Chapter 85: Madeline
The laughter hasn’t even settled when the door opens.
Sloane’s voice floats from the entryway, a quick, dry “finally,” and then the twins are just… there.
Big, soaked through, arms full of paper bags that look like they could split at any second. The sound of the door shutting barely cuts through the chaos.
“Holy hell,” Charlie says, twisting on the couch. “You bought the entire restaurant?”
Jake grins, shaking rain from his hair. “Pretty much.”
They look too broad for the room again—too intense, too sharp around the edges. The kind of presence that fills every corner without trying.
Reid’s gaze drifts over the space, taking in the noise, the laughter, and then lands on me.
I feel it before I meet it.
I push off Liam’s side, brushing his arm away gently, and stand. “Here, I’ll help.”
Reid opens his mouth—“Wait, it’s hea—”
But I’ve already grabbed the nearest bag. It’s heavier than it looks; my arms drop with the weight and I almost stumble. “What the hell is in this? Bricks?”
That earns a few laughs from Finn and Liam, but Reid just smirks, rain still clinging to his hair.
“Something like that,” he says, watching me over the rim of the other bag he’s holding.
I shift the weight in my hands and glare at him, half out of breath. “You could’ve warned me.”
“I tried,” he says, and that small, knowing curl of his mouth doesn’t fade.
Charlie’s already clearing space on the table, still laughing. “Okay, brick boy, put those down before someone dislocates something.”
Jake drops his load beside hers, and the smell of food fills the air—warm and rich and too good to resist.
The house doesn’t quiet. It just folds the twins into its noise, the energy shifting but never breaking.
The twins shrug out of their coats, hanging them by the door—
and my brain just… blanks.
No work gear. No heavy layers. Just dark shirts that fit too well, sleeves pushed to their elbows, skin and muscle and quiet confidence on full display.
They look nothing like they do on the boats.
So effortless.
So casual.
So male in a way that scrapes every nerve raw.
Jake’s in a faded black tee over white, the neckline stretched, the fabric soft from years of wear. His forearms flex when he runs a hand through his hair, veins sharp against tan skin.
Reid’s in something darker, thin cotton clinging across his chest, collar loose, the faintest shadow of stubble along his jaw catching the light when he turns.
It’s unfair—how beautiful they are like this. Not polished. Not careful. Just… impossibly attractive.
My pulse stutters, heat crawling up my throat. They’re too much for this room—for the flickering kitchen lights and the clatter of forks and the sound of Charlie laughing.
They move through it like gravity, and I’m caught in the pull before I even realize I’ve stopped breathing.
Reid glances over, catches me looking, and that half-smirk ghosts across his face again.
I look away fast, pretending to be fascinated by a container of pasta. What the hell is wrong with me?
Thankfully, everyone’s too busy talking and laughing to notice.
Charlie claps her hands once. “Okay, everyone sit before I pass out. I’m starving.”
Chairs scrape; bodies shift. The table feels smaller once everyone settles.
Charlie, Liam, and Sloane claim one side.
I end up across from them with Finn.
Reid takes the head of the table beside Charlie, Jake the other head beside me and Sloane.
It’s strange, being boxed in by them—Reid and Jake anchoring either end like the room belongs to them. Which, in a way, it does.
The noise dips. For a breath, it’s just the sound of plates and the low hum of conversation.
Then Charlie looks at Reid, eyes glinting.
“I told the bosses,” she says, drawing out the word, “that they have to be normal human beings tonight. No lectures, no logistics, no ‘did you finish that report’ nonsense. You’re off duty. Behave accordingly.”
A few grins break around the table. Reid’s mouth curves, slow and dangerous, like he’s trying not to show teeth.
Something about her tone catches me off guard, and a laugh slips out before I can stop it. It’s too quick, too bright against the quiet.
Every head turns.
The sound dies in my throat. I freeze, eyes darting across the table—Charlie’s grin, Finn’s smirk, Jake’s amused tilt of his head, Reid’s steady stare that doesn’t move.
For a beat, no one says a thing.
Then Charlie bursts out laughing, and the rest follow—Finn’s loud, Jake’s low, Liam choking on a sip of wine.
All except Sloane, who just watches, expression unreadable.
Heat crawls up my neck, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at my mouth.
Whatever strange stillness had crept into the room is gone now, replaced by warmth and laughter that fills every corner.
Plates pass from hand to hand, forks scrape, everyone talking at once. The air smells like garlic and butter and wine.
Finn’s beside me, loading my plate again like he’s on a mission.
“Finn,” I laugh, “stop—seriously.”
He flashes that grin, the easy kind that gets him out of trouble. “You’re gonna thank me later.”
“I’ll be in a food coma later,” I shoot back, trying to take the spoon from him, but he just dodges me and adds another scoop.
Charlie snorts from down the table. “Finn, she’s not a stray you’re trying to fatten up.”
Laughter ripples around us, overlapping with the sound of plates being set down. Sloane shakes her head, muttering something about “children.”
I roll my eyes and start redistributing half of what he gave me back into the serving dish, which only makes him laugh harder.
The warmth of it spreads through the table—the kind that buzzes under the skin, where everyone’s talking but no one’s really saying anything that matters.
Reid and Jake eat quietly at either end, shadows in motion, their conversation low enough I can’t catch more than a word here and there. Still, every so often, I feel their eyes pass over me—quick, measured, gone again.