Chapter 70: Jake
Reid spent the morning checking the boat with Sloane.
I know because he left early—barely said a word, just grabbed his jacket and keys and was gone.
That’s fine. I stayed back. Someone had to.
The guys fixed everything yesterday. The latch, the gear, the ropes—everything’s secure and sealed and up to standard. The boat’s fine. The problem isn’t the boat.
The problem’s me.
I’ve been pacing since sunrise, trying to figure out what the hell we’re supposed to say to Sloane when she gets back. Her little stunt with leaving Madeline outside feels small now, almost stupid in comparison, but it still matters. You don’t ignore protocol just because someone else fucked up worse afterward.
Still, every time I try to think about Sloane, my head just loops back to her.
Madeline.
We haven’t talked about it. Reid and I. Not really.
The night it happened, we sat at the table with Charlie, talking about HR procedures like we were filling out forms instead of trying to process the fact that she could’ve died.
Reid was tense, jaw locked, answering only what needed to be said.
I followed his lead.
We didn’t say how she looked when we found her, or how the blood didn’t stop fast enough, or how the sound of that latch snapping is still stuck in my head like a gunshot.
We didn’t talk about how Reid went still—too still—before he moved like someone lit a fire in him.
Reid’s always been the angrier one. He feels things hard, but that day was something else. That wasn’t frustration. That wasn’t him being short-tempered. That was fear wearing rage as armor.
And me? I was worse.
Because the moment she hit the floor—when her body went limp and her head cracked against the metal—all I could think was not her. Not this girl. Not the one who makes the air feel lighter when she walks into a room.
I haven’t felt that kind of panic in years. The kind that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go.
When I touched her, checking for a pulse, for breath, for something—my hands were shaking so bad I could barely focus.
And then she woke up. Whispered that she hurt. Looked right at me with those green eyes, dazed and small.
And I swear I felt my heart restart.
Now I’m sitting here, coffee gone cold, wondering what the hell to do with all of that.
Reid’s been silent since. Brooding in that way he does, like he’s trying to bury what happened. I get it. I’m doing the same.
But the truth is, it’s there.
The panic. The anger. The memory of her bleeding and fragile and still.
And the worst part?
I know it’s only a matter of time before it happens again—something that makes me remember how it felt to think I’d lost her.
I snap out of it when the door opens.
Reid’s voice carries through first, low and even, with Sloane’s just behind it—cooler, sharper, that kind of tone that always sounds like she’s two seconds from laughing or killing someone. I can’t tell which.
They’re talking about something—engine performance, I think. Or maybe the mooring lines. My head’s still half somewhere else until they step into the living room.
Reid glances at me once before sitting down on the arm of the couch. Sloane stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed, that unreadable expression she wears when she knows she’s about to be interrogated.
I push away from the wall and walk down from the office, trying to sound casual. “Hey. How were your days off?”
She looks at me like she’s surprised I even asked. “Good,” she says finally. “Saw my family. Ate too much. Slept a lot. You know—human things.”
I nod, leaning against the dining table behind the couch. “Glad to hear it.”
The air tightens almost instantly after that.
She feels it too—her eyes flick between me and Reid, reading the silence.
She crosses her arms. “Alright,” she says flatly. “What is it?”
Reid doesn’t say anything—just looks at me.
Right. I’m the one who has to say it.
I exhale through my nose, slow. “We heard what happened with Madeline before you left.”
Sloane raises a brow, head tilting slightly, but doesn’t say a word. Just waiting.
She’s really gonna make me spell it out.
She’s always been like that—quiet, unflinching, made of the same sharp metal as me and Reid. It’s why we’ve always trusted her. Why this whole damn thing feels so much worse.
“I know you wouldn’t forget a boat rule,” I say finally. My voice sounds calmer than I feel. “So you left her out there on purpose.”
Silence.
It stretches, heavy and loaded, long enough for me to feel the muscle in Reid’s jaw twitch from across the room.
Sloane just lifts her brows again, completely unfazed. “Is there a question,” she asks coolly, “or are you just telling me a story?”
And that’s when Reid cuts in—sharp, clipped, controlled.
“The question,” he says, eyes locked on her,
“is why.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes just slightly, and it’s the kind of reaction that crawls right under my skin. No answer. Just that.
I clear my throat, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Look,” I start, keeping it calm, “I know sometimes you, Finn, and Liam pull stupid shit like that on each other. You joke around, push limits.” I gesture vaguely between her and the air, forcing a thin grin. “Hell, I left him out during a storm once.” I jerk my chin toward Reid. “He still hasn’t forgiven me.”
It earns me a snort from Reid—barely—but Sloane doesn’t so much as blink.
“But why Madeline?” I ask, tone dropping back to serious. “She’s new. Barely enough time on the boat to find her footing. What’s the point?”
Sloane sighs, tilts her head, arms still crossed like we’re inconveniencing her. “Relax. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
That does it.
Reid’s tone cuts through the room like a blade. “It was a big deal,” he snaps. “Because you disregarded my order to have her go inside.”
The silence that follows feels thick—dangerous, even.
Sloane’s sarcastic smile fades, and she finally looks at him like she might realize she just stepped somewhere she shouldn’t have.