Chapter 171: Madeline
I wake slowly, pulled from one of the best sleeps I think I’ve ever had. For a moment, I don’t even move—just lie there under what feels like fifty kilograms of blankets, warm and cocooned and still wrapped in the softness of last night. There’s light filtering through the window now, pale and muted from the stormclouds still lingering. The house is quiet above the low hum of movement somewhere downstairs.
And I’m alone in the bed.
I shift slightly and feel a blush creep up my cheeks as everything from last night washes back over me. The way their hands moved over my skin. Their mouths. Their words. The way they looked at me like I was something precious and fragile and theirs all at once.
The memory alone is enough to make my whole body warm again.
And when I remember the way I felt falling asleep—so safe, so… loved—my chest squeezes. I think I do love them. Both of them. I didn’t mean for it to happen so fast or so completely, but it’s there, rooted somewhere deep and quiet. I’d wanted to tell them, whisper it against one of their mouths, let it slip between kisses and shaky breaths. But their touches were too soft, their hands too soothing. I relaxed right out of the moment, and then everything went still.
Now I’m tangled in their sheets, wearing nothing, my skin still slightly chilled under all the warmth of the blankets. My eyes dart around the room. My clothes from last night are folded neatly on the edge of the bed—joggers and the long sleeve shirt I borrowed. That alone makes me smile.
Of course they folded them. Of course they thought of that.
I pull them on quickly, still blushing at the fact that I slept like that—completely bare except for my underwear. I don’t even know what they must have thought. Did they like it? Did they want more? Did they—
A soft knock on the door.
I freeze for a half second before the door opens gently, and Reid steps in.
Oh.
He’s in grey joggers and a black hoodie, hair messy like he just ran his hands through it. He smells like cedarwood and soap, and when his eyes land on me, I swear I almost forget how to breathe. Instantly I think back of my hand finding his cock through his pants last night, and the length of him... He was so big, so hard, I felt turned on and intimidated all at once.
“Morning,” he says, voice low and lazy. His smirk is slow, like he already knows what I’m thinking. Maybe he does.
My cheeks burn instantly. “Hi.”
He closes the door behind him and crosses the room toward me like it’s nothing, like we didn’t do what we did last night, like we’re already... something. Like we’re his.
“How’s my girlfriend this morning?”
I nearly melt on the spot.
It’s the first time either of them’s said it that way. My girlfriend. His girlfriend. I have no idea why it hits so hard, but it does. It lodges somewhere in my throat and leaves me smiling like an idiot.
“I—uh,” I blink up at him. “Good. I’m good.”
He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, gaze dragging across my face like he’s memorizing something. “You were beautiful last night,” he murmurs, then dips to kiss me.
The kiss is soft but sure, warm but charged. I curl a hand into the front of his hoodie to ground myself because I feel like I might float straight out of my body.
When we pull apart, we’re both smiling.
“They’re all downstairs. Jake’s making something hot—probably way too many eggs. I told them I’d come get you.”
“Okay,” I say softly. “Let’s go.”
But he doesn’t move just yet. He kisses my forehead this time, then my cheek, slow and careful. His hand lingers at my waist.
“I meant it,” he whispers. “Last night, every part of it... and this morning? Just seeing you in my room? Wearing barely anything?”
He breathes out, jaw tight. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything back. I just nod and smile and let him take my hand before we step out of the room.
At the top of the stairs, Reid lets go of my hand.
It’s small, that gesture, but it tugs at something in me. Like we’re drawing a curtain on the moment upstairs. Like we’re slipping back into the real world after the quiet glow of last night. I glance at him, but he just gives me the smallest smirk and nods toward the stairs. I follow.
The smell hits me halfway down—warm, smoky, rich. Bacon. Eggs. Something buttery. My stomach makes a small sound in response, and I realize how hungry I am.
When we reach the bottom, the living room has transformed. There are more blankets and cushions piled everywhere, candles flickering in the corners, and the propane stove is going strong in the open-concept kitchen. Everyone is awake. Everyone is talking. It feels… good. Like a storm didn’t just try to rip the world apart twelve hours ago.
“Hey,” I say, brushing my fingers over the back of the couch as I pass it. “Wait… did the electricity come back?”
Charlie looks up from where she’s pouring water into mismatched mugs. “Nope. But the propane stove’s doing a pretty decent job.”
I blink at the sheer amount of food on the table—bacon stacked high, scrambled eggs in a big bowl, sausages still sizzling slightly on a pan lined with paper towel. Toast, too, cut diagonally and buttered. It smells like home. Like comfort.
“You guys made all this?”
Jake’s behind the stove, flipping the last few sausages. “What can I say? We plan ahead.”
Charlie grins. “They’re real adults, apparently. They had a bunch of stuff frozen, and even without the fridge, it’s been cold enough inside that nothing’s gone bad yet.”
Finn and Liam are already seated and digging in, plates stacked high. Finn waves a fork in the air. “Finally, some real grown-ups on the team. Kinda embarrassing for the rest of us.”
Liam nods solemnly. “I just learned the stove we have at our place is decorative. Thought it was just for looks.”
Everyone laughs, and I giggle, shaking my head.
“Come on,” Finn says, motioning to the empty space at the table beside him. “You survived a near-apocalyptic night. You earned breakfast.”
I grab a plate and barely have time to say thank you before both Finn and Liam start piling food on it for me, like over-eager parents at a buffet line.
“Okay, okay,” I laugh, “this isn’t a competition.”
“Says you,” Liam says. “I’m trying to win Best Teammate Award.”
“You’re definitely in the top ten,” I tease, settling in between them.
There’s something deeply comforting about all of it—the clatter of forks, the clinking of mugs, the crackling sound of something still sizzling. The smell of food and wood and rain. The way everyone’s huddled close, dressed in clothes too big or mismatched, eyes still puffy from sleep but lit up now with laughter and warmth.
I glance up toward the living room. Reid’s leaning back against the counter, arms crossed, watching all of us with that unreadable look he gets sometimes. Jake brushes past him, handing him a mug, and Reid says something low that makes them both smirk.
Something inside me softens completely. This feels like something I’ve never had before. Not just safety or care. But this—being part of something. Being wanted here.
And even though the storm still rages outside, I feel okay.
I feel more than okay.