Chapter 36: Jake
Not even thirty minutes out and there it is—a spout in the distance, white against the flat blue horizon.
Before I can even register the direction, I hear her. A tiny gasp. Then the sound of her feet scuffing against the deck as she jumps to get a better angle.
I glance down the bow. She’s got the binoculars up, hair wild in the wind, her whole face lit. Sparkles in her eyes. Literal sparkles. Like this is the happiest she’s ever been.
And it baffles me.
Her resume said she’s seen whales before. She studies them, writes about them, eats data for breakfast. And still—this is her reaction? Like it’s the first time. Like it’s a miracle.
I take the steps down toward her, but voices drift from the port side.
“She’s the cutest thing,” Liam mutters.
Finn laughs low. “No kidding.”
My jaw tightens. I keep walking. Ignore them.
I stop at her side, nodding toward the horizon. “You saw what I saw.”
Her frown is gone, replaced with that smile—the one that makes it impossible to look anywhere else.
“Yes,” she says, breathless.
“You know what type it is?” I ask, doubtful. Too far to tell, not yet.
Another blow erupts, taller this time. She lowers the binoculars just enough to answer without looking at me. “That’s a humpback for sure.”
My eyebrows lift. “How do you know that?”
“The shape of the spout. Forms a balloon. That’s unique to them.”
For once, I’ve got nothing. Speechless.
She hums softly, refocusing through the lenses. “I hope it’s 1224B.”
That jerks me. “You know about her?”
She scoffs, bitter, not looking at me. “If I didn’t know about her after all the reviewing you’ve made me do, I shouldn’t be here.”
The words sting. I open my mouth, ready to tell her I didn’t make her do anything—that was Reid. I was going to say I’d talk to him about it, fix whatever the hell he’s been doing to keep her off the water.
But before I can, Sloane’s voice cuts sharp from the wheelhouse. “How many meters out should I stop?”
I groan under my breath, drag a hand across my jaw. “I’ll help Sloane. Keep your eyes on it—try to confirm the ID. We’ll try to hold it close for you.”
She nods, already turning back to the horizon, sunlight sparking on her hair.
And I’m left wondering how the hell one whale spout, one little gasp, can knock me so far off balance.
Sloane handles the wheel like she was born to it, hands steady, shoulders squared. She’s a hell of a captain—no denying that. But I still stand at her shoulder, pointing, calling distances, making sure we hold back far enough to keep the whale comfortable while still giving Madeline a clear line of sight.
The animal dives, tail slipping beneath the water with barely a ripple. The surface goes empty. I check my watch. “Give it twenty. We’ll see where it surfaces.”
Sloane nods, throttle easy in her grip. No wasted words.
And then I look down.
Madeline crouches low on the dock, pen racing over a notepad balanced on her knee. Her camera hangs from its strap against her ribs—something she must’ve tucked in her bag this morning. Every time the whale surfaces, she snaps off a few frames, scribbles a few more lines.
She looks—God. She looks happy.
I keep my eyes on her longer than I should. Just long enough to notice the way the wind tangles her hair, the way her shoulders relax each time the whale surfaces.
Sloane groans suddenly. “Christ. Not you too.”
I straighten. “What?”
She flicks her eyes at me, unimpressed. “You’ve been staring at her for an hour.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m making sure she’s working.”
“Mm-hm.” She adjusts the wheel. “Funny how ‘making sure she’s working’ looks a lot like you watching her breathe.”
I grit my teeth. “You said ‘not you too.’ What does that mean?”
Sloane exhales through her nose, slow. “Exactly what it sounds like. Liam and Finn trail after her like puppies. Charlie thinks the sun shines out of her ass. And Reid…”
I turn my head sharply. “What about Reid?”
“He’s the only sane one.” Sloane’s tone is clipped. “He can’t stand having her around. Literally tells her to fuck off whenever she comes near the wheelhouse.” Her mouth twists, almost amused. “Which tells me all I need to know.”
I press my tongue against my molars, jaw tight. “You ever think maybe Reid just doesn’t like people? That it’s not about her, it’s about him?”
Sloane actually laughs—short, sharp. “You’d know better than me. He’s your brother.”
I look away, back at the horizon. The whale could surface any second. I want it to, just so I don’t have to keep talking about this.
Reid can be sharp, yeah. Blunt to the point of cruel. But he doesn’t waste energy unless there’s a reason. He cares about the institute more than anything, about the work. So why the hell would he go this far? Why push her off the boats when she’s the only biologist we’ve got?
I keep my eyes on the horizon, but the thought sticks, turning over and over. Reid doesn’t do arbitrary. Which means either he’s wrong this time—or he knows something I don’t.
Another half hour ticks by. The whale surfaces, exhales, dives again. Quinn crouches at the bow the whole time, pen moving fast, camera snapping, not missing a detail. Finally, she stands, glances back up at the wheelhouse, and flashes a quick thumbs-up.
I take that as my cue and head down. “You got what you needed?”
She looks up, face flushed from the wind, eyes still bright. “Yes. So much stuff. Notes, photos—” She bites her lip, hesitant. “Maybe we should give her some space now.”
For a second I just watch her, notebook clutched against her chest, hair wild around her face. Then Sloane’s words come back: He can’t stand having her around. Which tells me all I need to know.
I school my voice flat. “Alright.”
Her brow creases, faint. “Is it… is it time to head back then?”
Something in me cracks at that—her frown, the quiet hope in it. I let a small smile slip through. “We can keep looking for a bit before turning around.”
Her lips curve into the shyest smile I’ve seen from her yet. “Thank you.”
I nod, force myself to keep my face neutral, cold. Watch as she tucks her papers carefully into her bag, smoothing the pages down like they’re precious. And then I turn away, jaw tight.
Because part of me wants to tell her she did well, that her notes will matter. The other part keeps wondering if there's more to her than meets the eye.