Chapter 93: Madeline
The first thing I hear is someone puking down the hall.
Great. What every girl loves to wake up to.
For a few seconds, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what planet I’m on. The air smells like rain and stale wine, and somewhere in the house, someone’s groaning. But the quiet around me feels strange—too soft, too still.
My sleep…
God, my sleep was the most peaceful I’ve had in months.
No nightmares. No jolting awake at 3 a.m. drenched in cold sweat. Just warmth, and calm, and a darkness that didn’t feel like drowning.
It takes a second for me to notice I’m still dressed.
Sweater. Skirt. Socks.
Everything in place.
But then—piece by piece—it comes back.
Jake’s hands, steady and sure at the back of my thighs. His voice low, rough at the edges: you really are Trouble.
The way the air had felt charged, his eyes on mine, waiting. Always waiting—for me to decide, to move, to breathe.
He’d asked first, quiet but firm: May I?
And when I said yes, his touch had burned, soft but certain, like he knew exactly how close to get without crossing that invisible line I couldn’t define.
Then chaos.
Albie in the hallway, dripping rain, saying someone had been outside.
The panic rising fast, unstoppable.
The flashbacks slamming into me before I could even catch a breath.
The room shrinking until I wasn’t in it anymore.
And then—Reid.
Reid didn’t ask.
He never does.
Where Jake let me lead, Reid took the lead.
He’d stepped in, scooped me up like I weighed nothing, and sat down with me in his lap.
His hands strong, firm, certain—one at my waist, one at my back—anchoring me while the world fell apart.
I remember the sound of his voice, that low gravel that always borders on anger, whispering the same words again and again: You’re safe. No one’s here. You’re safe.
He said it over and over until the words blurred with the sound of the storm.
He kept drawing circles on my back, slow, deliberate, his hand tracing the same small path like he was trying to rewrite the panic out of me.
The longer he did it, the less the world spun.
And then everything went dark.
Not the bad kind of dark—just… stillness.
I must have fallen asleep.
Because the last thing I remember is the sound of his voice, deep and steady under my ear, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, his warmth seeping into me until I forgot what fear felt like.
And now—
now I’m awake and everything is wrong.
I sit up too fast. The blanket slides off my lap. My heart trips over itself.
Oh God.
I fell asleep on Reid.
Reid.
Not Jake—the one who asks, who lets me choose, who tries to read my edges before crossing them.
Reid, who takes what he wants, who doesn’t bend for anyone.
Reid, who has a girlfriend two doors down.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
What did I do?
How could I let that happen?
How could I—
My throat tightens, my chest too small for all of it.
First Jake, now Reid.
How do I even explain this?
How do I look either of them in the eye?
Was Jake just showing concern last night?
Checking in on where I live, the way he said?
Because what I felt when his hands were on me didn’t feel like concern.
It felt like gravity—like something I couldn’t fight, didn’t want to fight.
And I didn’t want him to stop.
And Reid…
cold, distant, impossible Reid—
why did he hold me at all?
Why did he stay?
Why did he keep whispering those words like he meant them?
He’s never gentle.
Least of all with me.
And yet last night, he was.
I press my palms to my face, breathing through the panic clawing up my throat.
Because for all the guilt, all the shame, there’s something worse beneath it—
the memory of safety.
Of warmth.
Of falling asleep with his hands on me and not wanting to move.
And now, in the cold gray light of morning, I don’t know which part terrifies me more:
what happened,
or how much I wish it could happen again.
The retching happens again — louder this time, followed by two very distinct voices.
“Oh my God, Liam, aim for the toilet!”
“I am aiming! The toilet’s moving!”
“It’s not moving, you are!”
A pause, a splash, then—
“Bro… I think I baptized myself.”
Normally, I’d laugh. Maybe even film it for blackmail material.
But I can’t.
My chest still feels tight, like last night hasn’t really ended. The panic hasn’t left—it’s just quieter now, lingering like an aftertaste I can’t swallow down.
I grab my phone from the nightstand, the screen nearly blinding me in the dull morning light. 8:04 a.m.
Too late.
I should’ve been up an hour ago.
My stomach twists, the familiar dread rising fast—until I notice the message.
SWMRI Group Chat
Reid (1:07 a.m.):
All staff off work today. No exceptions. Work resumes tomorrow 0600.
I just stare at it. Then out the window at the grey sky. Remnants of a storm, sure, but not enough to cancel work.
Reid never cancels work. Ever. If there's no boat, then we work at the coffee shop.
Rain, hail, power outages—he’d still have us clocking in.
And he sent it at 1 a.m.
Right after… everything.
I sink back against the headboard, my phone heavy in my hand.
The panic doesn’t go away. It just changes shape.
I stare at the message until the screen goes dim.
What was going through their heads last night?
Did they talk about it after I fell asleep?
Did they stand somewhere in this house, the two of them, saying nothing but knowing exactly what happened?
The thought makes my stomach twist.
Maybe to them it was nothing.
A harmless thing. A passing bit of comfort for the panicked girl who couldn’t breathe.
Maybe Jake went home, slept fine, woke up already past it.
Maybe Reid typed that message, shut his phone, and never thought twice.
But I can’t file it away that easily.
For them, it might have been just another night that got out of control.
For me—it was something that cracked open every part of me I’ve spent years trying to keep closed.
I turn the phone face-down and press my hands over my eyes.
The quiet of the room hums against my ears, too still, too close.
I wish I could stop wondering which version of the night is real:
the one where they just helped me calm down,
or the one that’s still replaying in my head every time I blink.