Chapter 163: Reid
It takes us ten minutes, maybe more. Doesn’t matter. Felt like hours.
The storm's turned the world into chaos. Debris whipping through the air. Garbage bins crashing into fences. Trees split at the trunk. And somewhere in the mess of it all, we spot them—figures pushing forward like they’ve been dragged straight out of hell.
Jake slows beside me just long enough to growl, “That’s them.”
I push ahead, breathing hard. “Where is she?”
“Back,” Finn shouts, panting, soaked, pointing behind him.
Jake moves toward Charlie and the others, but I’m already rounding them, moving straight to the back. My chest pounds—rage and adrenaline. She's there, hood pulled low, stumbling to keep up, her frame curled into itself. And fuck, the second I see her, I can tell something’s wrong.
“Madeline,” I bark, not loud—sharp.
Her head jerks up. She sees me and stumbles a step. She looks like a ghost. Pale. Lips blue. Eyes blown wide with something close to panic.
“You hurt?” I demand, stepping in, already reaching for her.
She shakes her head. But I don’t buy it. She’s holding one side of her body too tightly.
Jake yells behind me, “We need to move—now.”
I don’t waste another breath. I wrap an arm around her waist and haul her into my side, locking her there like I’m anchoring her to the ground. She lets out a shaky breath and grips the front of my jacket with cold fingers. She’s trembling so badly I feel it straight through my clothes.
Jake’s got Charlie and Sloane. Liam’s with Finn. Everyone’s moving as one again, the storm pressing us down like a weight.
And then I hear it. A sharp whoosh—something slicing through the wind.
I whip around just as a wooden sign comes flying at us like a damn missile.
“MOVE!” I shout, yanking Madeline with me. Her body slams into mine and I throw my back into the nearest wall, shielding her with everything I have.
The sign smashes somewhere behind us with a crack of wood and metal.
I barely flinch.
Because she’s still in my arms. Still breathing.
She looks up at me—drenched, stunned, mouth parted. Her green eyes are huge.
“Reid—”
“You’re okay,” I growl. “I’ve got you.”
Her body is so small under my arm, shaking like a leaf. She’s soaked. Ice cold. But still fighting. She always fights. I press her closer and kiss the top of her hood without thinking. She makes a sound I can’t name and grips my coat tighter.
Jake’s voice cuts through the roar of the wind. “We’ve gotta move. NOW.”
I grab her hand. “Stay close. Don’t let go of me. I don’t care what happens—you don’t let go.”
She nods.
And we run.
The second the door slams behind us, the sound of the storm dulls into a deep, angry hum—like it’s pacing outside, waiting for another chance to get in.
The house is half-dark, lit by candles and a few battery lamps we set up earlier. They flicker gold over pale faces and dripping clothes, over shaking hands and shallow breaths. The warmth hits like a wall, and for a moment everyone just stands there—breathing, alive.
I scan them all, slow and deliberate.
Charlie’s face is white, lips trembling, eyes too wide. She’s exhausted, frozen through, but she’s upright. Sloane’s beside her—shorter, stockier, looks steadier on her feet, but the color’s drained from her face too.
Liam’s wincing every time he shifts his weight, one hand rubbing his side. Old pain from the storm earlier, not new, but it makes him look older than his twenty-something years.
Then I look at Finn—and stop.
“The fuck happened to you?”
There’s a bruise forming at his temple, purple and mean-looking even in the low light. He groans, rubbing at it.
Sloane snorts. “Madeline’s fault.”
Madeline’s head drops instantly, her hair dripping over her face like a curtain. Her shoulders curl in, small, ashamed.
Jake and I trade a look.
“What?” he asks.
I hold up a hand. “Later. First, everyone gets out of those clothes before you freeze solid.”
He nods, already moving. We head upstairs, grab every hoodie, every pair of sweats we can find, and haul them down in an armful. The pile looks ridiculous—half of our combined wardrobes dumped on the floor—but it’s better than anyone getting hypothermia.
They disappear down the hall, one by one, to change.
By the time they shuffle back, the absurdity hits.
I lean against the doorway, watching them come in.
Finn, Liam, and Charlie are tall enough that the clothes don’t swallow them whole—but barely. The sleeves hang past their hands, the pant legs puddle at their ankles. Sloane’s broader, so she fills the fabric better, but the sweatpants drag on the floor like she’s a kid playing dress-up.
And then there’s Madeline.
She’s swimming in it.
The joggers are huge, bunched at her waist, cuffs dragging behind her. The long-sleeve shirt—one of mine—drowns her completely, the hem nearly reaching her thighs. Her hands are lost in the sleeves. She looks small, soft, fragile, and—fuck me—adorable.
Jake bites the inside of his cheek like he’s holding back a laugh. I elbow him, but he just grins wider.
Once everyone’s seated around the living room—blankets pulled over laps—Jake and I stand in front of them, waiting for answers.
“What happened?” I ask finally.
Charlie’s the first to talk. “Power went out. We stuck together to stay warm, but the heater wouldn’t work, and then a window broke.” Her voice trembles on the word broke, like the sound still echoes in her ears.
“It got so fucking cold,” Sloane mutters, arms crossed tight over her chest. “Within five minutes, we were shaking so bad we couldn’t think straight.”
Charlie nods. “We figured the best thing was to get here. It was stupid, I know, but it was that or freeze.”
Finn raises a hand like he’s in class. “I thought to grab the walkie talkie before we left, so we could try to reach you guys.”
Jake frowns. “Yeah, about that—you said something that sounded like Madeline’s gone. What the hell were you saying?”
Finn blinks, confused. “What? No, I said ‘Madeline got hit.’ I said we weren’t at the house—we were gone.”
Jake and I both turn to her.
Madeline’s sitting on the edge of the couch, legs pulled up, hair dripping onto her shoulders. She blinks slowly, guilty. “I’m fine.”
Charlie’s jaw drops. “Fine? That branch almost sliced you in half!”
Madeline’s lips twitch, like she’s trying to form a smile but doesn’t have the energy for it. “Just bruised. Really. I’m okay.”
She’s lying. I can see it.
Her breathing’s shallow, her hand keeps drifting to her ribs like she’s holding herself together.
But she’s here.
She’s safe.
And for now, that’s enough.
Jake crosses his arms, sighing. “You all made the right call, getting here. But you don’t leave this house again until the storm’s over. No exceptions.”
Everyone nods.
I let my eyes linger on Madeline a second longer. Her hair’s clinging to her jaw, cheeks flushed from the heat, eyes still wide from adrenaline. She looks like she’s trying to convince herself she’s fine.
And I know I should walk away, let her rest, but I can’t.
Not yet.
Not after seeing her like that out there.