Chapter 48: Madeline
The second I got home, I went straight to the shower. No hesitation, no pause, just heat and steam blasting until my skin prickled red. God, it felt good. Like the cold from the Vigil was finally melting off me, like the sea hadn’t sunk its claws into my bones. I could’ve stayed there an hour, easy.
But I didn’t. I dragged on the comfiest things I owned—joggers, tank top—warmed up some soup, sat at the table, and pulled my notes and pictures closer. Report time. The data wasn’t going to write itself, and maybe if I buried myself in it, I could stop replaying that moment on the boat—Reid, me against the wall, his voice, his eyes—
Nope. Not going there.
I wasn’t even ten minutes into typing when someone knocked.
I figured it was Liam, maybe Finn. One of them probably forgot their keys again. Or Charlie, her arms too full of files or groceries.
I wasn’t ready for them.
I opened the door and was met with two chests. That’s all I saw at first. Broad, hard, filling the doorway. My eyes had to climb—past rolled sleeves pulled tight over corded forearms, up strong necks, up again until my head actually tilted back.
And there they were.
The Anderson twins. My bosses. My tormentors. My—God help me—whatever the hell they were to me.
The sun was sinking behind them, throwing the porch in shadow, and the effect was ridiculous. They looked carved out of the dark. Dangerous. Pissed. Like maybe this was the moment they finally decided to toss me off the pier and call it “employee turnover.”
Not that they didn’t always look brooding. But this? This was dialed up. Enough to make my stomach clench and my feet automatically shuffle back a step.
“Um…”
That’s all I managed. One syllable, dry as driftwood. My throat bobbed. Nothing else came out.
So I did the only thing I could: stepped aside and opened the door wider.
They shared a look, that silent twin-language again, and then stepped in. Slowly. Deliberately. Both of them having to duck slightly under the frame, shoulders broad enough that the whole place suddenly felt smaller.
Like I’d just let two storms walk straight into my kitchen.
Jake closes the door behind him with a finality that makes the air shift. The two of them stand there, silent, shadows in my hallway, their eyes raking over me.
And that’s when it hits me.
I’m not in my oversized sweaters or rain jacket. No boots, no scarf, no armor. Just a thin tank top that clings to damp skin, joggers slung low on my hips, my hair wet and dripping in rivulets down my back. Bare shoulders. Bare arms. More skin than I’d ever want on display in front of them.
Heat crawls up my neck. I want to retreat into my room, throw on layers, disappear into cotton and wool—but I can’t exactly sprint away when they’re already inside.
Jake must sense it—my discomfort, my flustered silence—because he breaks it first. His voice is steady, almost casual. “Sorry for bothering you. Where’s Sloane?”
The relief of sound is ridiculous. I clear my throat. “Uh… when I got home, she was in her room. Door was closed. I haven’t tried to—uh—talk to her or anything.” Truth is, I heard movement, but I didn’t dare say anything to her.
Reid nods once, sharp. “Can you go check?”
I blink. “Me?”
One brow arches, cutting, like the answer should be obvious. Who else, indeed.
I sigh, push past the prickle of irritation, and climb the stairs. My knuckles tap against Sloane’s door, tentative. “Umm, Sloane? If you’re in there—the twins—I mean—the bosses—are looking for you.”
Silence.
I knock again, harder this time. Still nothing.
When I come back down, they’re exactly where I left them, massive and wrong in this space. This house is supposed to be cozy, mismatched, lived in—warm with laughter and clutter. They’re the opposite. They’re precision and control and cold edges, standing like they own the ground they’re planted on. Too tall for the low ceiling, too composed for chipped paint and squeaky stairs.
I stop at the bottom and force my voice steady. “I think she’s gone. Probably left while I was… in the shower.”
They nod in unison. Silent again.
Jake’s eyes cut to mine. “Is Charlie here?”
“No.”
Reid’s voice comes next, lower, heavier. “So it’s just you.”
The way he says it sends a chill straight through me. Not because I think he’ll hurt me—I don’t, not really—but because something in his tone makes me want to lie. Makes me want to say the boys are upstairs, or that Charlie’s just out grabbing groceries. Anything but the truth.
I don’t lie. I just nod, throat tight, and point toward the table where my half-eaten soup sits beside a spread of notes and photographs. “I was… getting some work done.”
Neither of them moves, but the air shifts all the same. Jake draws in a slow breath, shoulders broadening with it, while Reid’s hand curls into a fist at his side, tendons flexing sharp beneath his skin. My whole body prickles, nerves alive, waiting for—what? I don’t even know.
Then my gaze drops, almost without permission, to Reid’s other hand.
My jacket.
The sight hits harder than it should—thin fabric, damp edges, clutched in his grip like proof of something. Proof I forgot. Proof I failed. Proof he didn’t.
He notices me noticing. His voice is low, rough. “You forgot this.”
I step forward, fingers brushing his as I take it. The chill of the fabric seeps instantly into my skin, making me flinch. He lets go, slow, like he wants me to feel the weight of it.
They turn then, both of them, like the conversation’s over. Just like that. Heading for the door, boots heavy on my floorboards.
Something in me panics at the silence. “Um—bye,” I call, too bright, too awkward.
Jake glances back, nods, and—God help me—smiles. Just a flicker, but it’s enough to trip my pulse. Then he’s gone, disappearing up the steps into the fading light.
Reid doesn’t follow. Not yet.
I reach for the door, ready to shove this whole strange moment closed, but his palm slaps flat against the wood, stopping it dead. My breath catches.
He leans down, close enough that his shadow swallows mine, those dark eyes locking on me like they could pin me to the floor. His voice scrapes low. “Lock the door.”
And then he’s gone too, the space empty but still humming with him.
I close it quick, heart a hammer in my chest. My hand hesitates on the lock—just for a second, like I might resist, might prove to myself that I don’t take orders from him.
But I do.