Chapter 58: Reid
We reel the CTD back in, the cable straining against the winch as water streams off the frame in glistening sheets. Madeline’s got her hands on the line too—trying to help—but between Jake and me, we’re doing most of the lifting. Not that either of us says a word about it.
She looks so determined, jaw tight, brow furrowed, like she’s carrying half the damn ocean with us. Jake catches my eye over her head, smirking, and I already know he’s thinking the same thing I am. When his gaze drops to where her much smaller hands are next to mine on the rope, I can’t help the quiet huff of amusement that leaves me.
She glances up, confused. I look away before she can ask why.
The CTD finally clunks onto the deck, a slick trail of saltwater following it. Jake steadies the frame while I release the hook, and we both step back, giving Finn and Liam space to move in.
“Clean it up and store it,” I tell them, rolling my shoulder. “Make sure everything’s locked down before we move.”
Madeline’s still crouched beside the monitor, checking readings, so Jake leans in. “Make sure you’ve got everything you need before we head out,” he says. “If not, we’ll run it again.”
She nods quickly, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Got it. I can help them, too—”
Liam shakes his head, grinning, and places a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Nah, Doc. We’ve got it. Go be a scientist over there.”
She laughs, soft and surprised, and I feel it—the flicker of irritation that hits like lightning before I can stop it.
Gone as quick as it came, but still there, burning faintly in my chest.
She gathers her papers and data sheets, heading toward the bench. Jake calls out, “We’ll stay put for lunch. Might as well eat before we keep going.”
Finn cheers something about starving, and Liam agrees, talking about going through the cooler. Madeline laughs again, a low, unguarded sound that winds through the air before fading with the breeze.
I look away.
Because for a second, I forget that sound doesn’t belong to me.
Jake and I head back up to the wheelhouse, the quiet between us heavier than the ocean air. We’ve always been like this—same thoughts, same instincts. We don’t need to talk to understand each other. Except when it comes to her.
Madeline Quinn.
She’s the one thing I can’t read him on.
I lean against the console, staring out at the horizon, the calm water stretching endlessly ahead. “You like having her here?”
Jake turns his head, caught off guard by the question. “Where’s that coming from?”
I shrug, keeping my eyes on the water. “You never talk about her.”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then he looks down through the glass at the bow, where she’s sitting with her notebook, hair moving in the wind, sunlight turning it to gold.
“She’s doing a good job,” he says finally. “Lifts the team’s spirits too, it seems. Maybe a bit of trouble with you and Sloane—but otherwise, she’s fine.”
“There’s no trouble,” I mutter.
Jake gives a low hum, one eyebrow rising. “Right. Because if you could’ve driven her back to her city yourself a week ago, you would’ve done it, no hesitation.”
I don’t look at him. I don’t need to. He’s not wrong.
He chuckles under his breath. “Glad you’re finally starting to see she’s not going anywhere. We need her here.”
I grunt, but I don’t answer. My eyes stay fixed on her, down below.
Need her here.
Yeah. Maybe we do.
But I’m not sure that’s the problem.
Jake leans down, rummaging through the cooler until the sound of plastic crinkling fills the air. He pulls out two sandwiches, tosses one across the console without looking. I catch it just before it hits the edge.
“Thanks,” I say, unwrapping it.
He takes a bite of his, still watching the horizon, that easy calm he always has setting in again. Then, out of nowhere, he lets out a quiet laugh.
“What?” I ask, tearing off a piece of bread.
Jake smirks, mouth still half full. “I was just thinking—maybe we should ask Finn to start training her or something. She’s gonna need more muscle on the days we’re not around.”
I huff out a laugh. “Or maybe we don’t hire someone who’s five-foot-something next time.”
He chuckles, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, maybe. Still—she’s so damn smart it doesn’t even matter. Was just… cute, is all.”
That word hits a little sharper than it should. Cute. When has he ever called someone that?
I glance at him, but he doesn’t notice—or pretends not to. Keeps eating, calm as ever, like he didn’t just say that. I decide it’s a slip. Jake calls puppies and equations cute.
I take a bite of my sandwich, more to keep my mouth busy than anything. “Your sandwich-making skills got better,” I say, chewing. “Still not great, but better than the crap you used to make.”
A napkin sails through the air and hits me square in the chest.
“Asshole,” Jake mutters.
I grin, low and quiet, and he laughs, both of us chuckling under our breath like idiots for a few seconds before the silence settles back in—comfortable, familiar, easy.
Almost enough to make me forget the chaos sitting just below deck.
We chew in silence for a while, the low roll of the waves filling in where words don’t. Every so often there’s a burst of laughter from below deck—Finn and Liam, probably arguing over who’s stronger or who ate the last granola bar. They’re probably making a mess of something, but neither of us moves to stop them.
Jake wipes his hands on a napkin, drains the last of his water, and sighs. “Yeah, you’re making lunch tomorrow,” he mutters, still chewing. “This wasn’t great.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “Too much time in school when you should’ve learned to cook.”
He leans back, pretending to be offended. “I can cook. Just not sandwiches.”
That earns a quiet snort from me, one that turns into a laugh when he tosses the empty bottle at my shoulder.
This—this is us. The rhythm that’s older than anything else I know. The banter, the silence that follows, the unspoken understanding underneath all of it. It’s easy. Safe.
Jake finishes his sandwich and props his boots against the dash, staring out at the horizon. “You think this will be our best season yet?” he asks, voice low.
I shake my head, still smiling. “Maybe.”
The quiet returns, softer this time. The kind that sits between brothers who’ve said everything that matters already.
Then I glance down. Just instinct, a flicker of movement below catching my attention.
My heart stops—completely still in my chest.