Chapter 72: Reid
I can’t see straight. Everything’s pulsing red.
The fucking nerve of Sloane.
We’ve butted heads before—more times than I can count. That’s normal. Two people too stubborn for their own good, working side by side in chaos—it happens. But this? Taking her shit out on Madeline? Putting her safety at risk? That’s a line you don’t cross.
Yeah, I’ve been hard on her. I know that. But never like this. Never in a way that’d possibly put her life in danger. Sloane made it physical, made it cruel—and then had the gall to throw around that bullshit about her screwing Finn or Liam.
The second that thought crosses my head again, my fists clench, jaw grinding so hard I hear it. Jake’s arm is once more across me, a silent warning not to do something I’ll regret. And he’s right, but right now, I want to regret it.
Then I see her.
Madeline.
Standing frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, confusion and panic flickering across her face. She’s cradling her bad arm, and that—that—snaps something else in me. Sloane knew exactly what she was doing.
“Come in,” Jake says, his voice steady, careful.
She shakes her head fast. “No, no, I’m—I’m gonna leave. I’m sorry for—bothering, I didn’t mean to—”
“Madeline.”
Her name comes out of me like a command, rough and low. She stills instantly.
Her eyes meet mine—green, wide, unsure—and she steps inside, hesitating like she’s afraid one wrong move will set me off.
I take a step back. Then another, until my back hits the edge of the couch. I can’t be near anyone right now—not her, not Jake, not after what just happened.
Because I swear to God, if I don’t get control of myself, I’ll be the next one to do something I can’t take back.
Jake knows it too—because the second Madeline steps fully inside, he subtly shifts, angling himself between us. A quiet, unspoken warning.
Madeline’s standing there in the doorway like she’s not sure what comes next, one hand gripping her arm just above the elbow, her fingers white from the pressure. Her eyes flick around the room like she’s expecting to see wreckage—shattered glass, holes in the walls. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame her for thinking she’d walked into a war zone.
How much did she hear?
She’s the one to speak first, her voice small but steady. “I—really, I’ll just see you guys at work tomorrow.”
Jake’s tone softens instantly. “It’s fine. You’re here. What’s up?”
That’s when I realize it—I haven’t seen her since the boat. Since she was bleeding and half-conscious in my arms.
Now she’s standing upright in front of me, alive, but she looks… breakable. She’s in fitted jeans and a grey shirt, simple, but somehow that makes it worse. Makes it harder not to notice the way her chest rises when she’s nervous, or how the fabric clings to her waist. I drag my eyes back up, but it’s too late; the guilt’s already there.
There’s colour back in her cheeks, thank God. No blood in her hair anymore. But just above her temple, tucked under loose strands, I catch it—the bruise. Deep purple, blooming ugly next to the thin cut that’s still healing.
My stomach twists.
The same sharp, familiar rage threatens to crawl up my throat again, and I force it down. She’s already looking at me like I might explode, like Jake’s the only one in this room who’s safe.
And she’s right to think that.
Because right now, I can’t promise I wouldn’t break something—or someone—if I didn’t keep myself in check.
So I do the only thing I can. I stay still. Breathe through my nose.
And remind myself that no matter how angry I am, she’s the one person in this room I’d never hurt.
She looks at Jake when she finally speaks, voice careful, like she’s choosing every word.
“I think you kept most of my notes from the humpback sightings,” she says. “I figured… I could get a head start on it. So I came to grab them back.”
Jake frowns immediately, that big-brother tone settling into his voice.
“You’re supposed to rest.”
“I have,” she insists. “I’m fine.”
To prove her point, she fake-wobbles down an imaginary straight line, then taps her nose with both index fingers like she’s doing a sobriety test.
I can’t help it—the smallest huff of a laugh escapes me. The movement’s ridiculous, and completely her.
Jake chuckles too, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll get them for you, but I still think you should wait till tomorrow.”
She shrugs. “I’ll be fine. I just want to go over them slowly.”
He studies her for a second, then nods. “While you’re on the topic, I actually went over your notes yesterday. I had a few questions—if you want to talk about it. Or we can wait until tomorrow.”
Her brows lift, clearly not expecting that. “Talk about it… here?”
Jake pretends to look around the room, his mouth twitching. “Yeah. Just a regular house, I promise. No trap doors, no hidden shark tanks.”
That gets her—she lets out a small laugh, and even from where I stand, I feel the air shift. Just a little.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Sure.”
Jake smiles, easy and warm, then nods toward the stairs. “I’ll go get them.”
And just like that, he’s gone—leaving the two of us in the quiet living room.
Her standing there, still hugging her arm to her side.
Me watching her, trying not to think about how every single thing about this girl seems to wreck my goddamn balance.
I take a slow step toward her. Then another.
She doesn’t move, just stands there near the door, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve like she’s debating if she should bolt. The door behind her is still open, letting in the sound of the wind, the faint chatter of gulls. I reach past her, close enough to smell that faint vanilla scent clinging to her hair, and push the door shut with a soft click.
She startles a little, eyes flicking up to mine. The space between us feels charged—too close, too quiet.
“I’m really sorry,” she says quickly, voice small, nervous. “For interrupting. I didn’t mean to.”
My hand moves before I can stop it—just one knuckle tracing the side of her cheek. She goes still under the touch, a pink flush blooming across her skin.
“You didn’t,” I say, low.
Her breath catches, and for half a second, I forget what air feels like too.
Then I hear footsteps on the stairs. Jake’s voice.
I pull my hand back, take a step away, force my expression into something neutral just as he walks back into the room.