Chapter 224: Madeline
I’m finally in my own bed after the whirlwind that is Finn-and-Liam time. I missed them so much, but wow—volume. With the twins, I can talk for hours and they actually listen, trade stories, or we’ll fall into that quiet I love—reading side by side, working in the same room, one of them absently playing with my hair while I turn pages. Finn and Liam are… not that. They’re laughing, yelling, narrating pasta like it’s a sport. I adore them; my ears are ringing.
I try to read, but I miss Jake and Reid so much the words keep blurring. I’m just slipping toward sleep when there’s a knock. I sit up, push hair from my face.
Charlie slips in, eyes bright. “You sneaaaakkyyy bitch.”
I can’t help it—I giggle. “They told you.”
“Duh they told me.” She takes a flying hop and flops next to me, stealing my pillow. “How did you keep that a secret?”
“It all happened so fast,” I say, tugging the blanket up to my chin. “From the second they told me how they felt to… official, and then the institute happened, and I hated you not knowing.”
“I don’t care,” she says, grinning. “I’m just happy to know.” She sobers a little. “I’m going to try my best to put aside the part where they’re my idiot cousins and be a good friend.” She wiggles her brows. “So—how does it work? Like… three of you.”
I shrug, cheeks hot. “I’m still not a hundred percent sure. But it feels… natural. Sometimes I’m more with Jake, sometimes more with Reid. It feels like they talk between themselves and just… take the lead.”
Charlie nods like a scientist cataloging a rare frog. “Do they feel different from each other?”
“Yes.” My face heats more. “Reid’s a little more… rough? Protective. He never really leaves my side. And Jake is very gentle and thinks ahead—what I like, little things.” I bite my lip. “They’re both amazing. And I’m sorry if it’s weird hearing that about your cousins, but they’re so gentle and patient with me, and encouraging, and they remember what I like and don’t like.”
“I’ve never actually seen Reid in a relationship,” she says, eyes widening. “This is… fascinating.”
“What about Jake?”
“Jake did two years with someone a few years ago,” she says, rolling onto her back. “Nothing really since.”
There’s a beat. Then: “Did you… you know… do it?”
My entire face goes crimson. “Charlie, I cannot tell you that.”
“Damn right you can, and you will.” She bounces the mattress with a little victory hop.
I groan, bury my face in my pillow, and nod.
“Youuu nasty girl,” she sings, delighted. “Both at the same time or not?”
“Yes,” I mumble, voice strangled. Then I peek up. “And also individually.”
“Daaamn, you’re a freak.”
I laugh into my hands. “I never thought I could do that, but it feels natural. I started developing feelings for both of them and I felt so bad—like it wasn’t fair—but then they came to me with the idea, and I’m just… so happy.”
“I’m happy for you,” she says, and pulls me into a hug. We lie there in the quiet a minute, our legs tangled, the hall light a soft stripe across the rug.
“Did you tell them about your ex?” she asks gently.
I swallow. “He texted again while we were over there, and I had to tell them. I just said… someone in the city is mad at me. I did something to upset him and I thought Northhaven would give me a fresh start.” I stare at the ceiling. “That’s the extent of it.”
Charlie nods, thumb rubbing a little circle on my arm. “I’m proud of you for telling the start.”
She hugs me tight, then rolls off the bed like a cartoon cat. At the door she turns, wiggles her fingers, and sings, “My friend and my cousins are freaaaaks,” in the most annoying melody possible.
“Get out,” I laugh, throwing a pillow that misses by a mile.
She cackles down the hall. I’m still giggling when I turn off the lamp, book forgotten on my chest. The room smells like my soap and pasta and the lingering trace of their cologne on my tote bag. My heart is full and a little wild. I tuck under the quilt, press my smile into the pillow, and let sleep take me.
Somewhere in the dark, a door clicks downstairs.
I come up fast, heart skittering. The house is mostly quiet—fridge hum, a gull far off—so the sound feels too loud, like it’s wearing boots. Finn and Liam were here earlier; Charlie came back a while ago. Everyone should be asleep. I sit up, listening. Another soft thud. Voices? No—just the house breathing.
I slide out of bed, toes finding the cool floor, and crack my door. The hall is a thin stripe of moonlight and the glow from the staircase nightlight. I’m shaking a little—stupid, I know, but my body doesn’t like surprises anymore—so I make myself breathe in fours and lean into the hall.
Footsteps on the stairs.
Sloane appears at the landing—bag on one shoulder, hair different: the shaved side grown into a glossy, blunt shadow that catches the light. Same sharp cheekbones. Same don’t-try-me posture. Her mouth is a line. For a second, our eyes catch, and something like scorn flashes there—then she smooths it, slow, into a smile that doesn’t reach anything.
“Oh—hi,” I say, too bright, hands curled in the hem of my T-shirt. “How have you been?”
The smile widens a fraction, precise and… off. “Very good,” she says, voice even. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ask back. Just moves past me down the hall, key turning in her door, the latch catching neat and final.
I stand there a breath longer, blinking at wood grain.
Okay then.
Creepy smile or not, it was still a smile. Progress. Maybe the week away did something, or the calm after the storm did. Maybe she’s decided to be… civil. My shoulders loosen inch by inch. I pad back to my room, slide under the quilt, and pull it up to my chin.
The house settles. My heartbeat does too. I think about Finn and Liam’s pasta commentary, Charlie’s sing-song teasing, Reid’s “I love you,” Jake’s palm at the back of my head in the dark. Things feel—strangely—good. Maybe this is the corner. Maybe Sloane will finally warm up to me. Maybe we all will get along.
I close my eyes on that small, hopeful thought and let it carry me under.