Chapter 66: Jake
I’ve never been this fucking happy to see the color green.
To hear that small, shaky “hey.”
Reid exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I texted Charlie,” he says. “She’s getting medics to the harbour.”
I nod, but my focus doesn’t move from Madeline. She’s breathing, awake, talking. That’s all that matters.
“Can you sit up?” I ask her quietly.
She nods, tries, but her hands shake. I slip my hand behind her back, lifting her slowly until she’s upright, her head tipping forward a little. She groans but stays up, and that alone feels like a goddamn miracle.
“I’m fine,” she murmurs. “Nothing’s spinning anymore.”
“Not good that it was in the first place,” I mutter, checking her pupils again. One’s a little slower, but she’s focusing, tracking—good enough for now.
Her jacket’s torn through the sleeve, the blood spreading further. “Can I take this off?” I ask.
“Why?” she says, her voice soft, cheeks flushing pink.
Before I can answer, Reid says from behind me, low and firm, “Your arm’s hurt too.”
She looks down, notices the rip, and blinks. “Oh.”
I unzip her jacket slowly. “Okay,” I murmur, keeping my tone as steady as I can. “Let’s get this off you.”
She helps, barely, shoulders trembling. I slide the jacket off her, trying not to brush against her skin more than I have to, but every time I do, she flinches.
Underneath, she’s got a thick navy sweater—oversized, of course. I reach for the hem and try to lighten the air, though my voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Jesus, how many layers did you put on?”
Her lips twitch into the faintest smile. “A lot.”
That small sound of laughter—it does something to me.
I pull the sweater up slowly, carefully guiding her arms through. She winces, jaw tight as she lifts her left one. When it’s finally off, she’s down to a pale gray long sleeve, and that’s when I see it.
A dark stain of blood, spreading near her bicep. The fabric’s torn clean through.
“Do you have anything underneath this one?” I ask.
Her eyes dart between me and Reid. “Uh—yeah. A tank top.”
I nod once. “Okay.”
My fingers find the hem again, slow this time. I wait for her to stop me, but she doesn’t. She hesitates—her throat bobbing, her breath catching—but then she nods, almost imperceptibly.
I lift the shirt inch by inch, careful around her left arm. She winces again, biting her lip to keep from crying out. By the time the shirt’s off, her arm’s bare, streaked with blood and already bruising.
She sees it. And her breath stutters. Her face crumples for half a second before she can stop it, tears gathering in her eyes.
Before I can say anything, Reid moves in fast. His voice drops, low and steady. “Hey. Don’t look. It’s not that bad.”
She shakes her head, eyes flicking down again, but he reaches out, hand hovering just beneath her chin. “Madeline. Look at me.”
She does. Slowly.
Her green eyes lock on his, and he doesn’t look away. Not for a second.
I work fast, cleaning the wound, wrapping it tight enough to stop the bleeding but not enough to hurt. All the while, Reid keeps her focus—quiet, unflinching, steady.
She’s breathing through her nose now, eyes still locked on his.
When I’m done with her arm, I exhale hard, set the gauze aside, and lean back on my heels. My whole body’s still buzzing, like the adrenaline hasn’t figured out she’s safe yet.
“I’ll take over,” I tell Reid quietly, rubbing the back of my neck. “You should sit with her.”
What I really mean is I need a fucking minute.
A break from being this close to her—from touching her.
Before today, I’d barely even laid a hand on her.
Except that one time on the dock, when the crate came loose. She’d thought I was Reid then, turned around with those wide eyes right before I grabbed her elbow and yanked her out of the way. The crate smashed into the spot where she’d just been standing.
That day, I was fast enough.
Today, I wasn’t.
Reid moves from the captain’s chair and sits beside her, still pale from the chaos of it all. She’s got tears drying on her cheeks, her good hand fidgeting with the hem of her tank top. Her eyes flick to him, then down, and her voice comes out quiet, almost too quiet.
“I guess you were right.”
Reid frowns. “About what?”
I’m thinking the same damn thing.
She takes a shaky breath. “About me. Today just proved it.” She forces a laugh that sounds all wrong. “I’m a liability. I’m not ready to be on the boat.”
My jaw drops before I can stop it. No fucking way.
For a second, I can’t tell who I’m more pissed at—her for believing it, or Reid for ever giving her that idea. I’m about to snap, to tell him what an asshole move that was, but he beats me to it.
Reid’s voice drops low. “Madeline.”
She blinks up at him, startled.
He reaches out and takes her chin between his fingers, firm but careful, his other hand finding the side of her neck. The motion’s slow, deliberate. She freezes under his touch, her breathing shallow, eyes locked on his.
“Nothing that happened today,” he says, voice calm but hard enough to make even me still, “was your fault.”
She tries to shake her head, but he doesn’t let her.
“It could’ve been me. Or Jake. Or anyone walking there when that latch gave out. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her throat bobs, eyes glassy, and he keeps going, voice quieter now—gentler, even.
“And if I was waiting for some moment for you to fuck up and prove you weren’t good enough…” He exhales through his nose, his thumb brushing lightly against her jaw. “This wasn’t it. So you’ll have to keep trying.”
For a moment, the only sound is the hum of the engines and her uneven breathing.
Then a tear slides down her cheek. Then another. Silent. She wipes them away with her good hand, nodding to herself, shoulders trembling just slightly.
Reid lets go of her slowly, his hands falling back to his knees.
She keeps nodding, whispering, “Okay,” under her breath.
And I sit there, jaw tight, watching the two of them like I’ve just witnessed something I wasn’t supposed to—something fragile, private, dangerous.