Chapter 188: Madeline
They make it back in about half an hour—boots thudding up the steps, wet jackets, wind still in their hair. Jake and Reid come in first; Finn and Liam tumble behind them; Sloane ghosts in last, already scanning the room like she’s counting exits.
Charlie and I have been grinning for thirty straight minutes. It hurts. I don’t care.
They stop in front of us, taking in our faces. “What has you two beaming like that?” Jake asks, suspicious and already smiling.
“See for yourselves,” Charlie says, tipping the laptop toward them on the dining table.
They lean in—shoulders crowding the chair backs, rain dripping from their sleeves—eyes flicking down the email. I can’t stand still. I bounce on my toes, hands clasped under my chin like I’m trying to trap a scream.
It takes three seconds. Maybe less.
Reid’s eyes go wide. Jake’s too. “Holy shit,” they say together, then look at each other and back at us. “This is… incredible.”
“What? What what what?” Finn’s already halfway onto a chair. “Don’t make me read, I’m delicate.”
“Somebody translate,” Liam says, breathless.
Jake turns, voice bright with it. “A prestigious research institute a few hours away answered Reid’s email—the one from when Madeline found the calving pattern. They reviewed our preliminary data, ran it against their sets, and they think we’re right. They want to collaborate and co-author an official paper.”
I actually squeal. Like… out loud. Then I bounce. I can’t help it; it keeps happening. Charlie claps because she’s me but taller.
Reid drags a hand down his face, half laughing. “This could mean a serious shot at next season’s funding,” he says, looking at me like it’s my name on the check. “More resources. More time on the water. And being among the first to publish on this.”
“It’s one of the best research centers not just on the East Coast but in Canada,” I blurt, words tripping over each other. “They published that multi-year migratory acoustics study, and the entanglement mitigation protocol that changed the whole—okay, and—oh my God, and their calving site verification model—if they’re offering their dataset we can validate the Northhaven overlap, and if we stack our inshore porpoise records with their pelagic array logs we can—” I can’t stop. I’m smiling so hard my face aches. My hands are everywhere, drawing maps in the air, a mess of circles and lines. “—and if they commit ship time early we could tag pre-season and—”
“Someone please hug her so she stops being the Energizer Bunny,” Liam groans, grinning.
The room explodes—laughter, arms, warmth. Finn gets me first, lifts me clean off the ground; Charlie wraps us both and almost knocks the laptop over; Jake mutters “careful” like he’s not laughing too; Reid’s hand finds the small of my back and stays there, steady, proud, like the ground under my feet just got a name. Even Sloane’s mouth twitches—reluctant, brief. It still counts.
I’m buzzing, breathless, impossibly happy. For once, the world feels exactly the right size.
“Okay, okay—calm down,” Jake says at last, palms up like he’s herding puppies. “Mads, can you?”
I blink. I’m still on my toes. Still bouncing.
“Yep,” I say, trying to make my heels remember the floor. “Yes.” It comes out a little breathless, which earns me a synchronized chuckle from Jake and Reid.
Jake drags the laptop closer, skims the header again. “Email asks if we can meet them this week,” he says, tapping the timestamp. “And because we had no Wi-Fi, we’re a day—almost two—behind replying.”
My stomach drops and then rockets. “We can still—”
“We’re fine,” he cuts in, already reaching for his phone. “I’ll call. See if we can head down tomorrow, meet the day after.”
He glances around the table; everyone sobers a notch, listening. “Once that’s set, we’ll figure out who’s going and who’s staying, and what the stay crew handles while we’re gone.”
Reid nods, eyes on me, the edge of a smile still tugging at his mouth. Charlie’s already flipping to a fresh page in her notebook, pen poised. Finn salutes like this is a caper. Liam mutters, “I can be a responsible adult,” which makes Charlie snort. Sloane folds her arms, unreadable, but she doesn’t argue.
Jake steps toward the window for a bar or two of signal and lifts the phone to his ear. “Hi—this is Jake Anderson from SWMRI returning your email about the Northhaven calving overlap…”
The room goes very still. My heart feels too big for my chest. Reid’s hand finds the small of my back again, steady heat that says breathe.
Tomorrow. The day after.
We might actually do this.
Everyone pretends to busy themselves. No one moves. Reid drops into a chair, takes the laptop, and starts slicing through two days of email like he’s cutting sail in a squall—jaw set, eyes cold-bright. In daylight and duty he looks older—thirty in a way that suits him so, so well.
Jake keeps going, voice even, unhurried, in charge. “Scope sounds good. We can be there tomorrow—meet the day after… Yeah, no I understand, that works for us… Authorship and data-sharing, understood… Facilities—lab time works, only one of us will need a bench. Lodging—yeah, that works… We’ll bring sighting logs, GPS tracks, time-stamped imagery.”
I’ve heard him talk a thousand times, but this is different. Professional. Commanding. He really does look like the CEO of his own company, and the way it fits him makes heat curl low and mean in my stomach. Intimidated, turned on—both at once. I press my palm to the table just to feel something solid.
“Wednesday at ten,” Jake says, a small smile slipping into his voice. “We’ll be early… Thank you. This matters.” He ends the call, turns back to us with that same smile, lighter now.
“We’re on,” he says, and the room breaks into breath and laughter like we’ve been holding air for years. Reid’s mouth curves; Charlie claps once, already reaching for her notebook; Finn whoops; Liam says “road trip” like a prayer; even Sloane lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
I can’t stop smiling. Tomorrow, we go.