Chapter 114: Jake
We are so fucking glad we came to the beach.
Not because we like it, exactly — though I guess we don’t hate it either. Warm sun, salt air, half the town out pretending their lives aren’t as small as they are. Fine. Whatever. It’s not the beach itself that’s got me grinning under this cap.
It’s her.
And the timing.
The second we turned the corner at the top of the hill, Reid and I both froze. Liam was sitting there, trying to look casual as he hid his hard on behind his bag — but not fooling anyone. Well, except for her. Because Madeline? Sweet, oblivious Madeline, kneeling on her towel, sunlight slipping over her bare shoulders, laughing like she didn’t just make two grown men forget how to breathe.
So yeah. We’re really fucking happy we came.
Because the way Finn and Liam were looking at her — mouths half open, eyes dragging down her body like they couldn’t help it — it was about two seconds away from becoming a problem. The kind that would’ve made me forget that I’m supposed to be “civilized.”
She’s sitting there now, right next to me, pretending to read her book like it’s the last line of defense between her and spontaneous combustion. Her hair’s tied up with that little scarf, and the breeze keeps teasing a strand loose so it brushes against her collarbone. And she doesn’t even know.
Doesn’t know what she looks like — all sun and soft skin and salt. Doesn’t know that every laugh she lets out has heads turning from halfway down the beach.
And I have to bite back a laugh — because she’s also got no idea how hard it is not to reach out, take that book from her hands, and make her look at me instead.
Finn’s the first to break the silence — because of course he is.
He stretches out on his towel, sunglasses sliding down his nose, and says, “So, Reid, Jake… you two want us to put sunscreen on you? We’re available. Generous offer.”
Liam snorts. “Yeah, full service. We’ll even do your backs.”
Reid doesn’t even look up, just deadpans, “You’re getting way too comfortable, Finn.”
I tilt my head, slow and deliberate, and add, “Don’t make me throw you in the Atlantic.”
That does it — Madeline snorts first, trying and failing to hold it in. Then the giggle comes, bright and helpless, and she ducks her head into her book like she’s trying to hide the sound. Her shoulders are shaking, the pages fluttering with her laugh, and everyone else starts cracking up too.
Even Sloane’s smirking. Finn looks way too proud of himself. Liam’s practically in tears.
For a while after the laughter, everything settles into this perfect kind of quiet — the kind that only happens when everyone’s content in their own way.
Reid and I are both reading. Madeline’s got her nose buried in her book again, legs folded under her, hair catching sunlight like it’s spun from gold and copper. Charlie’s sprawled out with her sunglasses on, soaking up the sun, and Sloane’s got her earbuds in, head tilted back, probably pretending none of us exist.
Finn and Liam are farther down the beach, grunting and shouting about trying to “crack open a watermelon with pure strength.” Whatever the fuck that means.
It’s peaceful. Warm. Familiar. I could almost fall asleep like this.
Then ping.
Madeline jumps like she’s been electrocuted, scrambling onto her knees to dig through her bag. Charlie groans without even opening her eyes. “Not again.”
Sloane pulls out an earbud. “If I have to hear about that damn whale one more time—”
Reid lifts an eyebrow. “What’s up?”
Madeline looks up with that mischievous little smile — the one that never ends well for anyone’s peace and quiet. “Nothing. I just—”
Sloane cuts her off. “She’s been checking on this whale like it’s a fucking Tamagotchi.”
Charlie starts laughing. “She found a way to put the tracker software on her phone, and she’s been nerding out about it all night yesterday. And this morning.”
Madeline shrugs, pretending she’s not blushing, and scrolls through her phone. Then her smile fades into a tiny pout.
I close my book. “What’s wrong?”
“The Dtag fell already,” she says, disappointed, showing me her screen. I lean closer, and Reid does too — we’re both squinting at the small map with its coordinates.
She asks, “Do you think the tides will bring it closer to shore by tomorrow?”
Reid and I exchange a look, both mentally mapping the coastline, the tides, the way the currents sweep back around the bay. After a second, we both nod.
“Yeah,” he says. “Should drift back close enough to fish out.”
She sighs, then brightens a bit. “At least we got some good stuff. Vocalizations, dive length, swim speed—”
Charlie sits up and groans dramatically, grabbing her empty tote bag. “Stop with the nerd talk, we’re at the beach!”
Madeline giggles as Charlie whacks her lightly on the shoulder with the bag. “Fine, fine! I’ll put it away.”
But she doesn’t, not right away — she looks at the map one more time, her face soft with that quiet passion of hers, before finally setting the phone down on her towel.
Reid catches my eye across her head. We both smirk — the same thought crossing our minds.
She’s hopeless.
And we’re hopelessly gone on her.
Then the quiet drifts back in, easy as the tide.
Madeline settles again beside me, stretching her legs out over her towel, her phone tucked reluctantly away. Reid flips a page in his book, slow and deliberate, and I find mine again — though I couldn’t tell you a single line I’ve started reading.
For a few minutes, all you can hear is the sea.
The slow, steady hush of the waves rolling up the shore, that soft crackle of sand shifting beneath them. The occasional gull overhead. The faint buzz of Sloane's music leaking from her headphones.
And then—
“We will not accept defeat against a watermelon!”
Finn’s voice echoes like a declaration of war.
Liam follows right after, panting between laughs. “It’s a melon, Finn, not the fucking Roman Empire!”
Madeline giggles, her eyes sparkling with laughter as she looks up at them. Reid sighs through his nose, muttering something like “idiots,” but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
The sound of the waves fills back in over their bickering — and for a few rare moments, everything feels… easy.
The sun’s warm. The air smells like salt and sunscreen.
And she’s right there, close enough that when the breeze moves, it carries the faint scent of her sunscreen, too — coconut and something sweeter.
I glance up from my page, just for a second, and catch Reid doing the same thing.
We both look away, almost in unison.
Yeah.
Hopeless.