Chapter 62: Madeline
Finn and Liam finish everything in record time. Too fast. The ropes are tied, the heavier gear strapped so it doesn’t slide, the deck cleared. It’s fine—they know what they're doing. But if I’ve learned anything in the past two weeks, it’s that when those two move that quickly, something’s bound to be forgotten.
Still, the Vigil glides out smoothly, the engine’s low hum steady beneath my boots, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget the chill. The ocean stretches ahead, endless and silver under a thin veil of sun. Reid said we’d check the feeding grounds where humpbacks were seen last week—see if the luck holds. It’s quiet.
I sit near the bow, binoculars in hand, watching for any hint of life. A plume. A ripple. A flicker of movement below.
It’s been forty minutes.
And my fingers are blocks of ice.
Even through my gloves, I can barely move them. My nose is frozen too, my breath fogging the air in small, quick bursts. Talk about summer. I’ve never been one for the heat, but this? This is cruel.
“Hey.”
The voice comes from behind me—low, calm—and I nearly drop the binoculars.
I twist around to find Jake standing a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, the wind ruffling his dark hair. He looks far too composed for someone who just scared the life out of me.
I frown. “You guys have got to stop doing that.”
He tilts his head, all fake innocence. “Doing what?”
“Sneaking up on me.”
That small, knowing smirk curves on his mouth—the same one that makes it hard to stay mad at him. “You startle easy.”
I turn back to the sea, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “Apparently.”
I try to focus on the horizon, but his presence—close, solid, radiating warmth in this freezing air—pulls at me like gravity.
“You know,” he says after a beat, “you don’t have to be out here the whole time. You can go in the wheelhouse, it’s warmer there. View’s just as good.”
My gaze flicks toward it. The closed space. Him and Reid. The thought alone makes my pulse stutter.
I shake my head. “I’m okay here.”
“You sure?” His voice dips again, quieter now, edged with something I can’t place.
I nod, even though my teeth are starting to chatter. “Positive.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t leave, either. Instead, he lowers himself onto the bench beside me, casual and deliberate, stretching his legs out until his knee brushes mine.
I blink. “What are you doing?”
He looks straight ahead, lips curving just slightly. “Supervising.”
“Supervising,” I echo. “Really?”
He hums, low and amused. “Can’t have you nearly throwing yourself overboard again for an animal, can I?”
I turn toward him, intending to roll my eyes, but the movement brings me face to face with him—close enough to see the faint stubble along his jaw, the flecks of lighter brown in his eyes that catch in the morning light. Close enough to feel his breath warm against the icy air.
My heart trips.
“Right,” I whisper, eyes darting away. “Wouldn’t want that.”
He chuckles under his breath, a quiet sound that sends heat crawling up my neck.
I bring the binoculars back to my face, pretending to focus. But it’s useless. All I can feel is the warmth of his shoulder beside mine, the faint brush of his sleeve against mine every time the boat shifts.
We sit like that for another twenty minutes—me half-frozen, him somehow perfectly fine. The wind’s sharper now, cutting across my face, and my fingers are starting to go numb, but I’m not giving up. There has to be something out here.
Beside me, Jake hasn’t moved an inch. If he’s cold, he doesn’t show it. His posture’s relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the bench, eyes scanning the horizon like he’s got all the time in the world. It’s unfair how composed he always looks—like the cold doesn’t dare touch him.
His voice breaks through the sound of the waves.
“How’d you get into this? Marine biology, I mean.”
I blink, lowering the binoculars. For a second I just stare at him, surprised. He’s never asked me anything personal before—none of them really have. Not seriously.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve always loved the ocean,” I start slowly. “It’s the only place that ever felt… calm, I guess. Safe. Even when everything else wasn’t.”
He doesn’t say anything, just listens, eyes steady on mine in that way that makes me want to fidget.
“I just—” I glance back out at the water, searching for the right words. “I always thought it was sad how most people don’t even know what’s down there. How beautiful it all is. They don’t care, and it’s not their fault, but someone has to. So… I guess I’m happy that someone’s me.”
When I look back, he’s still watching me. His gaze is quiet but heavy, like he’s seeing more than what I just said. Like he’s trying to read what I didn’t say out loud. It makes my stomach twist.
He nods once, slow. “Makes sense.”
His tone’s low, thoughtful. And for a second I think that’s it—that we’ll drift back into silence. But then I hear myself asking, “What about you and Reid? Why’d you start all this?”
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “We’ve always liked the water. Boats. Engines. Anything we could take apart and rebuild.”
He glances out toward the horizon, the line where sky meets sea. “But after spending that much time out here, you start to notice things. Entanglements. Plastic. Dead birds. Whales washed up. It got harder to ignore.”
I find myself smiling before I even realize it. “So you decided to do something about it.”
He shrugs lightly. “Figured we could use what we’re good at for something better.”
There’s something about the simplicity of the way he says it that makes my chest ache. It’s not showy or self-righteous—it’s just true.
“That’s… really good,” I say softly. “What you’re doing. What you built.”
His eyes flick to me again, and this time the look lingers. Warm. Intent. I can’t hold it for long—it’s too much—so I turn back toward the waves, pretending to look for movement in the water even though I can feel him still watching me.
After that, neither of us speaks. The silence isn’t awkward this time. It’s… steady. Comfortable. The wind hums through the railings, the ocean murmurs beneath us, and for the first time all day, I don’t feel the cold quite so much.