Chapter 65: Reid
She’s out again.
Jake’s hand is still on her shoulder, mine on her thighs like that could’ve done anything—like holding her tight enough might’ve kept her awake. It didn’t. Her head’s turned toward me, hair matted with blood at the temple, skin too pale. There’s a tear in her jacket, red seeping through the fabric along her arm.
For half a second, neither of us moves. Both still touching her. Both fixated.
The boat hums beneath us, steady and oblivious, while everything in me feels like it’s coming apart at the seams.
I was in the wheelhouse when it happened—heard Finn shouting, then Liam, then something that sounded like a scream swallowed by metal. A heavy bang, and more screaming after that. I didn’t think, just slammed the throttle to idle, cut the engines, and was already halfway down the steps when Jake yelled my name.
Jake never yells my name unless it’s bad.
I thought mechanical failure. Equipment. A line snapping. Something I could fix.
Not this.
Not Madeline on the deck, blood streaking down her face, her hair catching in the wind, the small body that never stops moving suddenly… still. No spark. No smart remark. Just quiet.
That quiet rips something open in me.
The two idiots who caused it—whatever the hell this is—are standing off to the side, pale and panicked, talking over each other. I can’t even look at them. Not yet. Because if I do, I’ll break one of their noses before I make sure she’s alright.
I drag in a breath, low and steady, trying to shove the fury down deep enough to think. My chest feels tight. Jake’s muttering something under his breath—swearing, whispering, I can’t tell—but he’s shaking, too.
“I’ll carry her upstairs,” I say finally. My voice sounds rough, not like mine.
Jake looks at me, jaw tight, then moves aside.
I slide one arm under her back, the other beneath her thighs, and lift.
She’s so damn light it makes something twist in my stomach. Her head falls limp against my chest, hair brushing my chin.
And just like that, the rage flares back up again—hot, sharp, violent.
Not at her. Never at her.
At them.
At the fact that she looks so breakable in my arms, and that I wasn’t fast enough to stop it. At Jake for not stopping it. At her for not seeing it.
Her breath ghosts against my neck—faint, but there—and I hold her tighter.
No sign of her waking up.
Not yet.
And that makes the rage burn hotter than ever.
I set her down as gently as I can on the wheelhouse floor, the whole boat creaking under my knees. Her head tips to the side, hair sticking to the blood drying at her temple. I yank my sweater off and fold it once, sliding it beneath her head so she’s not lying on the cold, metal floor.
Jake bursts in a minute later, breath short, the med bag clutched tight in his hand. He drops down next to her without saying anything, and I meet his eyes.
“I need to keep the boat going,” I say. “We’ve got to move toward the harbour if we want her seen by someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”
He nods fast, already unzipping the kit. I hold his gaze for a beat longer—a silent question. You’ve got her?
He gives a single, hard nod. Yeah.
That’s all I need. I turn back to the controls and push the throttles forward. The engines rumble back to life, and the whole boat lurches. Every few seconds, I glance over my shoulder.
Jake’s crouched over her, brushing her hair to the side so he can see the wound better. His hands are steady, even if his jaw’s clenched tight enough to crack.
“It’s not deep,” he says, more to himself than to me. “A lot of blood, but the cut’s small.”
He cleans it carefully, the smell of antiseptic sharp even from here. She stirs a little when the cold hits her skin, but doesn’t wake. Jake presses gauze against it, then peels open a packet of temporary butterfly bandages and starts laying them across the wound, one by one. His movements are precise, methodical—like he’s trying to make up for something by getting every line perfect.
“What happened?” I finally ask, voice low.
Jake doesn’t look up right away. He exhales, shaking his head. “The guys rushed this morning. The latch on the storage unit wasn’t clipped properly. With the weight of the gear and the wind—” He gestures vaguely toward the starboard side. “It snapped open.”
My grip tightens on the wheel. “And she was there when it did.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Really bad luck.”
I don’t say anything.
I want to yell—at him, at them, at the whole damn world. But the truth is, he couldn’t have seen this coming. None of us could’ve.
And I hate that.
The sound of the engine fills the space between us. Every pulse of it vibrates through my chest. I glance back again. Jake’s still hovering over her, his hand resting just above her wrist now, checking her pulse.
She looks small there on the floor, wrapped in her oversized jacket, blood still smeared along her cheekbone.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek.
I want someone to blame. I want something to break.
Instead, I push the throttle a little harder toward shore, because for now, the only thing I can do for her is get her home.
Jake’s still hovering over her, checking her arm, her ribs, the side of her neck, muttering under his breath as he goes. I’m half watching him, half keeping my eyes on the horizon, counting down how many miles left till the harbour.
Then—so faint I almost think I imagined it—
“...ow.”
We both snap our heads toward her.
“Madeline?” Jake says first, voice sharp, urgent.
Her lips twitch into the smallest, weakest smile. Her eyes are still closed. “My body hurts,” she whispers, voice slurred, tired.
Jake exhales, a breath that sounds like relief and panic twisted together. “Yeah,” he says softly, already pressing a new bandage to her head. “I know. I’m working on it, okay?”
She makes a small sound that could almost be a laugh, but it breaks into a wince instead.
Then, slowly, her eyelids flutter open.
She blinks once, twice—like it takes effort—and her gaze shifts from Jake to me. For a second, she just stares, confused, the world still catching up to her.
And then those eyes—green, bright even under the smear of blood and the gray light filtering through the glass—focus.
I didn’t realize how tense I was until that moment. Until I see that colour again.
Something in my chest unclenches, sharp and dizzying.
Jake’s hand is still steady on her arm, but his jaw loosens, a tiny flicker of a smile breaking through.
“Hey,” he says, low.
“Hey,” she echoes, barely a whisper.