19. Finn
Chapter 19
Finn
T he scent of heat still clings to the air—vanilla and honey, thick and sweet, curling into every corner of the cabin. But it’s softer now. Not the desperate, clawing thing it was before.
I watch Hailey as she sleeps, her chest rising and falling steadily. The alphas are tiptoeing around us both, their energy subdued. They’re a fraid.
And I can’t blame them.
Because last night, as she’d floated on the edge of sleep in my arms, I’d realized something terrifying:
I almost lost her.
Not just to Caldwell. But to Heath. To the fucking monsters who’d dragged her away screaming while I stood there, helpless.
My fingers curl into the sheets.
Three days.
Three days since they nearly died.
Three days since I nearly lost everything .
I brush a thumb over her cheekbone. She sighs but doesn’t wake.
Good. She needs the rest.
Careful not to jostle her, I slip from the nest, stretching my stiff muscles. Orgasming so many times has taken a lot out of me too, but I refused to leave her alone. Not after everything.
Downstairs, the cabin is quiet. Morning light filters through the windows, casting long shadows over the wooden floors. The kitchen smells like coffee—someone’s already been down here.
I find Ren at the stove, shirtless, his bandaged torso on full display. I swallow hard, unable to pull my eyes away from him. He’s always been so hot. Effortlessly so. He’s always spent the least time in the gym and still walked around looking like muscles and sex. Even now. Even hurt. Bruises bloom across his ribs, dark and mottled, but he moves with less stiffness than yesterday.
He glances over his shoulder when he hears me. His good eye—the one not still partially swollen—softens. “Morning, baby.”
I swallow hard again. A bandaged hand enters my line of sight, offering a glass of water. Ren.
I take it mechanically, my throat too tight to thank him. His injuries glare at me in the morning light: the bruised ribs, the gash on his eyebrow, the raw knuckles from fighting his way back to us. Back to her.
His good eye meets mine, and I see it—the same guilt festering in my chest.
“Morning,” I echo, heading for the fridge. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He turns back to the pan in front of him. Eggs. Scrambled. “Figured I’d make something before she wakes up.”
“She’ll need protein. And electrolytes.”
Ren nods, nudging the eggs with a spatula. “Got some fruit too. And coconut water.”
I pull out a container of fresh berries and a tub of Greek yogurt. My hands move automatically, but my chest feels too tight. Despite all the love being shared in that nest upstairs, it doesn’t erase one fact.
Three days.
And before that?
Before that, they lied to me. Hid things from me. Made me feel like an outsider in my own pack.
The knife in my hand clatters against the cutting board louder than I mean it to.
Ren tenses. He doesn’t look at me, but I see the way his shoulders stiffen.
Silence stretches between us, weighed down by too much.
Finally, he exhales. “Finn.”
I keep chopping strawberries. “Yeah?”
“I’m—” He stops. Swallows. “I’m sorry.”
My fingers still.
Ren turns fully now, his expression raw. “For everything. For shutting you out. For making you feel you didn’t have a say.”
I stare at him. The words are there, lodged in my throat. You did. You all did.
But I don’t say them.
Instead, I set the knife down. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do.” His voice is rough. “We all do.”
I press my lips together.
Footsteps sound on the stairs. Heavy. Stone.
He appears in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep, his gaze flicking between us. “Everything okay?”
Ren doesn’t answer. Just looks at me.
Stone’s brow furrows. He steps forward, his voice dropping. “Finn?”
I exhale sharply. “I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” His directness catches me off guard. I hadn’t thought they’d want to face this so soon. Thought we’d push it away for a bit longer. The fact he’s calling me out makes me equally happy and equally distressed.
I glare at him. “What do you want me to say, Stone? That it’s fine? That I’m just so happy we’re all one big, happy pack again?”
His jaw tightens. “No. I want you to tell us how badly we fucked up.”
The honesty in his voice makes my mouth slam shut.
Ren nods, his gaze never leaving mine. “We hurt you. All of us. Not just with Hailey—before that, too. We kept things from you. Made decisions without you.”
My chest aches. “Yeah. You did.”
Stone steps closer. “We’re sorry.”
Two words. So simple. But they unravel something inside me.
I look away, blinking hard. “It’s not just about the apologies. It’s about trust.”
“We know,” Ren says softly. “And we’ll earn it back. However long it takes. I’ll earn it back.”
Stone reaches out, hesitates, then rests a hand on my shoulder. “You’re our omega, Finn. Our first omega. We got so caught up in protecting you that we forgot you don’t need protecting. Not like that.”
I swallow.
A floorboard creaks. Jax stands there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
How much did he hear?
His gaze locks onto mine. “They’re right.”
I raise an eyebrow. What the hell’s happening? “You’re apologizing too?”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Yeah. I am.”
I exhale, long and slow.
It’s not fixed. Not even close. But it’s a start.
I pick up the knife again. “Hailey’s going to be hungry when she wakes up.”
Ren nods, turning back to the eggs. Stone squeezes my shoulder before letting go. Jax steps into the kitchen, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.
The weight of what they’ve said—of what they’re trying to do—settles as I arrange strawberries around the rim of a plate. A peace offering, but not just to Hailey. To me, too.
I’m not sure I’m ready to accept it yet. Not entirely.
Because I still see Heath’s men dragging Hailey away at the gala when I close my eyes. Still feel the sting of being abandoned because my pack thought the truth was too much for me to bear.
“How long do you think we have?” Jax asks, leaning against the counter. “I should shower before she wakes.”
“A few hours, maybe.” I add blueberries to the plate. “Her heat’s easing. Not as intense now.”
Stone hands me a small bowl of yogurt. When I look up in surprise, he shrugs. “Thought you might want this for the berries.”
The gesture is small, but it registers. Stone, noticing what I’m doing. Anticipating what I need.
I nod my thanks and add the yogurt to the tray.
The silence that descends suddenly feels heavy again. Finally, Stone speaks.
“Has anyone…has anyone checked the news?”
Jax breathes out a breath of air. “Nah. Not…not yet.”
We’ve all been focused on Hailey. We’ve purposefully not let the rest of the world in, especially after what happened.
“What about the livestream?” Ren asks. I feel his gaze on me, but I keep arranging food on the tray.
“I had to do something,” I say quietly. “They had both of you. I couldn’t just sit there and wait.”
What I don’t say is that I was terrified. Sick with the thought that I might lose them both.
What I don’t say is that I’d grown used to Ren’s distance, to his absence, but the thought of it being permanent was unbearable.
What I don’t say is that I’m in love with Hailey, and the idea of her suffering at Heath’s hands made me want to burn the whole world down.
“It was smart,” Ren says. “If it worked, the whole world would have seen Heath’s men leaving that facility. Seen them trying to clear out shit and move the omegas.”
I glance up at him. “If it worked…”
An uncomfortable silence falls. All our gazes shift to the TV in the living room.
Jax takes a step toward me. “It will work. And if it doesn’t, we’ll find another way to expose it all.”
“And I’m helping.” I meet his gaze, daring him to say no.
“And you’re helping.” There’s a soft smile on his lips as he reaches toward me, his large hand clasping the back of my neck, fingers brushing my nape. “We’re not going to do that anymore.”
“Do what?” My breath hitches as Jax leans in, inhaling deeply before his lips press a kiss to my brow.
“Keep things from you. Like you’re fragile.”
“Like with the accident,” I supply.
Ren flinches visibly.
“Yes,” Jax admits. “But it was wrong. You’ve never been fragile, Finn.” His hand slides down, curving under my ass. He gives it a squeeze. “Soft.” He murmurs. “Deliciously sweet and sexy. But not fragile. Not in that way.”
The unexpected honesty hits hard.
“We got used to making decisions for you,” Stone adds, his deep voice rumbling as if he’s moved closer. “Telling ourselves it was for your own good.”
“Even when it wasn’t,” Ren finishes.
I look at each of them in turn—Jax with his straightforward gaze, Stone with his stoic concern, Ren with his damaged face and haunted eyes.
“You hurt me,” I say simply. “All of you. You made me feel like I wasn’t really part of this pack anymore.”
No one protests. No one makes excuses.
“I know.” Jax presses his forehead to mine. “And I’m sorry.”
“Sorrier than you know,” Stone adds.
Ren just looks at me, the weight of guilt in his eyes more than I can bear.
I take a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. “During that accident, when I died…” I shake my head. “The bond broke, and you didn’t tell me .”
“We were wrong,” Jax says.
“Fucking right, you were wrong.” My voice rises slightly. “I had a right to know.”
“Yes,” Stone agrees. “You did.”
“And then when Hailey was taken, when Ren went missing…” I reach forward, fingers digging into Jax’s hips. “You considered leaving me behind. Again.”
Guilt flashes across their faces.
“I thought it was because I wasn’t enough of an omega,” I continue. “But it wasn’t that, was it? It was because you still see me as the guy who nearly died. The one who spent six months in a coma. The one who?—”
“The one who nearly died because of me,” Ren interrupts, his voice raw.
We all turn to him. He stands there, bandaged and bruised, but it’s the pain in his eyes that makes my chest ache.
“That’s what this has always been about, hasn’t it? All of this,” he continues. “I almost killed you, Finn. I made the wrong choice that night, and it nearly destroyed all of us.”
“The truck was coming straight at us,” I say, the words automatic after so many times reliving the moments before it all went black. “You had to swerve.”
“I could’ve—.” He stares forward, eyes seeing nothing, and I know it’s because he’s reliving that moment. “I could’ve done something else. Could have made any choice but the one I made.”
The kitchen is silent. We’ve all carried the weight of that night. But Ren has carried it heaviest of all.
“Is that why you pulled away?” I ask quietly. “Because you couldn’t forgive yourself?”
His laugh is more of a strangled sound. “How could I? You almost died, Finn. You did die. Because of me .”
“I forgave you,” I tell him. “A long time ago.”
He looks away. “I couldn’t accept that. Didn’t deserve it.”
Releasing Jax, I move around the counter, approaching Ren slowly. “You think punishing yourself somehow makes it better? Makes my injury mean something?”
He doesn’t answer.
“It doesn’t,” I say firmly. “It just means we all lost you, too.”
I reach out, tentative, and touch his arm. He stiffens but doesn’t pull away.
“And then when Hailey showed up…” I swallow hard. “I thought maybe she would fix things. Bring us all back together.”
“She has,” Jax observes.
I shake my head. “It’s not that simple. She was the catalyst, but we still have to do the work.” I look at each of them in turn. “All of us.”
Stone nods slowly. “You’re right.”
A long silence follows, not uncomfortable this time, but thoughtful. The morning light strengthens, casting the kitchen in warm gold, illuminating dust motes that dance in the air between us.
“I’m not fragile,” I finally say. “I haven’t been for a long time. Maybe I never was.”
“No,” Jax agrees. “You’re not.”
“So stop treating me like I am,” I tell them. “Stop hiding things from me. Stop making decisions ‘for my own good.’ I deserve better than that.”
“You do,” Stone says immediately.
“We will,” Jax promises.
Ren just nods, but his gaze holds more weight than any words could.
I exhale, some of the tension leaving my shoulders. It’s not everything. It’s not fixed. But it’s a beginning.
“I need to get this up to Hailey,” I say, gesturing to the tray of food. “She’ll be waking up soon.”
Ren steps forward. “Let me help.”
I hesitate, then nod. Together, we arrange the last items on the tray—the eggs, some toast, a glass of coconut water. It feels normal. Domestic. Like maybe, just maybe, we can build something new from the ashes of what we were.
As we turn to head upstairs, Jax calls my name.
“Finn.”
I look back.
“Thank you,” he says simply. “For not giving up on us. For bringing her into our lives. For everything.”
The words catch me off guard. Jax isn’t one for flowery statements or emotional declarations. This is as close to wearing his heart on his sleeve as he gets.
“Don’t make me regret it,” I tell him, but there’s no real heat in my voice.
He smiles, a rare genuine one that transforms his face. “We won’t.”
I nod, then follow Ren up the stairs, the tray balanced carefully between us. The scent of heat grows stronger as we approach the bedroom, but it’s different now—mellower, more honeyed than sharp.
In the doorway, Ren pauses. “Finn?”
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance. “When I thought I might die in that facility…I…I kept thinking about the things I never said. To all of you. But especially to you.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t have to?—”
“I do,” he interrupts. “I’ve been a coward. For years. Too afraid to face what I did to you. Too afraid to admit that I needed you—all of you—just as much as you needed me.”
He turns to me then, his expression raw with emotion. “I’m sorry, Finn. Not just for the accident. For everything that came after. For pushing you away when you needed me most.”
I swallow hard, unprepared for the rush of emotion his words unleash. “I missed you,” I admit. “Even when you were right there, I missed you.”
“I know.” His voice is rough. “I missed you, too.”
The simple honesty of it hits harder than any elaborate apology could.
“I forgive you,” I tell him again. “I forgave you a long time ago. But I couldn’t forgive you for leaving me. For shutting me out.”
“I know.” He shifts the tray, balancing it with one hand so he can reach out with the other. His fingers brush my cheek, tentative, as if he’s not sure he’s still allowed to touch me this way. “Can you forgive me for that, too? Not now, maybe. But someday?”
I lean into his touch, something inside me easing at the familiar contact. “I’m working on it.”
His smile is small but real. “That’s more than I deserve.”
“No,” I correct him. “It’s exactly what you deserve. A second chance.”
He breathes out, lips curling into a tentative smile before it suddenly disappears. “Finn…”
“Mm?” I lean into his hand.
“My family…” He swallows hard. “They…the reason I was driving so fast that night…the reason?—”
I turn my face, placing a kiss on his palm, which silences him.
“I know,” I whisper. “Stone and Jax told me everything. I know what you were running from.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “They wanted you, Finn. I couldn’t?—”
Stepping on tippy-toes, I press a kiss to his lips. Ren stiffens, then groans.
From the bed, Hailey stirs, a soft sound of waking that draws both our attention. Her eyes flutter open, finding us in the doorway, and a smile spreads across her face—sleepy and content.
“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse from three days of heat-induced cries. “You brought food.”
“Figured you might be hungry,” I say, moving toward the nest with Ren close behind.
She stretches, the movement languid and catlike. “Starving, actually.”
We set the tray down beside her, and she immediately reaches for the coconut water, drinking deeply. The simple act of watching her take care of herself fills me with a quiet joy. Three days ago, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again. Now, she’s here. Safe. With us.
“How are you feeling?” Ren asks, his voice gentler than I’ve heard it in years. He makes no move to touch her, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Better,” she says. “Still…warm. But not like before. I can think better now but…” Her cheeks warm, her gaze lingering on Ren’s for a moment before he looks away. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. What the hell was that?
“But you want more.” I smile, deciding to bring up the obvious and dispel this tension.
Hailey’s cheeks grow hotter before she nods.
Ren’s eyes shift from the floor to me, gaze locking with mine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll make sure you’re thoroughly sated.” And from the look in his eyes, I know he’s not only talking to Hailey, he’s talking to me, too.
Hailey licks coconut water from her lips, her gaze flickering between Ren and me. Ren’s fingers twitch like he wants to touch her, but won’t let himself.
Sweet idiot .
I nudge his shoulder. “She won’t break, Ren.”
Hailey’s eyes gleam. “I might.” Her voice is a rasp, but her smile is pure mischief. “But I’d like to find out.”
Ren freezes.
Jax’s chuckle rumbles from the doorway. “Still greedy, little omega?” He leans against the frame, arms crossed, but his scent betrays him—cedar and spice thickening with desire.
Hailey’s breath hitches. “Always.”
Stone enters, hand landing on my lower back, warm and steady. “You good, Finn?”
I should be exhausted. Three days of heat, of wrangling alphas and soothing Hailey, of feeling so much shared between us. But the look in Hailey’s eyes—half-lidded, hungry —sends a fresh curl of heat down my spine.
“Yeah,” I murmur, watching Jax prowl toward the nest. “I think we’re just getting started.”