Chapter 75: Madeline
Fifteen minutes later, it’s over.
Or at least, it’s supposed to be.
My arm is wrapped again, clean and neat this time, the throbbing dulling under layers of gauze and antiseptic. But I’m still shaking. Half from pain—half from them.
At some point, when the sting got too bad, Reid’s hand had found my waist, grounding me, keeping me from jerking away. His fingers pressed just enough to remind me he was there, firm and steady. Then Jake—calm, focused Jake—had taken my hand when they tightened the stitches, murmuring something low that I didn’t even register. I was too busy trying to pretend my pulse wasn’t thundering against both their touches.
Their hands. Their arms. The veins standing out on Reid’s forearms, the way Jake’s jaw flexed when he concentrated. The sound of their breathing when the silence stretched too long.
I’m going to hell. There’s no other explanation for feeling like this about either of them—let alone both.
Jake finishes first, quietly cleaning up, organizing the supplies with that same meticulous calm that makes him so unfairly composed.
Reid stays.
He picks up a clean cloth and starts wiping the blood that streaked down my forearm. His thumb lingers against my skin, slow, careful. Too careful.
I can feel every inch of him—his presence, his heat, the space he fills without saying a single word. He’s still standing between my knees, so close that I can feel the brush of his breath when he exhales.
His gaze lifts to my face, sharp and unreadable. For a second, I think he’s going to say something—but then his eyes dip. To my mouth.
I stop breathing.
He doesn’t move away. Neither do I. The world narrows to the sound of my heartbeat, the faint hum of the fridge, and the weight of his stare burning through me.
This is insane. He was awful to me when I started—cold, harsh, impossible to read. I’ve spent weeks convincing myself he hates me, that he barely tolerates having me on the boat. But then there are moments like this, where he looks at me like that, and I start wondering if I’m completely wrong.
Maybe that anger isn’t hate. Maybe it’s something else.
I look up at him too, and for a suspended second it feels like time is stretching thin—like if either of us moves, something irreversible will happen.
Then the doorbell rings.
The sound slices through the tension like a blade.
Reid’s jaw flexes, his eyes closing for a heartbeat, and then he sighs. He steps back, the warmth leaving with him.
Without it, the chill hits immediately, and my shaking only gets worse.
As Reid heads for the door, Jake steps back into the kitchen. He glances toward the entryway at the sound of muffled voices, then looks at me.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low but steady.
I nod. Or at least, I try to. My throat feels too tight for words.
He reaches for my sleeve, rolling it carefully down over the fresh bandage. His thumb brushes against my knee as he does, a small, almost unconscious touch that sends another wave of warmth through me.
When I look up, his eyes are already on my face, scanning me—like he’s searching for something, some hidden sign that I’m still in pain.
The voices at the door get louder, closer. He exhales, then says, “May I?”
His hands hover on either side of my waist, waiting for my cue.
I nod again.
In one easy motion, he lifts me from the counter and sets me gently on the floor. His touch is warm and sure, like Reid’s had been, and for a split second I wonder how it’s possible that two people can make me feel like that.
Back on my feet, he's so tall that I have to look up at him again. He gives me the smallest smile—half tired, half kind—and I somehow find myself smiling back.
But the moment breaks when I turn toward the door.
Reid’s there, and so is Charlie.
She’s hugging him. And he’s—he’s smiling. Actually smiling. His arms go around her easily, like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before.
“Watcha been up to, big guy?” she teases, her hand still resting on his bicep.
He chuckles, low and soft, guiding her inside.
Something twists painfully in my stomach.
Oh.
Oh.
That’s why she knows so much about him. Why she’s always so comfortable here. Why Finn once joked that Charlie likes dating coworkers.
It all makes sense now. Charlie and Reid. Of course.
And the realization makes me feel… awful. Not just because I feel stupid for not noticing before, but because a sharp, nauseating pit opens in my stomach, and I know I have no right to feel that way.
Charlie hugs Jake too when she walks in, but not the same way. Shorter, lighter. Friendly.
Then her gaze lands on me. Her eyes widen.
“What happened?” she blurts, rushing toward me. “Oh my God, it opened again?”
I look down at the small blood stain seeping through my sleeve from earlier and nod sheepishly. “Yeah. I came here to grab some papers and it just… opened.”
Her face scrunches in worry. “Are you okay?”
“She’s fine,” Reid says before I can answer, his voice softer now. “We patched her up.”
Charlie exhales hard, a hand to her chest. “Thank God for you, superhero.”
Reid rolls his eyes but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Shut up,” he mutters, but it’s gentle. Familiar.
And it confirms everything I just pieced together.
I feel stupid. And small. And suddenly dizzy all over again—but not from the injury this time.
“I should go,” I blurt, turning to Jake. “I’ll, uh, go home now.”
Charlie straightens. “I can drive you.”
I shake my head quickly, backing toward the door. “No, no—it’s okay. Stay here. I’ll walk.”
I’m moving before anyone can argue, nearly tripping once on the way out. “Thank you,” I say—to all three of them, though my voice barely comes out—and then I’m outside, the cold air hitting my face.
I don’t stop walking.
Not until the house disappears behind me, and the only sound left is my heartbeat, loud and relentless, begging me to forget what I just saw.