Chapter 73: Madeline
What in the world did I get myself into?
Seriously—if there were a prize for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I’d have a whole shelf full of trophies by now.
First, Sloane. I haven’t even managed to talk to her since the accident, and today she slammed into me like a linebacker on her way out the door. My arm is still throbbing from where she hit it, but yeah, no way I’m telling the twins that. Whatever was happening in this house before I showed up—it wasn’t pleasant. The air felt like it could catch fire, and I have zero intention of throwing more fuel into it.
I seriously considered bolting right back out the door. But then Jake said he had questions.
And Reid—God, Reid—touched me.
Just one brush of his knuckles against my cheek and my whole body lit up like I’d been set on fire. I hate it. I hate how my skin still remembers it, how my stupid heart can’t keep a normal rhythm when he’s this close.
But I’m here now. Might as well make the most of it.
Reid steps back just as Jake comes down the stairs, holding a stack of my notes. He’s shaking his head like he’s amused.
“I don’t know how you write this much, this fast,” he says, setting them on the table.
I duck my head, cheeks warming. “Most of it’s just… scribbles and nonsense. I organize it later.”
He smirks. “Right. I was wondering what language most of it was.”
I laugh under my breath, just a little. He gestures toward the long dining table. “Come on, let’s go through a few.”
I hover awkwardly, not sure where to sit, until Reid moves behind me. Without a word, he pulls out the chair directly across from Jake, then sits himself at the head of the table—close enough that I can feel him, far enough that I can’t quite read him.
I nod and sit down, keeping my hands folded in my lap.
Jake starts flipping through the pages, scanning my notes, but my eyes keep drifting to Reid. He’s quiet, unreadable, jaw tight, that same dark energy still radiating off him.
I wonder what the hell happened here before I arrived—for Reid to look like that. For Jake to seem so calm in comparison.
Or maybe Jake’s just better at hiding it.
He starts flipping through the stack of notes, his finger tracing one of the lines near the top.
“These numbers,” he says, tapping the page, “the ones about the feeding intervals—what exactly were you estimating here?”
I lean forward a little, grateful for something normal to focus on. “Right—so, based on what I saw from their dives, I think the interval was between seven and ten minutes, depending on the individual. The smaller one resurfaced faster, probably because it wasn’t going as deep for food.”
He nods, following along, eyes scanning each messy line of my handwriting. “And this part here—‘behavioral alternation’—what did you mean?”
“Oh,” I say, smiling faintly. “That’s just me trying to sound smarter than I am. I meant how they were switching between social and feeding behavior. There were moments they seemed to communicate before diving again, probably coordinating around the bait ball.”
Jake’s gaze flicks up, his mouth twitching in amusement. “So, the whales are strategizing now?”
I shrug. “Wouldn’t you, if your lunch could swim away?”
He laughs softly, the tension easing from his shoulders, but when I glance at Reid—he’s not laughing.
He’s sitting at the head of the table, elbow on the armrest, one hand curled near his mouth, staring somewhere just past me. His jaw’s still tight. That muscle by his temple keeps twitching.
He’s here, but not really listening.
Like every word out of my mouth is just background noise to whatever’s still simmering under his skin.
Jake, on the other hand, is fully locked in—nodding, asking follow-ups, completely focused. “So you think the currents affected the group’s cohesion more than the food availability?”
“Yeah,” I say, glancing between them. “The current shifted pretty hard to the east, and their spacing changed right after. They’re sensitive to that.”
Reid’s hand flexes against his leg, and for a second, I swear he looks like he’s forcing himself to breathe slower.
Jake doesn’t notice. “Makes sense,” he says. “Good observation.”
I murmur a small thanks, trying to ignore how heavy the silence feels whenever Reid doesn’t say anything at all.
Jake flips a page, brow furrowing. “This—” he says, turning the notebook toward me, “you were starting a graph here?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, leaning over to point, “it’s supposed to show the frequency of—”
The moment I stretch out my arm, pain lances up from my elbow to my shoulder. Sharp. Immediate. My breath catches before I can stop it.
Both their heads snap toward me at the same time.
I flinch back, pulling my arm close to my chest. “It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “I just—moved weird, that’s all.”
Jake’s voice cuts through, softer but firm. “Madeline,” he says, frown deepening. “Is your arm not better?”
“It is,” I blurt. “It is, really.”
Reid’s eyes narrow. He’s watching me too closely, too carefully. “Let us take a look.”
My pulse jumps. “No, no, it’s okay,” I insist, shaking my head. “It was fine when I showered right before coming.”
He doesn’t look convinced. His gaze flicks to Jake’s, a silent conversation I can’t read.
Then Jake straightens, his tone lower, more deliberate. “Sloane bumped into you.”
It’s not a question.
My throat goes dry. I look down at my hands, fingers twisting together, trying to come up with something to say—some way to make it sound like it doesn’t matter.
Jake’s voice is quieter now. “Has it hurt since?”
I don’t answer.
The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until I finally look up—and both of them are staring at me, waiting, their expressions a mix of concern and something else I can’t name.