Chapter 29: Madeline
Reid doesn’t say a word.
The silence is thick, the kind that makes your chest ache. His profile is set hard, every line of his face carved out by the glow of the dashboard. Hands rigid on the wheel. He looks furious.
My stomach twists. I should’ve known better than to wander off, better than to get lost, better than to end up in his car like some helpless child who needed rescuing. Now he probably thinks I’m incompetent. Worse—fragile.
I press my nails into my palms, trying to keep my voice steady. “I… I wanted to tell you something. About the data I went through today. I think I found—”
“I don’t want to talk about work right now.”
It’s clipped. Final.
Heat floods my cheeks, shame curling in fast and sharp. “Right. Of course. Sorry.” My voice cracks and I try to swallow it down. “I didn’t mean to… interrupt your evening, or drag you out here, or make you drive me anywhere. I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll remember the way next time. I shouldn’t have been out so late anyway. I know I’ve already messed things up. I—”
My words tumble over each other, too fast, too desperate, and I hate how I sound. Like I’m begging him not to hate me more than he already does.
I only stop when I realize the car isn’t moving. We’ve pulled up near the stone stairs, headlights spilling over the path.
I sigh, throat tight, and fumble for the handle, wishing I could disappear into the ground. Before I can, his hand is there—calloused and warm, catching my chin.
My breath stutters.
He tilts my face toward him, forcing me to meet his eyes. They burn into mine, unyielding, searching for something I don’t want him to find.
“I’m asking again,” he says, voice low and steady. “Did someone hurt you tonight?”
The question knocks the air out of me. How do I explain that I get random panick attacks that feel so real I can't breathe, or think, or move?
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No one hurt me.”
He studies me another second, then lets go. The sudden absence of his touch feels sharper than it should.
“Tomorrow you’ll be reviewing the rest of the data.”
It’s so businesslike, so cold, like nothing in his expression a moment ago even mattered. I want to argue, want to say I should be on the boat, want to prove I’m not just the fragile thing he clearly thinks I am. But the words die in my throat. I’m too drained, too wrung out.
“Thank you,” I murmur instead, “for the lift.”
I get out before my voice can betray me further. By the time I close the door, he’s already pulling away, tail lights swallowed by darkness.
I stand there, hugging myself against the wind. And then I freeze.
The car. His car—it’s black. But the other night, at the traffic light… I don’t remember the color. I barely looked at anything but his face, the way he leaned toward me, the way his voice softened. But I’m almost sure it wasn’t black.
Did he change cars? Or was it… not him?
No. It has to be him. I've never seen a man like him before, and I sure as hell couldn't forget his face.
The thought needles through me, sharp and unsettling.
The door at the bottom of the stairs creaks open, yellow light spilling out.
“Madeline?” Charlie’s voice cuts through the night, warm and certain.
I swallow hard, dragging myself back from the spiral. “Yeah,” I manage, my voice thin. “It’s me.”
Charlie’s standing in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame, light spilling warm around her. Her sharp eyes sweep over me in an instant, catching every detail I wish she wouldn’t—my pale face, the way I’m still hugging my arms.
“You look like hell,” she says, but it’s not unkind. She steps aside. “Come on.”
The stairs feel heavier than they should as I follow her down. The moment we step into the kitchen, Finn and Liam look up from the table where they’re half-playing cards, half-dozing.
Charlie raises a brow. “Where have you been?”
“I, um—got lost.” My voice sounds smaller than I mean it to. “And Reid brought me back.”
Both Finn and Liam wince at the same time, like I’ve just confessed to committing a mortal sin.
“Bet he loved that,” Finn mutters, exchanging a glance with Liam.
I force a weak laugh, though it feels more like a crack splitting down the middle of me. “He was… yeah. Pretty pissed.” My throat tightens as the words tumble out before I can stop them. “I’m not allowed on the boat tomorrow. Just the data.”
Silence lands with a dull thud. None of them quite know what to do with that, and their faces make me feel even worse.
So I paste on a smile that doesn’t reach anywhere near my eyes. “I’ll shower. Then bed. Big day of spreadsheets waiting for me.”
No one stops me as I slip down the hall.
By the time the water beats down on my skin, hot enough to sting, my chest aches with the weight of it. His silence. His anger. The way his hand had tilted my chin, searching my eyes like he could see through me.
And the way, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop replaying it.