Chapter 44: Madeline
“I’m fine,” I insist. My voice sounds too thin, even to me.
The truth is, I’m not. Not really. My shirt clings to my skin, cold seeping in with every draft, but it’s not the damp that unsettles me—it’s the way it happened.
I replay it in my head like a reel I can’t stop.
I’d been halfway down the steps to the little cabin when Sloane appeared above me, all sharp lines and narrowed eyes. I’d smiled, soft, automatic. “After you.”
She descended, then paused, turning on the rail. “For safety reasons, only three people can be in here at once.”
I’d blinked, thrown. “Oh. Okay.”
Backed away. Waited.
Spray caught my shoulder. A streak of cold saltwater across my cheek. I told myself it was fine. I’d go up to the wheelhouse instead. But Sloane cut that option off too, cool and flat: “No. Reid needs to focus. I’ll be quick.”
So I stayed. Because what else was I supposed to do? Question her? Break a rule?
The sea didn’t care. Another wave slammed against the hull and the spray didn’t miss this time—it drenched the front of me, sent me stumbling back against the rail with a gasp. Not soaked through, but close. Hair plastered to my face, wind knifing straight through me.
When the hatch finally opened again, she was chewing a sandwich. A smear of mustard on her thumb. “Oops,” she said lightly. “My mistake. Four people at once.”
That was it. No apology. No sheepish laugh. Just oops.
Heat had risen in my chest then, sharper than the cold, the awful, humiliating question spinning in my head: Did she actually forget—or did she do it on purpose?
By the time I slipped into the cabin, my teeth had started to chatter.
Finn saw me first. He pushed to his feet so fast he nearly knocked his head against the low ceiling. “Madeline—what happened?”
I forced the words out, jaw tight. “Sloane said only three people could be in here. And that Reid didn't want me in the wheelhouse. So I waited.” My voice dipped. “Outside.”
Finn’s mouth tightened, but before he could say anything Liam groaned, a sound of pure frustration, and disappeared through the narrow passage.
“Come sit,” Finn said, gentler now, like he was worried I might splinter. He reached for me, brushing the wet strands off my cheek with the back of his hand. The warmth of the touch startled me, made the cold feel sharper, more real.
I sank onto the bench. The towel Liam had given me felt useless against the chill burrowed into my skin.
A moment later Liam returned with another, this one dry and warm, and draped it firmly over my shoulders. “Here.”
I clutched it close.
“You cold?” Finn asked quietly.
“I’m okay,” I said automatically.
But my shiver betrayed me.
And the look they shared said everything—they weren’t fooled for a second.
Did she do it on purpose?
The question circles my brain as I wring out the edge of the towel, fingers shaking from more than just the cold. Why would she? What did I ever do to her?
The boys keep stealing glances at me, like they want to say something but don’t know how. Finally, Liam clears his throat. “We’ll go tie the boat. Almost there.”
Finn gives me a small, careful smile before following him out.
And then I’m alone.
The cabin feels too small, the air heavy with salt and diesel. I try to dry myself off, smoothing the towel down my arms, through my hair. My shirt clings stubbornly, my skin prickling with every shiver.
That’s when I hear the steps. Slow. Deliberate.
Reid.
He fills the doorway before I can even think of straightening. His eyes catch on me—up, down—assessing, weighing. Serious. Always serious.
“What happened?” His voice is gravel, low and sharp.
I turn my back, set the towel down, try to make my voice casual. “Forget about it.”
But then I feel it—the heat of him at my back. Too close. My pulse leaps.
Slowly, I turn. His chest is right there, rising and falling under layers of dark fabric. Too broad, too near. I have to crane my neck just to meet his eyes.
“I said,” he repeats, firmer now, “what happened?”
I swallow. Hard. “Sloane told me I couldn’t come in. And that you didn’t want me in the wheelhouse. So I waited outside. I got wet. It’s not a big deal.”
I reach for my bag to end it, but his hand shoots out, fingers circling my wrist.
The contact is brief—barely a second—but when he lets go, the ghost of his touch lingers, hot against my chilled skin.
And his eyes—something’s different there. Not just sharpness. Something burning.
“And what did I tell you to do, Trouble?”
The nickname, rough and unexpected, sends heat to my cheeks. “You told me to go inside.”
He nods, once. “That’s right.”
I don’t even realize I’ve stepped back until my shoulders meet the wall. He braces his forearm above my head, leaning down, close enough that the air between us is nothing but him. Salt. Heat. Anger.
“So when I tell you to go inside, you go inside,” he says, voice edged steel. His gaze goes from my lips to my eyes, over and over again.
I open my mouth—“But Sloane said—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what Sloane said.” His jaw tightens, eyes blazing. “You do what I say. If that means coming into the wheelhouse, you do it. If that means breaking a rule to get out of the cold, you do it.”
He’s furious, but his fury feels like fire, licking too close, almost protective. It makes no sense. None of it does.
“You understand that?”
My breath catches. I nod.
He studies me a beat longer, then pushes off the wall, the loss of his heat immediate. “Good. Day’s over.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me pressed against the wall, heart thundering, every nerve caught between fear, confusion—
And something else I don’t want to name.