Chapter 67: Reid
We dock twenty minutes later, and the entire time I’m stuck in my own damn head.
Twenty minutes of thinking I’m an asshole—for every sharp word, every glare, every time I made her feel small.
Twenty minutes of wondering just how I’m going to murder Finn and Liam without witnesses.
And twenty minutes of trying to make sense of whatever the hell that look on Jake’s face was back there.
When the boat finally groans against the bumpers, we help Madeline to her feet. She’s steady enough, but I make her walk a few steps in the wheelhouse just to be sure she won’t keel over the second we step outside. She rolls her eyes at me but does it anyway, muttering something under her breath that sounds a lot like “yes, captain.”
Once I’m satisfied she’s stable, we head down to the deck.
From here, I can already see three people waiting on the dock—paramedics, bright jackets catching the wind. And beside them, Charlie, arms crossed, worry etched across her face.
But between them and Madeline are Finn and Liam.
They look wrecked. Pale, sweating, jittery.
Finn rushes forward first. “Madeline! Oh my god, I’m so sorry—fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Liam echoes him, voice shaking. “We didn’t—I swear, we didn’t think—”
And then Finn’s hands are on her, checking her shoulders, her arm, her face, his eyes wide with guilt.
My jaw ticks. HR would probably frown upon me breaking an employee’s fingers on the dock, but fuck if I’m not tempted.
To my surprise, Madeline actually smiles—soft, small, but still a smile. “It’s okay,” she says, voice gentler than it has any right to be. “It was just an accident. I feel okay now.”
She gives them a quick side hug—her good side, thank god—and heads toward the dock, where the medics are waiting to check her over.
Finn and Liam start to follow, but Jake holds up a hand. “Uh uh,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You two stay here.”
The guys freeze.
“Madeline’s getting looked at,” Jake continues, calm but razor-edged. “That gives us time to talk.”
We move to the side of the deck where it happened. The door’s still open, dented from where it snapped, the latch twisted. My stomach knots when I spot a faint streak of blood on the floor.
Jake sees it too. He exhales slowly through his nose. “Tell us what happened.”
Finn’s the first to speak. His words tumble out fast, nervous. He explains how they’d been rushing in the morning, tying gear, latching doors, trying to make up time after being late. He thought the latch caught properly—it didn’t. Between the shift in weight and the wind, it popped open when Madeline passed.
Jake pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a quiet, tired sigh. “Alright,” he says finally. “To be fair… we shouldn’t have rushed you.” His voice softens a bit, but not much. “That’s on us. We were already late, and we pushed for speed over safety. That’s on me and Reid.”
I grunt, arms crossed tight. “Yeah, but this—” I gesture at the mess, the broken latch, the blood. “This was incredibly dangerous. We’re lucky she’s not dead.”
Their faces pale even more, if that’s possible.
“If we’re being honest,” I go on, voice low, “anyone else on this boat would’ve gotten a few bruises, maybe a small cut, if they had been hit instead of her. But that door hit her like a freight train.” My jaw tightens, the image Jake told me about flashing behind my eyes as if I had been there—her small frame hitting the floor, that awful sound. “It sent her flying.”
I force myself to take a breath before I add, “I know it was an accident. But an accident that could’ve ended a lot worse.”
The boys both nod, faces full of shame. “We’re sorry,” Finn says again, voice cracking. “Both of us. We just—”
Jake raises a hand, cutting him off. “I know you care about her,” he says. “So I’m guessing the guilt’s already punishment enough.”
He glances at me, and I give a short nod.
“But,” Jake continues, his tone sharpening again, “you’ll both come in tomorrow. Early. Fix the latch, fix the door. Double-check every storage unit on this boat until it’s done right.”
“Yes, sir,” they say in unison, no hesitation.
Jake nods once. “Good. Dismissed.”
They bolt toward the dock, where Madeline’s sitting on the edge of an ambulance with a blanket around her shoulders, talking to Charlie.
I watch them go, jaw still tight.
Jake doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.
Because even though I know she’s okay—really okay—the blood’s still there.
And I can’t shake the thought that if she’d been standing an inch to the left, we’d be carrying her off this boat in a bag instead.
The paramedics come by about half an hour later, the scent of salt and disinfectant clinging to their jackets as they step into the wheelhouse. One of them—a woman with kind eyes and wind-chapped cheeks—gives us a tired smile.
“She’s fine,” she says before either of us can ask. “Maybe a small concussion, but nothing serious. Best if she stays off the boat for a day or two, though. Rest, fluids, that kind of thing.”
Jake nods, relief washing through his face for the first time all afternoon. I can finally breathe again too.
The medic adds, “You might see some bruising show up over the next few days, but that’s normal. If she starts throwing up, gets confused, or forgets things, call the medical centre immediately.”
“Got it,” Jake says. “Thanks for coming.”
They give us a nod and head out.
We gather our things—logbooks, leftover gear, the med kit. Jake grabs her bag off the floor and hands it to me without a word. It’s small, light, with one of those little keychains shaped like a whale hanging off the zipper.
When we step off the boat, the dock’s already quieter. The medics are packing up, Charlie’s standing beside Madeline, and Finn and Liam hover nearby like guilty dogs.
Madeline’s got a jacket on now—probably one Charlie brought for her—but there’s still a faint trace of dried blood in her hair, and her face is pale under the overcast light. She looks so small standing there, like the wind might carry her away if it tried hard enough.
I walk over and hold out her bag. “Here.”
She takes it gently, looking up at me for a second, and I catch the faintest flicker of embarrassment in her eyes. “Thank you,” she says softly.
I nod, then turn to Charlie. “Keep an eye on her for the next few hours, alright? If she gets dizzy or anything seems off, call.”
Charlie’s eyes soften. “I’ve got this.” She rests a hand on my bicep, squeezing lightly. “She’ll be okay. I’ll take care of her.”
Her touch is brief, familiar—but I notice Madeline’s eyes flick down to where Charlie’s hand lingers, a faint frown crossing her face before she looks away.
She waves then, small and polite. “Thank you. For… everything.”
Jake tells her to take it easy, that we’ll handle the rest for the day. She nods again, clutching her bag tighter.
Then Charlie slips an arm around her shoulders and steers her toward the road. Finn and Liam follow a few steps behind, still talking quietly, still looking like they’d rather drown themselves than face us again.
I watch until they disappear around the corner, the sound of their footsteps fading against the dock.
Only then do I exhale, slow and heavy.
She’s safe.
She’s fine.
But that blood, that pale face—it’s burned into me now.
And I know I’m not shaking it off anytime soon.