30. Hailey
Chapter 30
Hailey
T he water has gone cold by the time I finally force myself to move. My skin is wrinkled, pruned from soaking too long, but the herbs have done their work. The sharp aches have dulled to something more manageable, though my feet still throb when I shift them against the porcelain.
I stay still for another moment, watching ripples spread across the cloudy surface. The bathroom is quiet except for the occasional drip from the faucet, but I can hear movement beyond the door. Soft footsteps. The rustle of fabric. Finn, still keeping guard even after everything I’ve done.
The thought makes my pulse quicken.
With a deep breath, I grip the sides of the tub and push myself up. Water cascades off my body, carrying away dirt and blood and whatever else I’d collected when I’d tried to escape through the woods.
My legs shake as I step out onto the plush bath mat. Whether from exhaustion or something else, I’m not sure anymore. Everything feels…different. Like my skin doesn’t quite fit right. Like I’m more aware of every sensation—the soft mat under my tender feet, the cool air raising goosebumps on my damp skin, the li ngering scent of herbs and beneath that…something else. Something that makes my stomach clench and my thighs press together.
The large mirror above the sink has fogged over, leaving only a vague outline of my shape. I’m grateful for that small mercy. I’m not ready to see myself again yet, to face whatever shows in my eyes after what happened downstairs.
“Finn?” My voice comes out smaller than intended, barely carrying over the residual drips from the tub.
“There are towels in the cabinet to your left,” he calls back softly. “And I’ve left some clothes outside the door.”
I find the towels easily enough—thick, soft things that smell faintly of lavender. As I dry off, I notice other little details about the bathroom I’d missed before. The careful organization of the various bottles and jars. The way everything seems arranged for easy reach from the massive tub. Finn had said he used them during his heats…
Warmth floods my cheeks at the thought, and I quickly wrap the towel around myself. “I’m going to get the clothes now.”
“I’ll turn around,” Finn responds immediately. I hear him shift, and something about his voice sounds…different. Softer. More controlled.
Cracking the door open just enough to reach through, my fingers find soft fabric. I pull it inside quickly, letting the door click shut again. The clothes are simple—a pair of worn sweatpants and a T-shirt that’s been washed so many times the design is barely visible. Both clearly belong to Finn. Both carry his scent.
I pause, swallowing hard before my arms seem to move of their own accord and bring the fabrics to my nose. I inhale, closing my eyes. He didn’t bring new clothes this time. Almost as if he wanted me wearing his scent. Hope I’m not ready to look at too closely rises in my chest.
My hands tremble as I pull the clothes on. The pants are too long, pooling around my feet, and the shirt hangs loose on my frame. But they’re comfortable. Safe. Like being wrapped in Finn’s embrace without actually touching him.
The thought makes that heat flare again, low in my belly. I press my thighs together, trying to ignore it. Trying to ignore the way Finn’s scent seems to seep into my pores, making everything feel more…more.
“I’m dressed,” I call out softly, gathering my courage. Because I can’t hide in here forever, no matter how tempting it might be. I have to face him eventually. Have to face what happened between us.
Have to face the fact that even now, even after running away and coming back, all I want is to feel his hands in my hair again. To taste his lips. To…
I cut that thought off sharply, squeezing my eyes shut. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I get control of these reactions?
The doorknob feels cool under my palm as I finally turn it, stepping out to face whatever comes next. Whatever consequences await for actions I still don’t fully understand.
But I know one thing with absolute certainty—running away didn’t help. Didn’t make these feelings go away. If anything, they’re stronger now. More insistent.
Like my body knows something my mind hasn’t quite figured out yet.
Finn is standing by the window when I emerge, his back to me. The late afternoon light catches his profile. His beauty strikes me again, but there’s something different about his posture. A tension I don’t remember being there before. His shoulders are too straight, his hands clasped too tightly behind his back.
“The herbs helped,” I offer quietly, hovering near the bathroom door. “My feet don’t hurt as much now.”
He nods but doesn’t turn around. “Good. That’s…good.”
The distance in his voice makes my chest ache. This isn’t the same Finn who’d held me this morning, who’d kissed me with such tender desperation just hours ago. This Finn feels…contained. Like he’s holding himself back.
“You should sit,” he says after a moment, finally turning to face me. His expression doesn’t give me any clues, but there’s something in his eyes that makes my anxiety rise. Something raw and wounded that he’s trying to hide. “Let me check your feet.”
I move to the edge of the nest, perching carefully. The nest itself— their nest—feels different now. The blankets and pillows that had seemed so welcoming this morning now feel like evidence of everything I’ve disrupted. Everything I might have broken.
Finn kneels in front of me. When he takes my foot in his hands, his touch is gentle but professional. Nothing like the way he’d touched my hair in the bath.
“The cuts aren’t too bad. The older ones have scabbed over quite nicely, too,” he murmurs, examining my soles. “But they’ll need cleaning and bandaging. Stone has some antibiotic ointment that should—” He cuts himself off, throat working. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”
Before I can respond, he’s already standing, moving toward the door with that same careful control. But I catch it—the slight tremor in his hands, quickly hidden in his pockets.
“Finn,” I whisper, and he stops but doesn’t turn around. “I’m sorry. For running. For making you worry. For…” For kissing you. For wanting more. For ruining everything.
“Hailey.” His voice is rough. “You don’t have to apologize. Not for any of it.”
“But—”
“Please.” The word comes out strained. “Just…let me get the first aid kit. We can talk after.”
But something tells me we won’t. That this new, withdrawn Finn isn’t going to let us discuss what happened. What’s still happening between us.
He disappears down the hall, his footsteps nearly silent. I watch the empty doorway, heart in my throat as I wring my hands. It’s not just that he’s being more careful with me—it’s like he’s being more careful with himself. Like he’s built walls between us in the short time I was in the bath.
When he returns, first aid kit in hand, his movements are still measured. Still precise. But there’s an attentiveness to them that wasn’t there before—like he’s hyperaware of every point where we might touch, every breath we share.
He kneels again, opening the kit with steady hands. “This might sting,” he warns softly, reaching for an antiseptic wipe.
I nod, watching his face as he works. The careful concentration in his expression. The way he keeps his breathing even, controlled. But I see other things too—the shadows under his eyes that seem deeper than before. The slight downturn of his mouth when he thinks I’m not looking. The way his hands linger just a fraction too long sometimes, like he’s fighting some instinct to touch more, to comfort.
“Almost done,” he murmurs, wrapping gauze around my left foot. His fingers brush my ankle and I feel it like an electric shock, that same heat flaring under my skin. His nostrils flare slightly and I know he can smell it—whatever it is that keeps happening to my body whenever he’s close.
But unlike before, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t react beyond a slight tightening of his jaw as he finishes the bandage and moves to my other foot.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things we’re not saying. All the questions I want to ask but don’t know how to voice. Why did you kiss me back? Why are you pulling away now? What happened while I was in the bath to change everything? Most of all, I need to apologize. For what I did.
When I’d decided to return, I hadn’t considered he might not have wanted me to. I want to open my mouth and say all this. But I can’t. Too afraid to speak about it.
Instead, I watch him work, trying to memorize the gentle press of his fingers, the careful way he handles my injuries. Because something tells me this might be the last time he gets this close.
When he finishes with the second foot, he sits back on his heels, still not quite meeting my eyes. “They shouldn’t take too long to heal. But the cuts will be extra sensitive. Especially since you’re an omega.” His voice catches slightly on the word ‘omega’ and something flickers across his face—too quick to identify before it’s gone again.
“Thank you,” I whisper, meaning so much more than just the bandages.
He nods once, gathering the first aid supplies with that same precise care. “You should rest. It’s been…it’s been a long day.”
I watch him pack away the supplies, each movement slow. The silence feels too heavy, pressing against my chest until I can’t take it anymore. The words start spilling out before I can stop them.
“I keep doing everything wrong,” I blurt. His hands still on the gauze. “Ever since I got here, I’ve been nothing but trouble. And you’ve been so kind to me—letting me stay here, protecting me, taking care of me even after I ran away like some scared animal…”
“Hailey—” He starts to turn, but now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop.
“And I know I shouldn’t be here. I know I’m disrupting everything. Your pack, your life, your relationship with your alphas. But you’re just…you’re so…” The words tangle in my throat as I try to explain what I barely understand myself. How in just this short time, he’s become something vital. Something necessary. “You’re incredible, Finn. The way you care about everyone. The way you made me feel safe when I couldn’t remember what safe felt like. The way you look at me sometimes, like…”
“Oh, Hailey.” His voice is rough. “Please don’t?—”
“And I’m so sorry!” I push on, the words tumbling faster now. “So sorry for kissing you when I shouldn’t have. For wanting things I have no right to want. For making everything complicated when you’ve already got three amazing alphas and I’m just some broken omega who can’t even control her own?—”
The first aid kit hits the floor with a clatter as Finn surges up, his hands cupping my face. “Stop,” he whispers, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is different from our first—tender where that one had been desperate. His fingers tremble against my jaw as he pulls back just enough to breathe. Heavy breaths come from us both, colliding between us.
Horror fills me at what we just did again and I open my mouth to fix this somehow, but then he’s kissing me once more, deeper this time, like he can’t help himself. Like he’s drowning and I’m air. I make a small sound in my throat and his hands slide into my damp hair, cradling my head as he presses closer.
“We can’t,” he murmurs against my lips, even as he kisses me again. “I shouldn’t…”
But his body says something different as he shifts closer, one knee pressing into the cushions beside me. I reach for him blindly, fingers curling in his shirt, pulling him nearer still despite that I know I should push away.
The kiss turns hungry. His tongue sweeps across my bottom lip and I open for him with a whimper that seems to break something loose in his chest. He makes a sound—half whimper, half sob—and then we’re falling backward into the nest, his weight pressing me into the blankets that smell of him, of his alphas, of safety and want and home.
His warmth surrounds me, the solid weight of him pressing me deeper into the nest. One of his hands stays tangled in my hair while the other slides down my side, fingers catching in the borrowed shirt—his shirt. The thought makes something hot and possessive curl in my stomach.
“Hailey,” he breathes against my mouth. “I should stop.”
Him ? I’m the one that should stop. I’m so bad for doing this. So? —
Finn’s hips shift against mine, and all thought dissipates. I can feel how hard he is, how much he’s enjoying kissing me, too. The realization draws a guilty whimper from my throat.
What I’m doing is wrong. I don’t deserve any of this. None of this is mine. And isn’t this the same thing I was just apologizing for?
“Finn?” I whisper, though I’m not sure what I’m begging for. More? For him to stop? For him to tell me why this feels so right when I know it’s wrong?
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and the raw need in his eyes makes my breath stop in my throat. His thumb traces my bottom lip, swollen from his kisses.
“I don’t understand what you do to me,” he says, voice rough. “What you’re doing to all of us. Your scent, your touch, the way you…” He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to mine. “Gods, the way you respond to me. Like we’re actually made for something more. Like you’re made for m?—”
He cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath, but I feel the word hanging between us. Made for me .
“Finn,” I breathe, and his control fractures.
This kiss is deeper, even hungrier. His tongue slides against mine as his hand slips under the hem of the shirt, fingers skimming bare skin but never going farther. My back arches, pressing closer, seeking more of that delicious friction.
He groans into my mouth, his grip tightening. “You smell so sweet, Hailey,” he murmurs between kisses. “And yes, we’ve only just met. It might just be visceral attraction…maybe none of this is real and I’m only imagining it, but?—”
A sharp knock at the door makes us both freeze.
“Finn?” The alpha, Ren’s, voice. “There’s dinner downstairs.”
Finn’s body goes rigid above me. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just breathes against my lips. Then slowly, so slowly, he pulls back.
The loss of his warmth is physical pain .
Horror fills me.
What have I just done? “Oh, no.” I gulp, breaths coming heavy from my chest. “Oh no. I did it again.”
Finn helps me to my feet, his fingers gentle as they rub across my knuckles. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says softly. “Nothing wrong happened here.”
“But I?—”
A small smile tugs at his mouth, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”
My breaths are still heavy as I try to calm myself and even though Finn’s still smiling, I can still see shadows lurking behind his gaze.
“Can you walk okay?” he asks, letting our joined hands drop slowly.
I test my bandaged feet against the floor. They’re tender, but the herbs and his careful wrapping have helped. “I think so.”
I push out another breath. We kissed. Again. Right after I apologized to his alpha for doing the same thing before. And now, now I have to go down and face them all, all while knowing I did the same thing yet again.
I must have been trembling, because when Finn’s hand rests on my shoulder, I jerk.
“You won’t get in trouble for what we just did.” His tone is gentle even as he searches my gaze. “Alright?”
I try to nod. Try to put my trust in him, but I don’t know how what he says can be true. My presence here is bringing discord.
His hand stays gentle on my shoulder as we head downstairs, but each step feels heavier than the last. The scents hit me first—a dizzying array of different foods that makes my stomach clench with both hunger and anxiety. Then voices, low murmurs that cut off as we approach.
We round the corner into the dining room, and I go still. Finn’s three alphas stand at the table. Stone looks like he’d been pacing. The moment we enter he stops, gaze flicking to us, those amber eyes intense. Jax stands with his hands braced on the back of a chair, shoulders tense. The third, Ren, turns toward us as we enter, and the full force of their combined presence hits me like a wave.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up. My knees start to bend, an automatic response drilled into me through years of training. Remain silent. Head down. Kneel when alphas are present. Wait to be acknowledged .
But something causes me to pause. Maybe it’s the weight of Finn’s hand still resting on my shoulder. A tiny spark inside remembers how Finn looked at me when I reemerged from the forest, and how these alphas haven’t hurt me yet. My legs tremble with the effort, but I force myself to remain standing. My gaze stays fixed on the floor, my breaths suddenly staggered and hard, but I’m standing.
I’m standing.
Pride flickers in my chest, so foreign it almost hurts. I did it. I stayed on my feet.
“Hailey.” The one bracing on the chair—Jax—speaks in a quiet, careful voice. “It’s okay to look at us, if you want. We’d actually prefer it.”
The gentle encouragement in his tone makes my throat tight. Is he not angry at me? Even after what he saw me and Finn do? I kissed his omega. I might not know much, but I’m pretty sure the wetness that had developed between my thighs means I wanted to…do things with him.
There’s silence and I swallow hard. They’re waiting for me to do something. Or say something. There was no direct command. But that’s just it. They won’t give me commands like that…because they’re not like the alphas that came to the Academy. That’s clear in the fact I’m not on my knees right now, humbled and bleeding.
Slowly, so slowly, I lift my gaze. Not to his eyes—I’m not ready for that yet—but I manage to focus somewhere around his throat. It’s more than I’ve managed with any alpha since…since before.
“We, uh, got takeout,” Stone says, and there’s something awkward in his voice. “A lot of it.”
My eyes drift to the table, and “a lot” seems like an understatement. Every surface is covered with containers—dishes and smells I don’t even recognize. The scents mingle in the air, making my mouth water despite my anxiety.
Beside me, Finn has gone very still. “You…got takeout?”
“Yeah, well.” Ren moves to a chair. “Figured we’d try something different. There’s Chinese, Thai, Italian…Indian…”
Something passes between them, loaded with meaning I don’t quite understand. But I catch the way Finn slowly drops his hand from my shoulder. I almost whimper with the loss of contact, wanting to immediately press myself into his side, just to be near him once more.
“Please, sit,” Jax gestures to the table and when my gaze flicks a little higher, I notice he’s not looking at me as I though he would. He’s looking at Finn, whose face has lost all emotion. It’s so different from the Finn I’ve become used to that I momentarily forget the three alphas whose mere presence feels like it’s thrumming power through thin air.
They move to sit, each pulling out chairs, and when Stone takes a step toward us before stopping himself, I get the sense he was about to pull out my chair, too.
I swallow hard, not sure what to do. The table is laden with more food than I’ve seen in—ever. Steaming dishes of what looks like pasta, bread that looks like it’s still warm from the oven, colorful vegetables, and some kind of roasted meat that makes my stomach growl.
When I still don’t move, I’m brought back to reality when Finn pulls out a chair for me. I sink into it, hyper-aware of how the alphas arrange themselves around the table, none sitting directly beside me, and yet it feels like they’re so close I can hardly breathe. Finn takes the seat beside me, and something in my chest loosens just a fraction.
“What would you like?” Stone asks, his deep voice gentle as he indicates the spread before us.
My throat closes up. Fighting past years of conditioning that make my tongue swell and refuse to cooperate. “I—whatever you want to give me is fine, alpha,” I manage, my eyes fixed on my empty plate. But the moment I utter the words, I know I’ve made a horrible mistake when the air in the room goes still. “A-anything would be?—”
“Sweetheart,” the alpha named Ren cuts in. When I dare to glance up, there’s something raw in his expression, something that flickers and disappears so fast I might have imagined it. “Food isn’t meant to be a privilege. It’s not meant to be earned. You’re allowed to eat.”
I flinch at the intensity in his words, but there’s something almost…protective in his vehemence. Like he’s not mad at me, but at whatever made me think I couldn’t want things.
I open my mouth and close it again, words lost to me as I drop my gaze again.
“What Ren means,” Finn says, shooting him a look, “in his completely graceless, raised-by-wolves way, is that you can try anything you like. Everything, if you want.”
“Bold words from someone who ate raw steak tartare on a dare one time,” Ren mutters, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he looks at Finn that completely transforms his features. Those glacial eyes are actually capable of warmth.
“That was one time,” Finn protests. “And you’re the one who dared me to do it.”
And just like that, it’s like one half of the tension is sucked from the room. Ren laughs, a deep rich sound, eyes twinkling as he looks at Finn, meanwhile Finn rolls his eyes in obvious jest.
The bickering continues as Stone starts opening containers, releasing more fragrant steam into the air. My stomach growls audibly, and I flush with embarrassment.
None of them seem to notice, or if they do, they don’t mention it. I’m glad. If they did, I might have sunk into the floor.
Something in my chest constricts as I watch them, the easy way they move around each other, how even Stone and Jax’s expressions have softened even though their eyes slide my way every now and again. There’s history here, years of shared jokes and memories, of trust built through countless small moments just like this one. They’re not just a pack—they’re family.
The realization makes my breaths still, a hunger deeper than any I’ve felt before filling my chest. I’ve never had this. Never known what it was like to belong somewhere so completely that you could let your guard down, could laugh without checking first if it was allowed. Where affection wasn’t a currency to be bartered or withheld, but something freely given, as natural as breathing.
I watch as Jax reaches over to place something that looks like meat pierced with sharp toothpicks in front of Finn, how Ren’s shoulder brushes against Stone’s as he leans across the table, and for the first time I understand what I’ve been missing all these years. Not just safety or freedom, but this—this intricate dance of people who know each other’s rhythms by heart, who’ve carved out a space where they all fit perfectly together.
And oh, how desperately I want it.
“Here,” Jax says, sliding another container closer. “These are soup dumplings. They’re Finn’s favorite.” There’s something almost hesitant in the way he says it, like he’s offering more than just food.
Finn goes still beside me. “You remembered?”
“‘Course we did,” Stone mumbles, busying himself with opening another container. “You only ordered them every time we got takeout for the first year we were together.”
“Before you started cooking for us instead,” Ren adds, licking sauce from his fingers before he suddenly goes still, too. When his gaze slides back to Finn, I swear I see regret in his eyes before those glacial pits land on me and go immediately unreadable.
Oh shit.
I dip my head immediately, cognizant of the fact that none of them have mentioned what happened between me and Finn this morning or even how I ran off into the woods. Now that the thought has returned, I become super aware of their every breath.
When Finn moves, I watch from beneath my lashes as he reaches for one of the dumplings. The way the alphas watch him, their attention focused and intent seems to pull away some of my tension. Despite my fears, they seem completely focused on Finn and not me. And that’s a good thing, right? Could that mean they’re not holding a grudge?
I swallow hard, watching them with my lowered gaze as they all go as still as statues, just watching Finn with the dumpling. Their attention, their focus, makes me think this means more than just dinner.
“Try one,” Finn says softly to me, and I startle. He chuckles a little, the sound instantly calming me as he takes one of my hands and demonstrates how to pick up the dumpling with chopsticks. “But be careful—they’re filled with soup that’s still hot.”
I mimic his movements carefully, ever aware of the four sets of eyes on me. The dumpling is delicate, almost translucent, and when I bite into it, warm broth floods my mouth. The flavor is rich, complex, nothing like the bland porridge from the Academy.
A small sound of pleasure escapes before I can stop it, and I freeze. Jax’s throat moves and Stone shifts in his seat, but when I dare to lift my gaze, I see Finn actually smiling—a real smile.
“Good, right?” he says. “Wait till you try the pad thai. Or the butter chicken. Or—hell, just try everything.”
“Speaking of trying everything,” Stone cuts in, “what kind of food do you like, Hailey? ”
The direct question startles me, and I feel my shoulders hunch slightly. “I…I don’t…”
“She obviously hasn’t had much chance to try different foods,” Ren answers for me. His voice is so low, it’s almost like he whispered it. I don’t have to look at him. I can feel the ice.
“Well then,” Jax says after a moment, “I guess we’ll have to fix that.”
The silence that follows feels weighted. I chance another glance up to see Stone pushing containers around, creating space on the crowded table with methodical movements that seem almost nervous. His fingers tap against each lid before he opens it, like he’s counting something in his head.
“The green curry is good too,” he says finally, voice gruff. “If you like spicy. Finn always—” He cuts himself off, jaw working.
Beside me, Finn’s chopsticks hover over another dumpling. The tremor in his hand is visible. “You don’t have to?—”
“Yes, we do,” Ren interrupts, that icy tone cracking slightly. When I peek at him, his knuckles are white around his chopsticks. “We really fucking do.”
Finn’s throat moves. “Because of Hailey,” he whispers. Then he looks at me and he smiles again. My heart hurts for some reason. Maybe because that smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Maybe because all I can see there is pain.
I’m not sure what’s happening. I only know it’s my fault.
“No, not because of Hailey.” Ren clears his throat and stabs a fork into something. “Because of you, Finn. It’s about time we do what we should have been doing.”
Finn’s jaw clenches and he stares down at the dumpling before him. He smiles again. It looks wrong. “And what’s that, may I ask?”
Jax releases a slow breath. “What Ren is trying to say,” he glares at Ren, “is that we’re going to try. Harder.”
Finn opens his mouth and Jax cuts him off.
“No, not because of Hailey. Because of you. It’s about time we stopped being such cowards and took care of you.” His gaze shifts to me. “No offense, Hailey. You’re just an innocent in all this.”
An alpha apologizing to me?
I blink at him. I only wished I understood what he was apologizing for and what they’re talking about.
The tension spikes, making me unsure of everything. I shrink into my chair, unsure if I should be witnessing whatever is happening between them. But then Jax clears his throat.
“Try this one,” he says, reaching across to put something on my plate. His movements are careful and slow, like he’s trying not to startle me. “It’s coconut shrimp. Sweet, not spicy.”
I notice he serves Finn first though, a larger portion that he places with such gentle precision it makes my throat ache. The way he looks at Finn while doing it—like he’s offering his heart on that plate instead of just food—makes me want to look away. It feels too private, too raw.
“Thank you,” Finn whispers, and those two words seem to carry the weight of years.
Stone makes a sound—something between a growl and a grunt—and shoves back from the table. “I’ll get drinks,” he says roughly, disappearing into the kitchen before anyone can respond.
The silence stretches, broken only by the clink of chopsticks and the distant sound of glasses clinking. I focus on my plate, trying to make myself smaller, less intrusive in this moment that feels like it’s about so much more than dinner.
But when I dare to look up again, I catch Ren watching Finn with such naked longing it steals my breath. His expression smooths the instant he notices me looking, but I saw it—saw the way his carefully constructed walls cracked, just for a moment.
“Water? Tea? We’ve got, uh…” Stone’s voice drifts from the kitchen, sounding uncertain in a way that doesn’t match his imposing presence.
“Hailey might like the jasmine tea,” Finn suggests softly. “If she wants to try it. ”
My heart skips at his consideration, but it’s Ren’s reaction that catches my attention. His eyes close briefly, like Finn’s gentleness causes him physical pain.
“Jasmine tea,” Stone repeats, returning with an elegant teapot and several glasses of water balanced precariously in his large hands. “Right. Good. That’s…that’s good.”
He sets everything down with exaggerated care, but a little water still sloshes over the rim of one glass. The way his jaw clenches at this small imperfection makes me wonder if he’s always this tense, or if it’s just this evening.
“Here,” he says, pouring tea into a delicate cup. Again, Finn is served first, the motion almost reverent. When he turns to pour mine, his hands aren’t quite as steady. “Be careful, it’s hot.”
The familiar scent of jasmine rises with the steam, and something in me uncoils slightly. It smells like Finn’s bathroom—like comfort and safety.
“Thank you,” I murmur, wrapping my fingers around the warm cup.
“You don’t have to thank us for basic fucking decency,” Ren mutters, but there’s no anger in it. Just something that sounds almost broken.
Jax shoots him a look. “Ren.”
“No, he’s right,” Finn says quietly, setting down his chopsticks. “She doesn’t have to thank us for food or drinks or—” His voice catches. “Or basic kindness.”
The weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air. I watch as Stone’s hand twitches toward Finn before falling back to his side. As Jax’s throat works like he’s swallowing back words. As Ren stares down at his plate like it holds answers to questions not spoken out loud.
“Eat,” Jax says finally, and though his voice is gentle, there’s an undercurrent of something raw. “Both of you. Please.”
My hand shakes slightly as I reach for another dumpling, but not from fear this time. He said ‘please’ again. The way his voice cracked on that single word…like he was begging for something much bigger than watching us eat.
Finn moves beside me, reaching for the pad thai, and three sets of eyes track his movement. The intensity of their focus should be frightening, but there’s something else in their gazes. Something desperate and yearning that makes want rise in my chest.
Is this what love from an alpha is supposed to look like?
“This is good with the peanut sauce,” Finn tells me, and for a moment he sounds almost normal. Then his voice catches again. “They used to—we used to get this all the time. Before…”
He trails off, but Stone makes a sound like he’s been struck.
“Yeah,” Ren says roughly, pushing his own food around his plate. “Before we got too fucking in our heads to eat dinner together.” He stabs viciously once more at a piece of chicken.
“Ren,” Jax warns again, but this time, Finn speaks up.
“No, let him speak.” His voice is sweet, but the way he smiles at Jax makes the room feel cold. “Say what you need to say, Ren.”
The challenge in his tone makes me want to slide under the table, but none of the alphas react with anger. Instead, Ren seems to deflate, his shoulders slumping.
“What’s there to say?” he asks, and the bitterness in his voice makes me flinch. “We fucked up. We took you for granted. Took everything for granted. And now…”
The air feels thick with tension, making it hard to breathe. I try to make myself smaller in my chair, wishing I could disappear.
“Stop.” Stone’s command cuts through the tension. When I dare to look up, his nostrils are flaring. “You’re terrifying her. Her scent is all distress and—” He breaks off, running a hand over his face. “This isn’t what tonight was supposed to be about.”
Guilt flashes across Ren’s features as his eyes snap to me, right before they go cold again. I drop my gaze immediately, shame burning in my chest. I’m ruining their moment, taking up space when they clearly need to work through something between them .
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, pushing my chair back. “I can leave if you need to?—”
“No.” Four voices speak at once, making me freeze.
“Please stay,” Stone says softly. He looks at his pack mates, something passing between them in that look. “Maybe…maybe just for tonight, we could pretend.”
“Pretend?” Finn’s voice is barely audible.
“Pretend it’s like before.” Jax’s throat works as he swallows. “Just…just for dinner. Like when we used to fight over the last spring roll and Ren would steal food off Stone’s plate when he wasn’t looking.”
“I never—” Ren starts to protest, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“You absolutely did,” Stone counters, and some of the rigid tension leaves his shoulders. “Every single time.”
“Only because you always hoarded all the good pieces,” Ren mutters, but the ice in his voice has thawed slightly.
Finn’s chopsticks hover over his plate, trembling slightly. “You really want to…?”
“Yes,” Jax says simply. He turns to me, his expression gentling. “And we’d like you to stay, Hailey. If you’re comfortable. No pressure, no expectations. Just dinner.”
I glance at Finn, who gives me a small nod. Slowly, I settle back in my chair.
“Now,” Stone says, reaching for a container, “you haven’t tried the orange chicken yet. It’s not as good when Finn makes it, but?—”
A half-eaten dumpling sails through the air, slapping Stone square in the face.
A shocked silence falls over the table. Stone blinks, sauce dripping down his cheek, while I stare in horror at Finn, who’s still got his chopsticks raised from launching the dumpling.
“Did you just—” Stone starts.
“My orange chicken is perfect. Thank you very much.”
Jax's jaw clenches and at first I think it’s because he’s angry. When he chokes before clearing his throat, I realize it’s because he was holding back a laugh. “He’s got a point. His orange chicken really is the best.”
Stone closes his eyes briefly. “I was making a joke. Truly.”
Finn’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look angry.
“Serves you right. You were being maudlin,” Ren says, reaching for a dumpling off Finn’s plate. “It’s annoying.”
For one terrifying second, I think Stone might explode. His amber eyes narrow, and I instinctively shrink closer to Finn. But then?—
“Maudlin?” Stone splutters, wiping his face with a napkin. “Who even uses that word? Have you been reading those pretentious poetry books again?”
“They’re not pretentious, they’re classical literature, you philistine,” Ren sneers, but there’s a glimmer in his cold eyes that wasn’t there before. Like sunshine hitting ice.
Beside me, Finn makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. “You two haven’t changed at all, have you?”
“Oh, they’ve gotten worse,” Jax says dryly, carefully moving the dumplings out of Ren’s reach. “Last week in the office, Stone hid all of Ren’s fancy coffee and replaced it with instant.”
“You did what?” Finn’s voice cracks with genuine outrage this time. “Stone, you know how he gets without his coffee!”
“Exactly,” Stone says, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “He spent three days walking into walls and calling everyone ‘peasant.’”
“I did not—” Ren starts to protest, but Jax cuts him off.
“You called the delivery driver a ‘deplorable plebeian’ because he delivered the packages at 10:30 instead of 10.”
I can’t help the tiny giggle that escapes, immediately pressing my hand to my mouth in surprise. But instead of anger, I see all four of them freeze, looking at me with something like wonder.
“She laughs,” Ren says quietly. Then he seems to catch himself, clearing his throat. “Well, at least someone appreciates my suffering.”
“Your suffering ?” Stone scoffs, but his eyes keep darting between me and Finn, like he’s trying to memorize something. “What about my suffering when you replaced all my protein powder with hot chocolate mix?”
“That was you ?” Jax asks, eyebrows shooting up. “He spent a week complaining his post-workout shakes tasted weird but wouldn’t admit anything was wrong.”
“Of course, he wouldn’t,” Finn murmurs, and there’s a hint of fondness in his voice that makes all three alphas go still again. “Stone would drink motor oil if he thought admitting it tasted bad would hurt someone’s feelings.”
“I would not ,” Stone grumbles, but his ears are turning red. “I just said your orange chicken?—”
He cuts off and I realize why. It’s because Finn is giving him that narrowed-eye look again that seems playful but threatening, nonetheless.
“You literally drank that horrible green juice I made when I was first learning to cook,” Finn points out, pushing his food around his plate. “The one that was basically just bitter greens and garlic.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Stone mutters.
“You turned green,” Ren says flatly. “Actually green. I thought we were going to have to take you to the hospital.”
“But Finn worked so hard on it,” Stone protests, then seems to realize what he’s admitted. The table goes quiet again, but this time it’s different—softer, almost wistful.
I watch as Jax reaches for the teapot, refilling everyone’s cups. His hands don’t shake, but he takes his time, like he’s using the familiar ritual to ground himself.
“Hailey,” he says suddenly, “has anyone warned you about Stone’s attempts at baking?”
“Oh, I…” The words stop in my throat, but not from the Academy’s conditioning this time. Just the weight of their kindness. “W-we haven’t discussed much, s-seeing as I won’t be staying long. You’ve already done so much, and I?—”
“Where will you go?” Jax asks. His tone is careful, neutral, but suddenly everyone is very interested in their plates. Finn’s chopsticks have stopped moving entirely.
The question hangs in the air. At the Academy, questions were dangerous things. Wrong answers meant punishment. But here, watching these four men try so hard to pretend they’re not hanging on my response, I find the truth slipping out easily.
“I don’t know.”
The words surprise me—not just that I spoke them, but how simple it was. No choking, no pain, no silent screaming in my head. Just honesty.
Stone’s hand tightens on his mug. Ren mutters something under his breath that makes Jax shoot him a warning look.
“You’re welcome to stay,” Jax says finally, his voice gentle. “For as long as you want or need. No strings attached.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Stone cuts in, then immediately looks embarrassed at his own vehemence. He busies himself with spooning more rice onto his plate. “What Jax said. Stay.”
“And since you’re staying,” Finn adds, grinning at me, “someone needs to warn you about Stone’s cooking. Did you know he once set fire to water?”
“That’s physically impossible,” I find myself saying, then freeze, shocked at my own boldness.
But Stone just groans. “It was one time! And it wasn’t the water that caught fire, it was?—”
“The pot holder you left on the burner,” Finn finishes, and there’s that hint of fondness again. “And then you panicked and tried to put it out with flour.”
“Which is flammable,” Jax adds helpfully.
“Which we discovered,” Stone sighs, “is very flammable.”
“The fire department was impressed though,” Ren says, reaching for something off Stone’s plate. Stone bats his hand away. “They’d never seen purple flames in a kitchen fire before.”
“Purple?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“The flour mixed with some protein powder he’d spilled earlier,” Jax explains. “Created quite the light show.”
“We had to repaint the whole kitchen,” Finn says, and this time there’s definitely a smile in his voice. “Stone wanted to do it himself to save money.”
“Oh god,” Ren groans. “The polka dots.”
“They were tasteful!” Stone protests.
“They were neon green!”
“They were artistic!”
“They were an assault on my retinas!”
I watch them bicker, something warm unfurling in my chest. This is what I’d glimpsed before—this easy back-and-forth, this gentle teasing layered over deep affection. This is what a home feels like.
The realization should terrify me. I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t let myself hope for it. But sitting here, watching Stone throw a fortune cookie at Ren’s head while Jax pretends not to notice and Finn quietly sneaks the last spring roll onto my plate, I can’t help it.
I want this. Not just the roof over my head or the food on the table, but this—the laughter, the stories, the way they look at each other when they think no one’s watching. The way they’re trying so hard to include me in their orbit without pushing too hard.
Stone pushes a large bowl of berries close to me and as they continue speaking, I pick off one, then another, and another until I’ve devoured an entire vine. I stare at the berries in horror. When no one seems to notice, or if they do, they don’t seem to care, I try to force down my rising terror.
“S-so w-what color did you end up p-painting the kitchen?” I ask softly, and the bright smile Finn gives me makes my heart skip.
“A very sensible beige,” Jax answers, but his eyes are twinkling. “Though someone—” he looks pointedly at Ren “—added glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling when we weren’t looking.”
“They’re constellations,” Ren’s grin is lopsided, and for the first time I see something other than the cold alpha I’d been seeing all along. He’s devastatingly handsome when he’s not glaring at me. “They’re educational.”
“They’re the Hogwarts house symbols,” Stone counters.
“Like I said. Educational.”