Chapter 59: Jake
Reid goes still—every muscle in his body locked tight. I know that look. Something’s wrong.
Then he breathes, sharp and low. “What the fuck is she doing.”
My pulse spikes instantly. I follow his line of sight, leaning forward over the console—
and everything inside me stops.
Madeline.
Half her body is hanging over the damn side of the boat, stomach pressed to the floor, her arms extended like she’s trying to touch the water. She’s not steady. Not even close. One strong swell, and she’s gone.
“Christ,” I mutter, already standing.
But Reid’s faster. He bolts from the wheelhouse, taking the stairs two at a time, and I’m right behind him. My hand grazes the railing, but I don’t bother taking the steps—I jump the last few, hitting the deck with a heavy thud. We sprint. The wind bites at my face, the slap of water against the hull louder now, and all I can think is if she falls, if she slips—
We’re almost there when Finn and Liam step into our path.
“Shh!” Finn hisses, palms raised.
Wrong move.
Every instinct in me lights up like fire. I’m this close to shoving him aside, yelling something I’ll regret later—but Reid’s fist is already clenching at his side, knuckles white, jaw set. He’s one second from snapping too.
Liam looks at both of us like he knows exactly what kind of storm he’s holding back. He whispers, quick and pleading, “Wait. Just—look. She’s fine.”
Fine?
I don’t believe it. My pulse is still pounding in my throat, but I force myself to take the step forward, then another. Reid’s right beside me, tense as a bowstring.
Then I hear it.
Her voice.
Soft, melodic, floating just above the wind.
“Hey there, funny little one… what are you doing here all alone, huh?”
We round the last corner, and I finally see what’s got her risking her damn life over the edge.
A seal.
Tiny, slick, bright-eyed, bobbing in the green-gray water. It twirls in the current, flipping in a lazy circle, sending ripples across the surface.
And Madeline—
She’s lying on her stomach, one arm draped over the hull, the other bent beneath her chin, propping up her head like she’s sunbathing. The wind lifts strands of her hair, tangling them around her face. The rest falls loose, ends brushing the waves below—wet, glinting gold and copper under the dull light.
She laughs softly when the seal lifts its head toward her, curious. The sound—it does something to the air. Makes everything go quieter, lighter, like the ocean itself pauses to listen.
Reid stops beside me. I can feel the tension roll off him, but not the way it was before. Not fear now. Not even anger. Just… something else.
Wonder.
I glance at him, and he’s staring like he’s seeing her for the first time. There’s a faint crease between his brows, his mouth parted slightly, like he can’t quite process what he’s looking at. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that expression on him before.
Yeah. I get it.
Because I can’t stop staring either.
She doesn’t notice us. She’s too caught up in whatever silent world exists between her and that seal. Every time it bobs closer, she grins wider, the kind of grin that reaches her eyes, that lights up her entire face.
“Look at you,” she murmurs, voice so low I almost don’t catch it. “You’re beautiful.”
The seal tilts its head, as if answering.
She laughs again—quiet, breathy, genuine—and my chest tightens, hard.
The sea wind catches her hair and the smell of salt and her faint vanilla shampoo reaches me, familiar now. And somehow, in this moment, she doesn’t look small anymore. She doesn’t look fragile.
She looks… untouchable.
Reid moves a step closer, slowly, his boots barely making a sound against the deck. I follow, careful not to break whatever spell this is. Finn and Liam stay back, wide-eyed and grinning, like they’re watching something sacred.
Madeline hums a little tune—absentminded, happy—and I swear the seal moves with her melody. She reaches her hand out farther, fingertips brushing the spray of the water.
“Careful,” Reid says quietly.
She startles a bit, then glances back over her shoulder. And when her gaze finds us—
Christ.
Her cheeks are flushed, lips parted, eyes bright. She’s smiling like the world isn’t something that’s ever hurt her.
“Oh. Hi,” she breathes out, still a little dreamy. “He’s… he’s not scared of me.”
I don’t know if she’s talking to us or herself.
Reid’s jaw flexes once. “Maybe because you’re halfway in the damn water,” he mutters, but his voice is softer than usual. Almost—fond.
She rolls her eyes, that small spark of defiance back.
The seal dips under, vanishing beneath the surface. She frowns. “You scared him off.”
I exhale through my nose, forcing the words out before my head catches up. “Guess he didn’t like competition.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and for the first time since we found her like that, the smile that tugs at her mouth isn’t for the seal—it’s for me.
Reid shoots me a look, one I don’t return.
Because right then, with the sea shimmering below her and her hair dripping saltwater down her neck, I get it.
This girl—
She’s chaos and calm at the same time. The kind that makes you forget why you ever liked silence in the first place.
And as she finally pulls herself upright, brushing her damp hair back and looking so damn proud of herself for finding one wild seal in all this water, I realize something I don’t want to admit.
Reid was right to be afraid of her. Maybe even mad at her.
Because she’s the kind of distraction that doesn’t just take your focus.
She takes your breath. She's trouble.
Her smile falters when she looks between us—me and Reid—and in that split second, I see it happen.
The light fades a little. The laughter drains from her eyes.
She realizes she wasn’t supposed to do that.
Her shoulders draw in as she looks down, fingers tightening around the railing.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “That wasn’t safe.”
Reid’s voice cuts through the air before I can say anything.
“You think?”
All the warmth he had for her a few minutes ago—gone. Just the clipped, cold tone of a man who’s too used to control to forgive chaos.
Madeline nods, lips pressed tight, and I can practically see her shrinking in on herself. I sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Yeah, it was dangerous,” I admit, softer. “But you’re fine, so… it’s all good.”
She glances up at me, hesitating like she’s waiting for the catch.
“I recorded the sighting,” she adds quickly, as if she’s trying to make up for it. “And took pictures for the records first.”
Reid just grunts and turns away, stalking back toward the wheelhouse, boots hitting the deck hard.
She exhales, barely audible, then looks at me again—half nervous, half hoping she didn’t screw up too badly. I hold out my hand. “I can take your report sheet for today,” I say, keeping my tone light. “We’ll start heading back.”
She blinks, then hands it over. “Okay.”
Her voice is small, almost careful. She gathers her things quickly, tucking stray hair behind her ear as she moves. When she walks away toward her bench, I watch her for a moment longer than I mean to. The back of her sweatshirt is damp from leaning over the side, and she keeps brushing her hands together like she can scrub away the moment.
I hate it.
That look.
That dimming.
She had this glow—pure, stupid joy—and now it’s gone because of us.
I turn toward the stairs, the report sheet in my hand. On the way back to the wheelhouse, I glance down at it, expecting the usual lines of data, notes, a bunch of acronyms that make my head hurt.
Under Species Seen there’s only one line, scribbled in her neat handwriting:
Grey seal, juvenile. Named him Snowflake.
I snort under my breath, a half-smile tugging at my mouth despite myself. Of course she did.
When I glance back at her, she’s sitting at the bow again, hair blowing wildly, face turned toward the horizon as if she’s trying to lose herself in it.
Yeah.
This girl.
Trouble, no question about it.
But the kind you can’t bring yourself to stay mad at.