Chapter 150: Reid
It’s been three hours.
Three hours since we walked into that unlocked house.
Three hours since I nearly lost my goddamn mind over it.
Because here’s the thing—
I told her. I told her weeks ago, after that night we came here looking for Sloane: lock it, always. Northhaven’s quiet, sure, but quiet doesn’t mean safe.
And yet—door wide open. Lights on. Her inside, completely oblivious.
I swear I could feel my pulse in my teeth.
It makes my skin crawl thinking about it. The idea of someone — anyone — walking in while she’s asleep, vulnerable, wearing those little shorts she wears to bed, or fresh from a shower, skin damp, bare shoulders exposed.
I was ready to give her hell for it, too. Drag her to the door, make her promise she’d never make it that easy for someone to get to her.
But then she started talking about the whales.
And everything else—every ounce of anger, every protective instinct—just… burned away.
Because what she found isn't small.
It's nearly impossible.
A humpback, pregnant, almost at term. Porpoises with calves weeks younger than they should be. All of them giving birth here, in Northhaven, when they should be thousands of miles south.
It’s the kind of thing scientists wait lifetimes for.
And she found it. Alone.
I remember watching her explain it—her hands moving fast, her eyes bright, voice trembling from how much it mattered to her.
For a second, I forgot about everything else.
Forgot how angry I was, how reckless she’d been.
All I could think was: this woman is brilliant.
And she’s ours.
Now it’s past midnight, the house is quiet except for the hum of her computer and the soft clicking of keys. Charlie and Liam gave up an hour ago, after trying their best to understand what the heck Madeline was talking about. Jake and I stayed.
Madeline’s still working, but she’s losing the fight.
Every few minutes, her chin dips forward, her eyes close for just a second too long. She keeps whispering to herself that she just needs to finish this paragraph, this note, this calculation. It’s almost sweet—how much she wants to prove herself, how terrified she is of slowing down.
Jake finally ends it. He’s better at that part. Calm, steady, no room for argument.
He closes her laptop softly.
“Hey,” she mumbles, not even opening her eyes, “I wasn’t—”
But she doesn’t get to finish, because he’s already sliding an arm under her knees and lifting her from the chair, sitting back down with her tucked against him.
She stiffens for a second, blushing, mumbling something about needing to work.
But he brushes his fingers through her hair, slow, gentle. Once. Twice.
And she melts.
Head falls against his chest.
Breath slows.
Completely out.
I watch her for a while, one elbow on the table, my jaw resting on my hand.
She looks soft like this. Peaceful.
There’s this little furrow between her brows, even when she dreams. Always thinking, always analyzing. She doesn’t know how to shut it off, even in sleep.
I watch Jake’s hand move up and down her arm now, lazy, protective.
We don’t talk for a few minutes. Just… watch her.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “She really did it.”
“Yeah.” My tone’s rougher than I mean it to be. “She really fucking did.”
He glances up, his hand still absently tracing patterns on her skin. “You sent the emails?”
“Yeah. A few institutes. Told them what we found, asked if they’ve seen anything similar.”
Jake nods. “If they confirm it—”
“They will.”
He exhales. “Then everything changes.”
We both look at her again. The small body curled against his chest, lashes fluttering faintly like she’s dreaming. She doesn’t even know yet how big this is—how big she is.
And it hits me again—
That same possessive ache that’s been living under my ribs for weeks at this point.
I exhale slowly, jaw tight. “She needs to lock the damn door from now on.”
Jake chuckles, low. “You’ll scare the hell out of her if you tell her the way you’re thinking it.”
“Good,” I mutter. “Maybe she’ll listen then.”
He laughs quietly, but there’s understanding in it. Because he feels it too — that sharp edge that comes with caring too much.
I glance toward the stairs. Quiet. Everyone’s asleep.
Jake meets my eyes, reading me like only a twin can. “The team will find out at some point.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking about the three of us. “But not until we're sure that this is what she wants. Not until she says it's okay.”
He nods, then looks down at her again, and his expression softens. “She should be in a bed, not like this.”
“Want me to carry her up?” I ask.
Jake smirks, barely audible. “I guess I have to let you, uh?”
“Just saying—she’s half mine, too.”
He looks up at me at that, a flicker of something darker behind his eyes. He doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t have to. We’ve had this conversation in silence a hundred times.
About her.
About us.
“She’s gonna be the death of us,” I say, not meaning to say it out loud.
Jake’s voice is quiet but certain. “Then it’ll be a good way to go.”
I look at her again, curled up against him like she belongs there, and I know he’s right.
If she’s the fire that burns through both of us—
Then maybe that’s exactly what we were built for.