Chapter 96: Madeline
The next few minutes blur together—Charlie’s voice soft and careful as she asks things in small pieces, just to understand. Not prying, not pushing—just wanting to know.
“Did you tell your family?”
I shake my head. “They live overseas. I didn’t want them to worry.”
“Do the police still have his name on record?”
“Yes.” My voice cracks a little. “But without proof, they said it doesn’t mean much.”
She keeps asking—how long it went on, how I got through school, whether I ever saw him again after the night I ran. And I answer everything, because I know she’s right. If I say it all now, I won’t have to dig it up again later.
When she finally goes quiet, I think we’re done. The sea hums beneath us, slow and constant, gulls crying in the fog.
Then I say it—barely above a whisper.
“Last night… when I heard the screams. When Albie said someone was watching—”
Charlie’s breath catches. The color drains from her face.
“Oh my god, Mads,” she says, voice trembling. “Of course you—of course—”
“I thought it was him,” I say. “For a second, I really did.”
The words come easier now, soft but sharp. “Even here. Hours and hours from the city. Tucked between cliffs where the air smells like salt and no one even has a full address. I thought he found me. I thought… if it really was him, I didn’t know if I could do it again. If I was strong enough to face him, or even run.”
Charlie’s eyes brim with tears. “Oh, Madeline…” Her voice breaks. “I feel awful. I was drunk. I didn’t even notice. I should’ve—”
“Hey,” I interrupt gently. “It’s okay.”
She shakes her head, tears spilling fast. “It’s not. You were terrified and we were—”
“It wasn’t him,” I say, forcing a small smile. “He’s not here. I just needed time to remind myself of that. That he can’t find me here. That Northhaven is—” I pause, letting out a long breath. “It’s safe.”
Charlie presses her sleeve to her eyes and nods, though she’s still crying.
I glance back toward the water, watching the waves drag themselves across the rocks and disappear again. “That’s why I came here. To make sure the world was still bigger than him. To remember that he’s somewhere else, and I’m… I’m here.”
Charlie slips her hand back into mine, firm and warm despite the cold.
For a while, we just sit there, letting the quiet do the talking. The fog has thinned a little, the sea stretching out like a dull sheet of silver. Charlie’s thumb traces slow circles over the back of my hand, grounding me without saying a word.
And that’s when I realize—if I’m ever going to tell her, it should be now.
She’s been nothing but kind, patient, steady through every tear and confession. The one person who didn’t flinch or pity me.
“Charlie…” I start. My voice sounds too small.
She looks over, eyes warm. “Yeah?”
I swallow, stare down at the rocks below. “There’s… something else.”
Her brows lift, but she doesn’t speak, just waits.
“Last night,” I say quietly. “When I froze—when I panicked—Reid helped me calm down.”
She blinks but doesn’t interrupt.
“He… stayed with me. Helped me breathe again. Said I was safe until I fell asleep.” I pick at a thread on my sleeve, unable to meet her eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like that, I just—”
When she still doesn’t answer, I risk a glance up.
Charlie’s face is soft. Not angry, not shocked—just kind. A small, knowing smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.
“Reid’s a rottweiler,” she says finally, voice light but certain. “He’ll bite anything that moves. He doesn’t fake being rough—he just is.”
I blink, completely thrown.
She keeps going, tone gentler now. “But he’s got a really good heart. If he saw you struggling, of course he helped.” Her smile widens a little. “I’m glad he did.”
I just stare at her. “You’re… not mad?”
Charlie laughs, this soft, musical sound that somehow makes everything feel easier. “Mad? Why would I be? The rest of us were too drunk to take care of you. It’s a good thing he was there.”
I don’t even know what to say.
This woman—this bright, beautiful, open-hearted woman—can take something that’s been clawing at my guilt since sunrise and turn it into something gentle.
She has no idea that to me it felt like so much more. The way his voice sounded in the dark, the weight of his hands when he said I was safe. She doesn't need to know, because it was one-sided.
It makes something in my chest twist—gratitude tangled with guilt so sharp it hurts.
Because this is Charlie. Sweet, joyful, loyal Charlie.
The woman Reid clearly cares about. The one he looks at differently.
And she’s sitting here, being kind to me about him.
It’s one more reason—maybe the only one I’ll ever need—why I can’t let Reid touch me again.
No matter what happened last night.
No matter how safe I felt for the first time in months.
When the wind picks up and my hair starts whipping across my face, Charlie shivers. “Okay,” she says finally, voice light again. “If I don’t move soon, I’m going to freeze to death, and then you will have to tell everyone what happened, and I’m not trusting you to write my eulogy.”
A tiny laugh escapes me. It’s the first real one in hours.
She stands and tugs at my hand. “Come on, let’s go home. I need a nap, and you need food before you disappear into a puddle.”
I hesitate for a moment, glancing back at the gray water. The waves roll and pull, same as always. Only now, I feel like I can stand up without the world tipping sideways.
I take her hand. “Okay.”
We walk back together, side by side, fingers intertwined. The cold air bites at our cheeks, but her hand is warm, solid, real.
For the first time since I came to Northhaven, I don’t feel like I’m carrying everything alone.
Someone else knows now. Someone good.
It feels lighter somehow—like the story I’ve been dragging around for months finally belongs somewhere outside of me.
And it feels even better knowing that Charlie knows what happened last night—that Reid helped me, held me, stayed until I slept—and she’s not angry about it.
She didn’t question it, or me.
She just smiled.
The relief sits deep in my chest, quiet and sure, as we walk up the path toward the house.
For once, I don’t feel like I have to hide.