Chapter 98: Jake
I wish I could say that was the worst of it—piecing together that maybe someone hurt her, maybe someone’s still looking for her, or just replaying the terror on her face over and over again.
But that wasn’t the worst.
That was the part where we were still getting along.
It didn’t last long.
I tried to steer it somewhere else—toward Finn and Liam. Toward something safer.
I said something about how Liam’s arm had been around her when we got there, how close he sat, how Finn kept teasing her, watching her too closely. I thought maybe that would shift the focus—if I could turn Reid’s attention toward them, give him someone else to glare at.
But it didn’t work.
If anything, it made it worse.
He just nodded once, jaw tightening, and when his eyes finally met mine, they were that same shade of cold I’d seen in the house—ice and fury, all wrapped in control.
He said, “What about you?”
Not loud. Not sharp. Just cutting.
I tried to deflect. “What about me?”
His tone didn’t change. “What happened upstairs.”
I hesitated for half a second, and that was all he needed. His voice went low, dangerous.
“Don’t bother lying. I can read you like a fucking mirror.”
That flicker of heat rose up instantly—frustration, defensiveness, something older than both. I clenched my jaw.
“I met her first,” I said. “The night she arrived. Before you even knew she existed.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t yield. Just stared. “I don’t give a shit who met her first,” he said, voice like gravel. “What happened.”
And he was right—I couldn’t lie. He’d know. He always did.
So I told him.
“She was rambling about the game,” I said slowly. “And I told her to come closer.”
I could see the change immediately—the tightening in his shoulders, the pulse in his neck.
“Nothing really happened,” I added. “She stood in front of me. I… held her thighs, her legs, for a few minutes, to feel her skin. I asked if she felt safe in that house. That’s it. Then the screams started.”
That was the truth.
At least, the version I said out loud.
What I didn’t tell him—what burned behind my teeth—was everything in between.
Her quick, shallow breathing. The way her lips parted like she couldn’t catch enough air. Her trembling fingers brushing my chest, then pulling back as if she’d touched something dangerous.
Those small, electric details that turned a moment into something we couldn’t ever take back.
But I didn’t say any of that.
Didn’t have to.
Because by the time I finished speaking, Reid’s stare told me he already knew.
His silence stretched long enough that I thought maybe he’d drop it.
But then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands locked together, and said—quietly, too quietly—
“Where the fuck did this even come from?”
I frowned. “Where what came from?”
He lifted his eyes, and they were all ice. “Your thing for Madeline. This—whatever the hell you’re doing. It’s like it fucking appeared out of nowhere, and now you can’t keep your hands off her.”
I stared at him for a second, caught between disbelief and the urge to laugh, because his tone—the way he said it like he wasn’t just angry, but disgusted—was already crawling under my skin.
“Where it came from?” I repeated. “You want to talk about that?”
He didn’t answer. Just watched me like I was something he’d rather put through a wall.
Fine.
“Like I said, I was the first one to see her,” I said, heat rising under my voice. “The night she got here, we talked. You didn’t even know her yet. I met her before you did.”
That got a flicker of something out of him—barely there, but enough to know I hit something raw.
“I thought she was beautiful then. Before I even knew her name. I spent days looking for her in town, thinking she was some local I’d somehow missed. Then I found out she was the new hire.”
I leaned back, exhaled hard. “So yeah, Reid. I’ve been into her from the start. I just tried to fight it because it was the right thing to do.”
He didn’t move. Not a blink. Just that stare, hard and unreadable.
So I turned it back on him. “You’re the one who sprung it out of nowhere. You spent the first few weeks practically hating her. Made her life miserable, remember? You couldn’t stand being in the same room with her.”
His jaw clenched, that slow grind that means he’s seconds away from losing control.
“And now?” I went on, not stopping. “Now you’re what—obsessed with her? Can’t take your eyes off her?”
I knew it was a low blow even as I said it.
Because I know him.
I’ve always known him.
Back when she first arrived and I was still trying to figure out why he was being such a bastard to her, I started to see it—the pattern. The looks he didn’t mean to give her. The way he’d cut her off mid-sentence just so he didn’t have to hear the sound of her voice.
That’s when I realized what he was really doing.
He was pushing her away because he wanted her close.
And Reid always, always punishes what he wants.
Reid stared right at me—unblinking, cold—and then he stood.
So did I.
We were inches apart, two halves of the same face, the same body, the same blood—but where mine burned, his froze. There was something darker in him, something I’ve always seen but never wanted to name. It sat behind his eyes like smoke, like something that only knew how to destroy.
And he read me—like he always does. Too easily.
He stepped closer. “If you knew,” he said, voice low, dangerous, “if you had any idea I was interested in her, then why the fuck did you make a move on her too?”
I scoffed, trying to keep my pulse even. “Interested or not, you still treated her like shit. You made her life hell. Even now, you can’t be decent to her for more than two minutes.”
His jaw tightened, a flicker of fury crossing his face before he leaned in, his voice breaking into a growl.
“And you’re right for her?”
“Yes.”
The word snapped out before I could think, sharp and final.
I could see him shaking now, his fists clenching at his sides, his eyes gone dark and wild. I wasn’t much better—heat rising, vision narrowing, the kind of rage that’s too close to wanting to hurt and too far from reason.
He took another step, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. “Name one thing you can give her,” he said, every syllable deliberate, “that I can’t.”
I stared back, breath shallow, mind blank—because there wasn’t anything true I could say. Nothing that would land. Nothing that would win.
So I went for the low blow.
“The difference is,” I said, voice rough, “she goes willingly into my arms when she’s awake. Not just when she’s asleep.”
The words hit the air like a gunshot.
And the second they left my mouth, I regretted them. Because I knew they weren’t true—not the way I said them.
She had been awake when he picked her up.
She’d let him hold her.
Hell, she'd let him put her to sleep.
And the thought of her—soft and small and trusting—resting her head against him, her breath even and calm, her hand clutching his shirt while he kept her steady—
It made something feral twist in me. Something that didn’t care about being brothers anymore.