Chapter 78: Madeline
We eat slowly, the tension easing bit by bit until I can finally breathe again. When he first said he needed to talk to me, my whole chest locked up. I thought he was going to tell me to pack up, to go back to the city. Back to him.
The thought alone was worse than anything else I could imagine.
But Jake didn’t mean that. He didn’t even come close.
He’d looked right at me when he said he didn’t want me to leave, and something in his voice made me believe it.
Since then, things have felt… easy.
He’s been asking about my studies, about university, and I told him this horribly embarrassing story about the time I stayed up for three days straight trying to finish a lab report. When it was time to present, I fell asleep in class—snoring loud enough for my professor to stop mid-sentence.
He’d chuckled, low and rough, biting into his bacon like he was trying to hide a smile.
When I asked him about his best encounter on the water, he leaned back, wiped his fingers with a napkin, and thought for a moment.
“Orcas hunting a blue whale,” he finally said.
My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “It was brutal. Sad, too. But… incredible. The apex predator of the ocean going after the biggest animal on the planet. Two forces that shouldn’t even exist in the same frame.”
I blinked, wide-eyed, trying to picture it. “What happened?”
He leaned his elbows on the table, gaze distant like he could still see it. “We followed them for about four hours. It was getting dark. The blue whale kept fighting, trying to escape. We had to head back before nightfall. Never found out how it ended.”
I just stared at him, caught somewhere between awe and heartbreak. “That’s… insane.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Wanna see?”
He turned the screen toward me, and I gasped, hand flying to my mouth. The footage looked surreal—the massive whale, the white flashes of orcas darting around it, the violence and beauty of it all.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
I look up to tell him that—and freeze.
He’s not looking at the screen anymore.
He’s looking at me.
There’s something in his expression I can’t name—too focused, too dark. His eyes hold mine, burning, and suddenly I realize how close I’ve leaned over the table. I pull back slightly, my pulse jumping, my breath catching.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away.
“You’ll see things like that too,” he says quietly. “If you keep going out on the water.”
My heart stutters. I nod, my throat dry. “Yeah,” I manage. “Already… I mean, everything I’ve seen here so far is—” I shake my head, smiling because words feel useless. “It’s everything. Every second on the water, every sighting—it’s like the best thing I’ve ever seen, every single time.”
He watches me like he’s trying to memorize the sound of my voice.
I huff a soft laugh. “I know, I know—you’ll say that with time it’ll be less impressive.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No. Not for you.”
His voice is steady, but there’s something else in it—something that makes my stomach twist and my breath catch all over again.
“For you,” he says, eyes still locked on mine, “I think it’ll never stop being impressive.”
And I don’t know why, but that feels like the most intimate thing anyone’s ever said to me.
When it’s time to leave, he pulls out his wallet before I can even think about reaching for mine.
“Jake—” I start, but he’s already sliding his card to the waitress with that calm, infuriating confidence that seems permanently stitched into him.
“I can pay—”
He smirks, eyes flicking up to mine. “Company card,” he says, winking.
I roll my eyes, but it’s impossible not to smile.
By the time we step outside, the air’s shifted—colder, softer, the sun melting into the horizon like someone set the edge of the ocean on fire. I hadn’t realized how long we’d been sitting there, talking. Sure, the sun sets early here, but still… it had to have been hours.
He glances toward my street and jerks his chin in that direction. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to,” I say quickly. “You’ve already lost half your day with me. I know the way.”
He’s already walking. Doesn’t even look back—just throws over his shoulder, “Then catch up.”
So I do.
The town’s quiet, only the sound of our footsteps and the faint rush of waves somewhere far off. For a while, neither of us says anything. Then, out of nowhere, his voice cuts through the quiet.
“You don’t seem to like the city.”
My stomach twists.
I stare straight ahead, unsure what to say. That it used to be great—until it wasn’t? That the flashing phone calls and the pounding on my door turned my whole life into something I couldn’t survive another day of? That the police said “we’ll look into it” and never did?
I settle on a shrug. “I don’t really have anyone there. Most of my friends work abroad, my family’s scattered. And… the city’s scary sometimes.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”
The conversation fades again, quiet stretching comfortably between us until we reach the street where I live. My little house comes into view, porch light flickering against the dim sky. I’m about to say goodbye when he tugs gently at my hand—barely a touch, but enough to make me stop.
I turn, startled, and he’s closer than I thought.
The last of the sunset cuts across his face, turns his eyes darker, sharper. When he gets this serious, this intense, it’s almost impossible to tell him apart from Reid. Same jawline. Same quiet fire simmering behind his gaze.
He reaches up, pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and his thumb grazes the bruise on my temple—light as breath. It’s barely a touch, but it’s enough to make my pulse stutter.
He exhales slowly, eyes flicking over the bruise like he’s reliving the whole thing again. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “About not wanting you to leave. You belong at SWMRI.”
Something in my chest tugs hard. My eyes burn, and I have to look away before he sees. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough in front of him.
He lets out a soft breath that sounds almost like a laugh. “Think you can make it to your door without another accident?”
I glance at the ten steps between me and the door and deadpan, “Ha. Ha.”
That gets him to smile, a real one this time.
He nods toward my house. “Go on.”
He doesn’t move, though. Just stays there, hands in his pockets, watching as I go down the stairs. I pause after a few, turn back.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For today.”
His mouth tilts at the corner. “Anytime, Madeline.”
And then I go inside—heart pounding, warmth still lingering where his thumb touched my skin.