Chapter 153: Jake
I’m tying down one of the side bumpers when I hear the clatter of footsteps on the deck.
I glance up, knot half-formed, just in time to see Madeline step onto the boat next to Liam.
And immediately—something’s wrong.
Her face is pale. Not tired pale or didn’t-sleep-enough pale. No, this is the blood-drained, hollow-cheeked, holding-herself-together-with-safety-pins kind of pale.
I straighten without thinking.
Reid notices too. I catch the flicker of movement beside me—he almost moves toward her, like instinct tugged his leash a little too hard. But he stops himself, jaw ticking, gaze hard. Liam’s next to her, after all.
Madeline forces a smile as she steps closer, adjusting her bag on her shoulder like it’s some kind of shield. “Is it just the four of us today?”
I nod once. “Yeah. Sloane’s off—she told us yesterday. And Finn texted this morning, said he’s still not feeling great. So it’s just us.”
She nods, the motion too quick to be casual.
Reid steps in, voice even. “I’ll help Liam with the lines and deck stuff when needed. Jake’s at the wheel, and you’ve got full freedom to do your thing.”
Her smile softens. “Copy that, captain.”
She holds something up—a half-wrapped burrito. “Also, if anyone wants the rest of this, I swear it could feed a village.”
Liam groans. “Don’t offer it to them. I’ll eat it.”
Madeline laughs. “You already ate one, you maniac.”
“Watch me,” he mutters, snatching it from her hands and stomping toward the cabin like it’s a food challenge.
She turns to follow. “I’ll go put my bag away too.”
We both watch her walk off, quiet for a second. Reid mutters under his breath, “Something’s off.”
“Yeah,” I say. No need to agree louder than that.
But I’m not going to push her. Not yet. When she’s ready, she’ll say it.
By the time the boat’s in motion, she’s back on deck and climbing the steps up to the wheelhouse. I’m at the helm, scanning the sea ahead, hands relaxed on the wheel. The cold’s crisp this morning—sky a hard blue, gulls circling somewhere behind us.
Madeline steps in, shutting the door gently behind her. “Where we headed?”
“Out toward the deeper trench. I want to swing by the site where we last clocked the fin whale. See if we catch a signal.”
“Cool,” she says, stepping beside me. “Anything I should focus on?”
I’m mid-sentence, telling her about the signal buoys and our new water temp tracking when Reid steps in too. His sleeves are wet at the cuffs, probably from helping Liam with the last of the moor lines. He doesn’t interrupt, just waits. Eyes on her the whole time.
When I finish talking, I watch him move in.
He doesn’t waste time. Just says, low, “You okay?”
Madeline blinks up at him. “Yeah.” A beat. “Just cold today.”
I know a lie when I hear one.
So does Reid.
But neither of us pushes.
If she doesn’t want to say, she doesn’t have to. She owes us nothing—but we’ll still be here if she needs us.
Instead, I step in behind her. Her back’s to my chest now, and I lower my head, pressing a slow kiss to the side of her neck. “If you need anything down there,” I murmur against her skin, “just call out.”
She hums a soft sound—almost a thank you—and I feel the tension in her spine ease just a little.
Reid kisses her too, just as gently. “What he said.”
She looks between us and finally smiles—small, but real—and then she steps back out of the wheelhouse and down the stairs.
The door closes softly behind her.
Reid and I don’t say anything for a few seconds. Just stare after her.
Whatever this is—it’s ours to protect. Whether she says it out loud or not.
Reid brought it up last night after we got back to the house—again.
That she shouldn’t be at the crew’s place anymore. That we should bring her to our space. Somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere she’s not flinching at a slamming cupboard or wondering what kind of mood Sloane will be in that morning.
I didn’t argue. I’ve been thinking the same thing for a few days now.
But the logistics are a nightmare.
We sat there for an hour trying to come up with a way to make it make sense. Something that wouldn’t set off alarms. Sloane’s attitude is an easy angle—if we ask her whether she’d be more comfortable with Madeline somewhere else, she’ll probably jump at the chance.
But Charlie?
That’s where it gets messy.
She’s our cousin. Family. And if she’s expected to stay at the crew house, she’s going to throw a fit if we suddenly pull Madeline out. Charlie’s no idiot—she’ll connect the dots. And we’re not ready to explain… this. Not yet.
So no, we don’t have a clean excuse.
And still, I want her there.
Because this isn’t just about peace at the breakfast table or diffusing tension. It’s about her.
It’s about Reid and me stealing half-moments with her between data and boat prep. About catching her eye across the cabin and pretending it doesn’t unravel us both. About her curling up in a hoodie, looking like everything we never let ourselves want.
And us—grown-ass men—just circling. Wanting.
We don’t want minutes with her.
We want nights.
We want her laughter echoing down the hallway. Her toothbrush in our bathroom. Her sweaters tossed over the back of our couch. Her warmth tucked in between us like she belongs there—because she does.
Reid said it best, voice low, serious in that way only he can be when something really matters.
"I don’t want to wait until she’s scared or pushed out to bring her here. I want her here because it’s where she should’ve been in the first place."
And yeah. That’s exactly it.
We don’t want her to come to us because she has no choice.
We want her to come to us because she chooses to.
Because this is her place too.
Because we are.