup clothes—jeans and sneakers if they want me on my feet, extra tee if we’re anywhere messy. I’m a little nervous, though.” I toy with a chocolate chip melting into the plate. “I haven’t been in a lab since I left for Northhaven. But I always loved it, so…” I let the sentence finish itself. Excited.
Reid nudges my knee under the table, steady and warm. “You’ll be great.”
Jake tips his mug toward me. “They’re about to learn what we already know.”
I take another bite—sweet, buttery, ridiculous—and the nerves slide into something sharper, cleaner. The bell over the door rings; outside, the morning’s bright and wide open. I lick syrup from my thumb, pay attention to their hands and mouths and the way they look at me like I’ve already won, and think: okay. Let’s go make the room hum.