Chapter 269: Madeline
We crest the little overlook behind Main—strings of lights thrown like nets over the streets, ferris wheel blinking slow over the harbor, music bleeding up the hill—and by the time we slide back down into the heat of the town and push through the Seafoam’s doors, it’s like walking into a shaken snow globe, only the flakes are confetti and the snowmen are crusty fishermen in lobster-red shirts shouting the lyrics to a Springsteen cover.
Finn and Liam are impossible to miss. They’re in matching button-downs patterned with cartoon claws, foam lobster hats bobbing with every step, cheeks flushed and eyes bright; Charlie’s in head-to-toe red with glitter along her cheekbones, a devilish little grin like she personally invented rowdiness. Someone’s dragged the high tables back to make a dance floor and the whole place is jumping; bodies bump and turn, a tide of laughter and bass and the warm brine of spilled beer.
I’m folded into it before I can blink—Finn yelling my name, Liam’s arms around me in a hug that lifts me clear off my feet, Charlie squeezing my fingers and kissing my cheek like she’s checking to make sure I’m real. They try to put a beer in my hand and I catch the quick flash between the twins—tiny flinch, the kind you only see if you live inside their orbit—and I file it away, then smile and shake my head.
“Still on meds,” I tell the crew, voice raised over the thrum. “Doctor’s orders. No alcohol yet.”
“Booo,” Liam groans, theatrically devastated, then ruins the performance by immediately shoving a seltzer and a paper straw at me like a proud dad. “Hydration queen.”
“Dance with me then,” Finn says, already taking my hand, and his grin is so big I can feel it right through my ribs.
The twins let me go—Jake’s thumb skimming my hip as a reminder he's always right here, Reid’s eyes a dark, warning sweep across the room that somehow makes everyone around us stand a little straighter—and Finn pulls me into the churn of bodies. The floor is sticky and the air is hot, the band drops into something fast and joyful, and Finn spins me under his arm, lobster hat askew, lobster shirt gleaming like a joke that never gets old.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, no slur to it, just bright honesty, as we find a rhythm together. “So damn happy you’re here.”
“I’m happy I’m here,” I say, and I mean it all the way down—past the night and the noise, past the weeks of fear, to the place inside me that’s warm and steady again.
He leans closer to dodge a flying claw hat from someone else, his mouth quirked. “If it doesn’t work out with the twins,” he stage-whispers, shameless, “I’ll be here. Waiting. Heroic.”
I laugh, breathless, because of course he would. “Thank you for your service,” I say, then soften it, the truth easy in my throat. “But I’m pretty sure it’s endgame with them.”
“Damn.” He clutches his heart and fake-swoons, then pops up smiling and spins me, one hand warm at my waist, the other catching mine so I don’t slip. The room blurs into color and light; I catch a glimpse of Jake by the bar, navy sweater sleeves shoved up, watching with that fond, dangerous softness that undoes my knees, and across the room Reid has his shoulder braced against a beam, gray sweater stretched over his chest, mouth tilted in the faintest smirk like he’s both proud of me and plotting the fastest route to get me back under his hands.
Finn’s hat bumps mine—because yes, at some point I acquired a lobster headband, courtesy of Charlie— and we’re both laughing, and the song kicks up, and for a sweet, gulping minute there’s only this: the stomp of the floor, the band’s bright brass, the taste of citrus on my tongue, and the sensation of being loved so openly in a room that once felt like a stranger.
After an hour the happy buzz turns into a soft ache behind my eyes. I slip off the dance floor, skin damp, lungs warm, and thread through the press of bodies toward the back where Reid’s been keeping a lazy guard of the room—broad shoulders against a beam, long legs braced, a glass of water sweating in his hand. I’m five steps away when a flash of bare thigh cuts me off.
She materializes out of the crowd in a dress so short the hem barely argues with gravity—undercheeks, a sharp perfume, a glittery mouth. She doesn’t hesitate. She plants herself between Reid’s knees, palms flattening brazenly on his thighs like she owns the right to touch him.
My heart clenches so hard it knocks the air from my chest.
Reid jolts—taken aback, brows cutting down. I see the exact second he realizes what’s happening; his hands come up, gentle but firm, to move her away. He says something I can’t hear over the music—no, probably—and tries to put space between them.
She doesn’t budge.
If anything, she leans in, smile sharpening, nails grazing as her hands slide higher, higher—