Chapter 77: Jake
She’s staring out the window, chin resting lightly on her hand, the sunlight catching the auburn in her hair. For a moment, I just watch her—quiet, steady—but then my gaze snags on the faint bruise still darkening her temple, just beneath the cut.
That same low, silent rage stirs again in my chest.
The same one I’ve been carrying since she walked into the house earlier—since I saw how pale she was, how careful she moved her arm, how she flinched when she thought she’d interrupted something.
Since Reid touched her body as if he'd done it many times before. Since she bolted for the door like she couldn’t breathe near us.
I sigh, running a hand over my jaw. “Madeline,” I start, voice low. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
She turns immediately, green eyes wide, a flicker of apprehension flashing through them. I can almost see her trying to predict what’s about to come out of my mouth—like she’s bracing for bad news.
I look at her for a moment longer—really look at her. At the soft curve of her mouth, the tiny furrow between her brows, that stubborn little strand of hair that always falls forward when she’s thinking.
“I know it hasn’t been easy to integrate at SWMRI,” I say finally. “Reid wasn’t exactly… welcoming. And I wasn’t much better. And Sloane—” I pause, jaw tightening. “—has had some moments.”
Her eyes drop to her hands, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin.
“I’m sorry,” I continue quietly. “For all of it. For the team making you feel uncomfortable.”
She instantly waves her hands in front of her, shaking her head. “No, no, it’s okay, really. It’s not your fault—”
“Madeline.”
Just her name. But it’s enough to make her stop talking.
I hold her gaze, keeping my tone calm. “I can’t control what other people do. And with a small team, in a small town, it’s not easy bringing someone new in. But what I can do is apologize. And tell you that we need you here. We want you here.”
Her eyes flick up to mine again, wide and uncertain.
“But,” I add, softer now, “I’ll understand if it’s been too much. If you don’t want to stay.”
Her reaction is instant—pure panic flashing across her face. “No! I—I want to be here. Please don’t send me back to the city.”
The desperation in her voice knocks the air out of me. She looks terrified.
I reach across the table, covering her hand with mine before she can start rambling again. “Hey, hey. No one’s sending you anywhere.”
She stills under my touch, breathing shallow but steadying.
I remember what Reid told me about that night she panicked outside, about the phone call that set her off. There’s something waiting for her in that city—something she doesn’t want to go back to.
But I’m not going to ask. Not yet.
Instead, I just offer her a small, reassuring smile. “Good,” I say quietly. “Because I don’t want you to leave either.”
Her shoulders relax, and for the first time in a long while, she exhales like she believes it.
The food comes, and for a while, we eat in silence. The diner hums around us—forks scraping plates, low conversations, the coffee machine hissing—but it all fades into the background. She’s sitting across from me, sunlight slipping through the blinds and cutting across her face, and all I can think about is the bruise still shadowing her temple. A reminder of how easily we could’ve lost her.
Then I feel it—her eyes on me.
Not a quick glance. Not curiosity.
Lingering. Careful. Like she’s trying to memorize me.
I keep eating, pretending I don’t notice. But the tension is there, pulling tighter with every second she doesn’t look away.
Finally, I meet her gaze. “You’ve got a question?”
She startles, caught. “Uh. Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “It was you,” she says softly, “at the traffic light on my first night, wasn’t it?”
My fork stills midair. That night’s burned into my memory—her standing there under the moon, arms wrapped around herself, trying to look brave and failing at it. The red light had made her green eyes glow. She looked so goddamn beautiful.
A slow smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah,” I say. “That was me.”
She nods, looking almost shy now. “Where did you go that night?”
“I had meetings with a few universities. Funding, data work. That’s why Reid had you first.”
“Oh.” She nods again, thoughtful. “Sorry for mistaking you for him at first.”
I huff a small laugh, low. “You’re not the first. Won’t be the last.”
That earns me a smile, quick and unguarded, and for a second it hits me like a punch—how soft she looks when she lets her guard down.
I lean back, studying her. “So,” I murmur, “how do you tell the difference?”
She blinks, thrown. “Between you and Reid?”
“Yeah.” My voice dips lower, amused. “Most people can’t. At least not right away. You figured it out pretty fast.”
Her cheeks go pink, her fork pausing over her plate. “There are… small differences.”
“Enlighten me.”
She shifts, her voice barely above a whisper now. “Your voice. It’s different. And your eyes are lighter.”
Her words hang there between us. I lean in slightly, just enough for her to feel it. “You’ve been looking close, then.”
She freezes, eyes flicking up to mine, breath catching for half a second. I let the silence stretch, enjoying the way her pulse jumps in her throat before I pull back again, pretending to go back to my food.
“Good to know,” I say, smirking faintly. “Guess you see more than most.”
She looks down, trying to hide her blush, but I still see it.
And something twisted churns in my chest at the sight of her blushing for me.
This girl.
There’s still a lot I don’t know about her.
And maybe that’s what keeps pulling me in—like the more I learn, the less I understand.
She sits across from me, tearing her napkin into tiny pieces while she hums something under her breath, completely unaware of how much space she takes up in my head. There’s an innocence to her, but not the kind that’s naïve. It’s quieter than that. Careful. Like she’s used to people taking too much from her and learned to hold herself just out of reach.
And I don’t know what the hell that does to me, but it does something.
Reid feels it too. I can see it every damn time he looks at her—his jaw tight, his voice too sharp, his hands curling like he’s fighting himself. I don’t know if what’s in him is anger or desire or some dangerous mix of both, but it’s there. And it’s growing.
Then there’s Finn and Liam.
Idiots, sure—but good-hearted ones. Still, I can see the way they watch her when she walks by, the way they stumble over their own words around her, trying to make her laugh. And she does—she laughs, not realizing that every smile from her pulls them deeper in.
Reid’s always been the storm—controlled, cold, but when he breaks, he destroys everything in his path. I’ve seen it. Lived through it.
And I’m not much better. My patience only lasts as long as my restraint does, and lately, both are wearing thin.
Madeline Quinn doesn’t know what she’s stepped into.
She has no idea she’s wandered into a clearing full of wolves—all teeth, all hunger, all fighting to see who gets closest to her without shredding the others apart.
And I hate myself for being one of them.