Chapter 90: Jake
She’s so close I can feel the heat coming off her skin, the faint tremor of her breath as she stands between my knees.
Her scent—vanilla, soap, something faintly sweet—wraps around me until I can’t tell where the air ends and she begins.
If I pulled her another inch, she’d be right against me.
Every ounce of restraint I’ve built over years sits on a knife’s edge.
Her skin feels soft enough that I imagine the give of it under my hands, the sound she’d make if I pulled her onto my lap, if I stopped pretending I don’t want to.
It would be so easy to tip forward, to claim the space she’s left between us. To let my hands roam higher.
Her eyes meet mine, wide, steady. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for.
But I do.
She says my name.
The sound is soft, unsure, and it hits low in my chest, twisting there.
I breathe in once, hard, fighting the impulse to close the distance, to let my mouth find her throat, her jaw, the corner of her lips—
Then a scream splits the house.
High. Sharp. Charlie.
Another follows—Liam—lower, panicked.
Madeline flinches hard; her hands shoot up, gripping my shoulders before she can think.
Her fingers dig in, small and desperate.
I’m on my feet before the echo dies. The contact breaks, the warmth of her skin replaced by cold air.
“Stay here,” I say, voice flat, all command.
Her wide eyes search my face, but I don’t wait for a reply.
The door slams open; the hallway stretches ahead, lights flickering from the storm outside.
I take the stairs two at a time, every nerve alive again—but this time with purpose, not desire.
Downstairs, the noise keeps coming—shouts, something crashing, fear in the air.
Whatever was about to happen upstairs is gone, swallowed whole by the sound of danger.
By the time I hit the bottom of the stairs, the first thing I hear is Reid’s voice—low, cold, the kind that freezes a room.
“Everyone calm the fuck down.”
He isn’t yelling. He doesn’t have to.
That tone alone makes the air snap taut.
I step into the living room.
Charlie’s got a broom gripped like a spear, eyes wide and wild.
Liam’s beside her, barefoot, holding a frying pan in both hands like he actually plans to use it.
Finn’s halfway between them, muttering something that sounds like it moved, and Sloane’s pressed back against the wall, pale and silent.
And in the hallway, both hands raised, dripping rainwater onto the floor—stands Albie, the town’s cab driver.
For a second, nobody moves.
Then I see Reid.
He’s standing dead center in the room, hands in his pockets, his expression carved out of stone.
His face looks calm—eerily calm—but his eyes…
They’re nothing but ice.
Pure, quiet rage.
Not at Albie.
Not at the mess.
At me.
He knows exactly where I was.
Who I was with.
And what I almost did.
The storm outside rattles the windows, thunder rolling somewhere distant, but the sound feels small compared to the one between us.
I take a step closer, slow, steady. The tension’s still vibrating under my skin, but my voice comes out even.
“What happened?”
Albie blinks, pushing wet hair back from his forehead. “Knocked a few times, didn’t hear nothin’. Door was half open, so I just stepped in. Gave these two a right fright, I guess.”
He jerks his chin toward Charlie and Liam. She’s still clutching the broom like it’s holy, and he’s blinking at the frying pan in his hand as if he’s not sure where it came from.
Reid’s tone cuts through the nervous laughter trying to form.
“Why did you come in, Albie?”
Most people flinch when Reid’s voice drops like that. Not Albie. He’s known us for a while now, driven us through storms worse than this one.
He just snorts, rainwater dripping from his coat onto the rug.
“Calm down, lad. Saw someone wanderin’ about out by the side of the house. Figured I’d best say somethin’. Not the sort o’ night folk should be prowlin’ round, eh?”
That lands like a spark in dry air.
Finn straightens, eyes wide. “See? I told you I saw someone at the window!”
The room freezes for a second, the words sinking in.
Then a voice, soft and breaking, comes from behind me.
“Someone… was at the window?”
I turn.
Madeline’s standing halfway down the stairs, pale as salt. She’s gripping the banister so tight her knuckles are white.
Her eyes are on Albie, but she’s not really seeing him—she’s somewhere else entirely, staring past him, through him.
Something in my chest twists.
Albie doesn’t notice the shift in the room. He grins, voice booming in that rough coastal drawl.
“Heeey, whale girl! Still hangin’ about with this lot, are ye?”
He shrugs, oblivious to the way every muscle in the room just tensed.
“Anyway, just thought I’d let ye know so ye can check it out. Didn’t look like much, but better safe than sorry.”
He tips his head, already turning toward the door, muttering something about the roads flooding up by the curve.
“Right then. I’ll head off. Mind yourselves.”
And just like that, he’s gone—door creaking shut, rain swallowing his words.
The door shuts behind Albie, the echo of the storm filling the silence he leaves behind.
I scan the room once—Charlie’s still gripping the broom, swaying a little; Liam’s dropped the frying pan and looks one blink away from the floor.
Finn’s grinning at nothing, muttering something about ghosts.
Sloane’s got that glazed look that means she’s barely holding onto her balance, let alone a coherent thought.
Completely useless.
All of them.
I turn, about to say something to Reid, when movement on the stairs catches my eye.
Madeline.
She’s still clutching the banister, eyes wide and unfocused, skin so pale she almost blends into the light.
“I told you to stay upstairs,” I say.
The words come out harsher than I mean them to.
She flinches like she’s been struck. Her hand slips on the rail, foot catching on the edge of the step.
I reach her in a heartbeat, one hand closing around her arm before she can fall.
“Careful,” I mutter.
Her breath stutters out, unsteady. She looks up at me like she’s only just realizing I’m here.
I keep my hand steady on her arm until I’m sure she’s not about to crumble, then let go and turn toward Reid.
He’s watching the scene unfold, that same sharp focus carved into his face.
“I’ll check around,” I tell him. “Make sure there’s no one actually out there. Could be someone trying to get in.”
Reid lifts a brow. “No one does that in Northhaven.”
“I know,” I say. “Maybe it’s a prank. Kids screwing around.”
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drifts to the others, who are now arguing over whose idea it was to grab a weapon in the first place.
I sigh. “You stay here. I’ll look around.”
He finally looks at me, and I can see it—the thought passing through him, the silent agreement.
“I’ll deal with these idiots,” he says quietly.
I nod once, jaw tight, and glance back at Madeline.
She’s still standing where I left her, small and fragile against the stormlight.
For a moment, I think about telling her again to go upstairs.
But the look in her eyes stops me.
Whatever Albie saw—or she thought he saw—it’s not the wind she’s afraid of.