Chapter 174: Reid
I wait until Madeline’s curled up on the couch again before I make my move.
Charlie’s still lingering in the kitchen, pretending to dry a dish that’s already bone-dry.
“Come with me,” I say quietly.
She blinks, caught off guard. “What?”
“Upstairs.”
Her brows furrow, but she follows. She always does when my voice leaves no room for argument.
I lead her up to the small office at the end of the hall. The storm outside is still grumbling, pale light spilling through the window. I can hear Jake’s footsteps behind us a few seconds later. He closes the door behind him, leans against it, and crosses his arms.
Charlie looks between us, and from her expression, she knows exactly why she’s here.
She folds her own arms, chin lifting. “If this is about Maddie, I can’t tell you anything.”
Jake exhales through his nose. “We’re not dumb, Charlie. We know something’s going on with her.”
She huffs a quiet laugh that has no humor in it. “Yeah? And I'm also not dumb. I know you both feel something for her.”
That shuts us up fast.
Her eyes flick between us like she’s daring either of us to deny it.
I don’t. I won’t.
Charlie’s been around us long enough to see through anything we try to hide.
She’s family—more than that, she’s our family. When Jake finished his degree, she lived with me for nearly a year. We worked together, ate together, sometimes sat in silence together when she was missing home. She knows the way I think. The way I get when I care about someone.
So no, I don’t waste time denying it.
“That’s not the point,” I say flatly. “The point is something’s been messing with her. We’ve seen it before, and you clearly know what it is.”
Charlie tilts her head. “When did you see it?”
I glance at Jake, and he lets me take this one. “She got an unknown phone call once—just one—but she panicked like she’d seen a ghost. Then that night of the team dinner? When Albie showed up at the door and said he thought there was an intruder? She freaked out again. Everyone else was too drunk to notice, but I did.”
Jake nods. “And now this. She’s shaking, pale as a sheet, and then suddenly throwing up in the bathroom.”
Charlie’s expression softens, guilt flashing in her eyes. She looks down, wringing her hands, and for a moment I think she’s going to tell us everything.
Then she shakes her head. “It’s not my story to tell. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you herself.”
Jake’s jaw ticks. “Charlie—”
“No.” Her voice is firm now. “Listen. She’s scared. She doesn’t like to talk about it. Cornering her, demanding answers—it’ll only make it worse.”
I cross my arms tighter, frustration creeping up my spine. “So you’re saying something did happen.”
Charlie hesitates, then sighs. “All I can say is… she didn’t like her life in the city. And she’s glad she’s not there anymore. But reminders of it don’t make her feel good.”
That’s the understatement of the year, and we all know it.
Jake runs a hand through his hair. “Is she in danger?”
Charlie’s quiet for a long beat, and I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears.
Then she says, “No. It’s not like that. It’s emotional. There’s no danger, just… old stress. Stuff she’s trying to move past.”
That takes some of the pressure off my chest, but not all of it.
Jake sits down on the edge of the desk. “Then why won’t she tell us?”
“She’s not used to opening up,” Charlie says softly. “She only told me two or three weeks ago, and even that took time. She just doesn’t want that part of her life to define who she is now. Please don’t push her. Let her come to you on her own terms.”
Her voice is genuine. She’s trying to protect Madeline, not defy us.
I nod slowly. “Alright.”
Jake echoes me. “Yeah. We won’t push.”
Charlie exhales, clearly relieved. “Good.” She gives us one last look, eyes lingering on me. “You both care about her. That’s obvious. Just… show her that, instead of making her talk about things she’s not ready for.”
Then she’s gone, her footsteps fading down the stairs.
The office goes quiet.
I rub a hand over my jaw, staring out the window at the whipping rain. “I hate this,” I mutter. “Not knowing what the hell’s going on with her.”
Jake leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Same. Whatever it is—it’s not small, Reid. For her to throw up like that just from something on her phone…” He shakes his head. “That’s not nerves. That’s trauma.”
I nod once. “Big-ass trauma.”
For a while, we just sit there, both lost in thought. The kind that burns.
“At least she’s safe,” Jake says finally.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Safe. For now.”
He looks over at me. “So we wait?”
“Yeah. We wait.” I exhale slowly. “But if this happens again…”
Jake finishes for me. “Then we step in.”
“Exactly.”
Because whatever her past is, whatever monster she left behind—
She’s ours now.
And if that thing ever tries to find her again,
it’ll have to go through us.
We make it back downstairs after what feels like a lifetime of going in circles.
I scan the room fast — like I always do when I’m on edge — and there she is.
Madeline. Still curled up on the couch. Practically swallowed by one of our blankets.
She’s half-asleep, her eyes fluttering every now and then, lashes trembling like whatever’s behind them hasn’t quite let go. Her breathing’s even, but I know better than to trust that completely. She’s not just tired — she’s crashed. Burned out after too much panic, too much adrenaline, too much pretending she’s fine.
Sloane’s passed out on the other end. Finn’s snoring with his head hanging off the armrest. Liam and Charlie are still awake, quiet, faces lit by the glow of Jake’s laptop. A movie’s playing, but no one’s really watching.
Jake and I sit on the last empty spot on the couch, like we’re part of the group now. Like we’re not full of questions and frustration and the low, bitter edge of helplessness.
I don’t look at the screen. I look at her.
Her hand’s resting flat over her stomach. She’s curled into the blanket like it’s the only thing holding her together. Her hair’s a mess — soft and wild — and she’s still in the shirt I folded for her this morning.
And I know this.
I’ve seen this before — not just in people I’ve worked with. In myself, too.
It’s what happens after the storm behind your ribs finally dies out.
Your system shuts down because it doesn’t know what else to do.
And when it finally does...
You sleep.
Because it’s the only thing your body lets you do.
She does that around us. Has from the start.
Falls asleep the moment we’re near and let her do so. Like something in her just switches off.
Because we’re the safest thing she’s got.
Jake shifts beside me, leans forward like he’s pretending to care about the movie, but I catch the way his fingers twitch — like he wants to reach for her but doesn’t want to wake her.
We don’t say what we’re both thinking — that whoever this is, whoever’s still haunting her, isn’t finished. That this isn’t over.
But she’s sleeping. She’s here. She’s safe — for now.
And I’ll wait.
I’ll give her all the space she needs.
But if it happens again — if that terror I saw in her eyes ever comes back — I’m done waiting.
I don’t care how long it takes, or what it takes — she’s going to know, beyond a fucking doubt, that she’s not alone in this anymore.
And whoever made her feel like she was?
They’ll never touch her again.