43. Hailey
Chapter 43
Hailey
I wake slowly, my body heavy and sore, wrapped in warmth that feels both comforting and overwhelming. My skin feels too sensitive, every inch of me alive with sensations I don’t know how to process.
The nest smells like Finn—clean, grounding, safe—and I’m cocooned in his arms. His chest is pressed against my back, his steady breaths brushing the back of my neck, and my thighs ache with a dull, persistent reminder of what happened.
The memories flash through my mind in broken pieces. His hands on me, soothing the tension in my body as the heat clawed at me. The way he whispered my name like it was the most precious thing in the world. How I begged him, over and over, to help me, to make the unbearable ache go away.
And the moment he did.
My cheeks burn as the vivid memory rushes back—his body moving against mine, the way he filled me, stretching me, grounding me in something that felt like both relief and surrender. I thought the heat would consume me, that it would tear me apart from the inside out. But Finn held me together. He pulled me back from the edge and gave me something I didn’t know I needed .
My first time.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart pounding as the realization settles over me. I gave him my first time. I don’t regret it—how could I?—but the weight of it is still there, heavy and unfamiliar.
“Hailey?”
Finn’s voice is soft, rough with sleep, and the sound of it washes over me like a balm.
I shift slightly in his arms, wincing at the soreness between my legs. His hand moves to my hip, steadying me as he tugs me toward him.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “You’re still recovering.”
His words send another flood of memories crashing through me—his hands gripping my hips, his mouth on my neck, the way he whispered soft reassurances as he moved inside me.
My breath hitches, and I feel Finn stiffen behind me.
“Hailey,” he says again, his tone more alert now. “Are you okay?”
I nod quickly, my face burning. “I’m fine,” I whisper, though my voice is shaky.
“Are you sure?” His hand on my hip tightens slightly. “If you’re in pain?—”
“I’m not,” I cut him off, though the ache in my body says otherwise. “I just… I’m just sore.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his thumb brushing softly against my hip. “That’s normal,” he says gently. “After last night…” He trails off, voice thick with something I can’t quite name.
I close my eyes, replaying the way he looked at me last night. Even as the heat raged inside me, he was careful, checking on me with every movement, making sure I was okay.
“Finn,” I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah?”
I hesitate, my fingers curling into the blanket beneath me. “Thank you. ”
His hand stills on my hip, and I feel him shift behind me. “For what?”
“For…for helping me,” I say, my throat tightening around the words. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been here.”
Finn exhales softly, his breath warm against the back of my neck. “You don’t have to thank me, sunshine,” he whispers. “I’d do anything for you.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache, and I swallow hard, trying to fight the emotions threatening to spill over.
Finn shifts again, his arm tightening around me as he presses a soft kiss to my shoulder. “Are you hungry?” he asks, his tone lighter now, as if sensing I need a distraction.
I offer a hesitant nod, realizing I haven’t eaten since the last time he finger-fed me food while I was still too weak to move. My stomach twists at the thought, a mix of hunger and nausea.
“Stone made another tray. I’ll grab it,” Finn says, easing out of the nest.
I watch him as he moves, the way his muscles shift under his skin, the faint lines of tension in his shoulders. He’s still wearing the same sweatpants from last night, and the sight sends another flash of memory through me—his body hovering over mine, his sweat-dampened skin pressed against me, the way he moved inside me.
My cheeks burn again, and I turn my gaze away, focusing instead on the nest around me. It’s a mess, all of it saturated with Finn’s scent and…mine. The realization makes my stomach flip, equal parts embarrassment and something else I have no words for.
When Finn returns, he settles back into the nest with the tray balanced carefully in his hands. The smell of eggs and toast fills the air, and my stomach growls loudly in response.
Finn chuckles softly, gray eyes crinkling at the corners as he hands me a piece of toast. “Here,” he says, his voice warm. “Start with this. ”
I take it, nibbling cautiously at the edge. The simple act of eating feels grounding, like I’m anchoring myself back to the present. Finn doesn’t rush me, doesn’t push. He just sits beside me, his presence steady and comforting, like a lifeline.
But even as I eat, my mind keeps drifting back to last night. To the way he touched me, the way he held me. To the way I gave him a part of myself I’ve never given anyone.
“Finn?” I say after a while, my voice quiet.
“Yeah?”
I hesitate, my fingers picking at the edge of the toast. “Did I…did I do okay?”
His brows furrow slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”
“Last night,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I’ve never…I didn’t know what to do, and I…”
Finn sets the tray aside, his expression softening as he shifts closer to me. “Hailey,” he says gently, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. His lips find mine, stealing my breath away. “You were perfect.”
I bite my lip, my cheeks flushing. “But I?—”
“You were perfect,” he says again. “Last night wasn’t about knowing what to do. It was about what you needed. And you trusted me enough to help you. You have no idea how much of a gift that was to me.”
His words hit something deep inside me, and I feel the weight of them settle over me like a blanket. I nod slowly, my throat too tight to speak, and Finn smiles softly, his thumb brushing against my cheek.
For a while, we stay like that—quiet, close, the silence between us thick with something unspoken but not uncomfortable. The world outside feels distant, like it belongs to someone else entirely.
Eventually, the light shifts, spilling brighter into the room as the sun climbs higher into the sky. The soreness in my body makes me aware of every movement, but it’s not unbearable—more like a dull reminder of everything that happened. A reminder of Finn’s hands on me, his voice grounding me, the way he stayed so gentle even when I begged him for more.
He hasn’t left my side. Every time I shift or wince, his hand is there, steadying me, brushing against my arm or my hip, a silent reassurance that I’m not alone.
But the quiet doesn’t last. The heat under my skin hasn’t fully gone—it’s still there under the surface, a slow burn that makes my skin tingle and my stomach twist. I can feel it creeping closer with every hour, like a storm building in the distance. And with it comes something else.
Something I don’t want to think about yet.
Finn moves beside me, his arm slipping from around my waist as he sits up, stretching his arms over his head. The blanket falls away, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, my cheeks heating at the sight of his bare chest.
He catches me looking and grins. “You’re staring.”
I look away quickly, my face burning. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.” His voice is teasing, but there’s a softness to it that makes the intensity of everything that happened last night thrum just under my skin. “It’s okay, sunshine. You can stare all you want.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. Finn has a way of making me feel at ease, even when my thoughts are a tangled mess.
He reaches for the tray on the nightstand, handing me the glass of water Jax had brought up earlier. “Drink,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to stay hydrated.”
I take it without protest, sipping slowly as he watches me. His gaze is steady, and I can feel the weight of it even as I focus on the glass in my hands. There’s something soothing about the way he looks at me, like he’s making sure I’m okay without needing to ask.
When I set the glass down, he leans back against the pile of pillows, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the blanket. There’s a moment of charged silence between us, memories of last night lingering in the air like an unspoken question. I can see him searching for a way to lighten the mood, to ease the intensity that has settled between us. Finally, his expression shifts, eyes brightening. “You know,” he says, “we never did start our monumental task.”
I blink at him, my mind still drifting in the haze of yesterday’s memories. For a moment, I can’t place what he’s referring to. “What do you mean?”
“The nest,” he says, gesturing lazily to the room around us. “We bought all those blankets and pillows, and they’re still sitting in the shopping bags downstairs. I think we were supposed to be building the nest of the century, weren’t we?”
A quiet laugh escapes me, and I shake my head, my voice small. “This is your nest and I don’t think I’ve got the energy for monumental tasks right now.”
His lips quirk into such a sexy smile, I forget what we were talking about. The light streaming through the window casts shadows across his skin, highlighting the scars that crisscross his torso and the ones that travel the length of his hands.
I’ve seen them before—I couldn’t not notice them—but I’ve never asked. Not once.
My gaze lingers now, tracing the uneven lines, the jagged edges where the skin has healed but never quite smoothed. They tell a story, one I don’t know, and for the first time, I feel the weight of not knowing.
Finn shifts slightly, his hand moving to rest on his stomach, partially covering the scars there. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “They’re not exactly easy to look at, are they?”
I glance up quickly, startled by the vulnerability in his tone. “W-what?”
“The scars,” he says, gesturing to his torso with one hand. “I can put a shirt on if they bother you.”
“Finn, no,” I say immediately. My fingers reach out, brushing against his wrist, stopping him before he can move. “They don’t bother me. Not even a little.”
He looks at me, his expression unreadable, but there’s something guarded in his eyes, like he’s waiting for me to take the words back.
“They’re a part of you,” I say softly, my fingers tightening just slightly around his wrist. “A-and I don’t…” I swallow my hesitation. I let him inside of me last night. Surely, I can say this out loud. “I don’t think there’s anything about you that’s hard to look at.” The words spill from my lips like a torrent, and I almost bite my tongue. My cheeks burn hotter.
Finn exhales a shaky breath, his head falling back against the pillows as he runs a hand through his hair. “God, Hailey. You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it to make you feel better.” Panic shoots through me. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth.”
He releases a chuckle, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. But then he shifts, sitting up slightly, his fingers brushing absently over one of the scars on his chest.
“It was an accident,” he says finally, his voice low. “Two and a half years ago. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and things…went bad. Really bad.”
I stay quiet, giving him space to continue if he wants to.
“The car flipped,” he says after a moment, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Ren was driving. I was in the passenger seat, and when it rolled…” He sighs, releasing a long breath. “He walked away with some bruises and cuts. I didn’t.”
I feel my chest tighten, my fingers curling into the blanket in my lap. “Finn…”
“I don’t remember much after that,” he admits, his voice flat. “Just the hospital. The surgeries. The recovery. It was—” He stops, swallowing hard. “It was bad. And after that, everything between me and them…it just wasn’t the same.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and raw, and I can feel the weight of them pressing into my chest. I don’t know what to say to make it better—maybe there isn’t anything I can say. But I don’t look away. I let him see that I’m here, that I’m listening.
For a long moment, Finn doesn’t say anything else, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if he’s lost in a memory he doesn’t want to relive. When he finally looks at me, his expression softens, though there’s still something guarded in his eyes.
“Sorry,” he whispers, his lips twitching in what I think is supposed to be a smile. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”
“You didn’t.” I shift closer, wishing I could do something to make it all better. “I’m glad you told me.”
He exhales a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing just a little. “It’s not something I talk about,” he admits. “Not with anyone.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise.
“I know you won’t.” His voice is soft, and the way he looks at me makes my stomach flip.
Silence stretches between us. It feels like something has shifted, like we’ve crossed some invisible line, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say something to fill the space or just let it be.
“Well,” he says after a few moments, “guess we should get to it.”
I blink at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“The nest,” he says, gesturing to the room around us. “I think it’s time we redo it. Make it yours. Ours .”
I hesitate. The idea of rebuilding the nest feels…intimate. Like it’s claiming something I’m not sure I have the right to claim yet.
Finn seems to sense my hesitation, because he leans closer, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says. “I’ll help you. And we can take it slow, okay?”
I nod slowly, the tension in my chest easing just a little. “Okay.”
Finn smiles, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear before climbing out of the nest. “I’ll grab the bags,” he says, pulling on a shirt. “You just stay here and rest. ”
The door clicks shut behind him, and I let out a slow breath. His scent hangs in the air like a phantom touch, but my skin still prickles with awareness. My fingers twist in the sheets, seeking an anchor that isn’t there. Before yesterday, just breathing him in would have been enough to settle the restless energy crackling through my veins. Now…now I catch myself leaning toward the door, chasing something more than just his scent.
I’m…restless, my skin prickling with the need for something that’s elusive. I shift in the nest, trying to get comfortable, but the ache inside me only grows stronger.
It’s not just the pre-heat. It’s something deeper, something more primal.
I need something , and it feels very wrong to demand anything at all.
I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they linger, clinging to the edges of my mind.
When Finn returns, his arms full of shopping bags, I force myself to focus on him. He sets the bags down beside the nest, his grin widening as he pulls out a bright, fluffy blanket.
“Look at this,” he says, holding it up with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Softest blanket I’ve ever felt. I think it even beats the ones Stone likes to hoard for me.”
I can’t help but smile, my earlier tension easing just a little. “It’s nice,” I admit.
“Nice?” Finn raises an eyebrow, pretending to look offended. “This is luxury, Hailey. Pure luxury.”
I laugh softly, the sound surprising even me. Finn’s grin softens into something warmer, and he sets the blanket down, pulling out another pillow.
“Come on,” he says, holding it out to me. “Help me decide where this one goes.”
I hesitate for only a moment before reaching for the pillow. Finn’s encouragement is gentle, never pushing, and I find myself relaxing as we start to rebuild the nest together .
The new blankets and pillows slowly replace the old ones, their colors soft and inviting. Finn lets me take the lead, rearranging things until it feels right, and by the time we’re done, the nest feels…different.
It feels like mine, too.
I glance at Finn nervously.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, my fingers brushing against the edge of the new blanket. “Better.”
Finn leans back against the wall, his hands resting on his knees. “See? Told you we’d make it perfect.”
I smile faintly, but my attention drifts to the window. Through the glass, far below, I catch a glimpse of movement—Stone. His broad shoulders tense as he adjusts something near the corner of the house.
My stomach tightens as I watch him, the need simmering under my skin flaring hot and insistent. I try to push it away. It doesn’t ease.
“Hailey?” Finn’s voice pulls me back, and I turn to find him watching me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly, though my voice wavers. “I just…I saw Stone.”
Finn follows my gaze to the window, his brow furrowing slightly. “Oh,” he says after a moment. “He’s probably doing yard work. He’s the one who takes care of the trees along the drive.”
I nod again, but I can tell even as Finn speaks that he doesn’t quite believe what he’s saying. He knows what I saw wasn’t just “yard work.” Stone’s been out there for hours now, and I’ve caught glimpses of Jax, too—walking the perimeter, checking the lights, moving equipment I don’t recognize.
Something’s going on.
But I don’t say anything. Instead, I pull my gaze from the window and focus on the pillow in my hands, running my fingers over the soft fabric. The sensation grounds me even as my thoughts swirl in a chaotic mess. The warmth of Finn’s presence next to me is comforting, but it doesn’t stop the ache in my chest, the strange pull low in my belly that seems to have a life of its own.
It’s not just the pre-heat. It’s deeper than that, something I can’t name or understand. And it feels wrong—so wrong—because I shouldn’t want anything. Not after everything I’ve taken already.
I glance at the window again, my heart giving a little jolt when I see Stone move past it. He’s far away now, near the treeline, doing something to the light mounted on the corner of the house. His movements are careful, but there’s a tension to him, his broad shoulders set tight, like he’s carrying the weight of the world.
I don’t know why I can’t stop watching him.
Finn doesn’t push me. He just watches me quietly, his presence steady and patient. It’s one thing I’ve come to rely on about him—how he never forces me to talk, never presses when I’m not ready.
But right now, his silence feels heavier, like he’s waiting.
Finally, he shifts, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re restless,” he says, his tone light but knowing.
I flinch slightly, my fingers tightening around the pillow. “I’m fine,” I say quickly, but the words feel hollow even to me.
Finn tilts his head, his gray eyes sharp as they study me. “Hailey,” he says gently, “talk to me. What’s going on?”
I shake my head, my throat tightening. I don’t know how to explain it—this strange, overwhelming feeling that’s been growing inside me all day.
But Finn does.
He shifts closer, his knee brushing against mine, and the scent of him—clean, soft, grounding—wraps around me like a tether. “You’re feeling it, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice low and careful.
I glance at him sharply, my heart pounding. “Feeling what?”
Finn exhales softly, his hand coming to rest on mine, still clutching the pillow. “The pull,” he says simply. “It’s normal, Hailey. Your pre-heat is building, and your body…it’s starting to crave things.”
My cheeks burn, and I look away. His words are hitting a little too close to the truth. “I don’t?—”
“It’s okay,” he says quickly, cutting me off before I can deny it. “You don’t have to be ashamed. It’s your instincts, Hailey. They’re trying to guide you.”
I swallow hard, forcing my pulse to stop racing. “But I don’t even know what I want,” I whisper.
Finn’s thumb brushes softly over the back of my hand, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. “I think you do,” he says. “You just don’t know how to ask for it yet.”
His words send a rush of heat through my body, and I pull my hand away, curling it into a fist in my lap. “I don’t,” I say firmly, though my voice trembles. “I can’t…I can’t want anything. Not after everything you’ve done for me, Finn. It feels…wrong.”
Finn is quiet for a moment, his hand still resting lightly on my knee. Finally, he sighs, leaning back against the wall. “I get it. Trust me, I do. I know it’s scary,” he says softly.
I nod. But his words leave something unspoken hanging between us, something I can’t ignore.
“You said you were leaving.”
Finn stiffens slightly, eyes narrowing. “Hailey?—”
“You said you’d leave when the alphas bonded with me,” I press, my voice trembling. “You said this was temporary. That I’d be theirs…and you…”
Finn’s jaw tightens with an audible click, and he looks away, his shoulders stiff as tension locks every muscle. It’s like watching a fortress assemble itself brick by brick—his relaxed posture vanishing, replaced by rigid lines and carefully controlled breathing. His scent shifts subtly, too, taking on a sharper note that speaks of carefully contained pain. For a long moment, I think he won’t answer, that he’ll retreat behind that wall and leave me on the outside .
“It’s how packs work,” he finally says. His voice is low, almost detached, like he’s forcing himself to state a fact instead of how he feels. “It’s what’s best for you. Once you bond with them, you won’t need me anymore.”
“No.” The word bursts from me. “That’s not true. I do need you, Finn. I can’t—I can’t stay here without you.”
Finn’s face falls, and he shifts closer, cupping my face in his hands. “Sunshine,” he murmurs, his voice so thick with emotion the words come out rough. “You don’t mean that. The heat is making everything feel stronger than it is. Once it’s over, once you’ve bonded, you’ll see things differently.”
He says it like he believes it—like he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. But when I see the glassiness in his eyes, I know he’s as close to tears as I am.
I shake my head, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t care about that. I don’t care how it’s supposed to feel. If it means losing you, I don’t want it.”
Finn goes still, eyes searching mine. For a long moment, neither of us speaks, the tension between us rising.
Then, slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against mine in a soft, lingering kiss. This one is gentle, almost sad, like he’s trying to memorize the moment.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his voice a whisper. “You don’t know how much I want to believe that, Hailey.”
“Then believe me,” I say, my voice trembling.
Finn’s arms wrap around me, holding me tight like he’s trying to steady both of us. I bury my face in his chest, his scent creating a calming effect, but my thoughts are anything but calm.
Something about the way he holds me, the tension in his shoulders, tells me he’s not done talking.
Finn pulls back slightly, his hands still resting on my shoulders, his eyes searching my face. “Hailey,” he whispers, voice careful, like he’s choosing each word with precision .
I meet his gaze, my stomach twisting. “Yes?”
He hesitates, his brows furrowing as he exhales through his nose. “You meant what you said,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. “You’d rather go through the heat without them than lose me.”
I nod quickly, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I do. I mean it, Finn. I’m not staying here if you’re gone.”
Finn’s expression tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his jaw flexing. When he looks back at me, there’s something in his eyes that makes my chest ache—something heavy, conflicted.
“Hailey,” he starts slowly, his voice low, “I know how you feel right now. I know how much you think you need me, and I’m not saying you don’t. But…” He trails off, his hands dropping to his lap as he exhales deeply.
“But what?” I ask, my voice trembling.
Finn looks at me again, his eyes soft but steady. “But there’s a part of you that wants them, too,” he says quietly.
I shake my head instinctively. “No,” I blurt out. “I don’t?—”
“Hailey,” Finn interrupts. “You do. Maybe you don’t realize it yet, or maybe you’re too scared to admit it, but I can see it. You’re their omega, Hailey.”
I shake my head. “You are too!”
A pained look comes across his face before his expression shutters. “I was. Once. But omegas break bonds all the time, Hailey. It’s allowed. And it’s better this way—for everyone.”
His voice cracks on the last word, and I can see how hard it is for him to say this. How much it’s costing him.
“You think leaving will fix things?” I ask, my voice trembling.
Finn closes his eyes briefly, his jaw tight. “No,” he admits softly. “But staying would break me.” He releases a shuddering breath. “There’s been distance, Hailey, between me and them for a long time. I love them but having you here, touching me, giving me affection, it only underlines how much I’ve needed these things…”
The honesty in his voice shatters something in me. “Finn… ”
“I’ve been carrying this for a long time,” he continues, his voice low and heavy. “The accident, the scars, the way everything changed after… I’ve been holding it all together because I hoped things would change. But I can’t keep doing it, Hailey. I need to find peace. And I can’t do that here.” He pauses. “This would eventually have happened, even if we didn’t find you.” Finn tilts his head, his expression softening. “I needed you…And you need them.”
I open my mouth to argue but he continues.
“It’s not just the heat, Hailey. It’s them. Their presence, their scent…it’s pulling at you. I know it is. I know it is, because I’ve felt it before.”
I press my lips together. “It’s just the heat,” I whisper. “It’s making me?—”
“It’s not just the heat,” Finn says firmly, cutting me off again. “It’s instinct. It’s your body recognizing them as your alphas, even if your mind hasn’t caught up yet.”
I shake my head, my throat tightening as panic rises in my chest. The mere thought of facing the alphas without Finn’s protection makes my hands tremble. “ But I don’t want them ,” I insist, my voice breaking. “I don’t need them, Finn. I need you .”
Finn exhales sharply, his hand brushing over his face. “I’m not saying you don’t need me,” he says, his voice softening again. “I know you do. And I’m here, Hailey. I’ll always be there for you. But…they’re part of this pack. They’re part of you now, whether you like it or not.”
Tears spill over, and I reach for him, gripping his hands. “But what about me?” I whisper. “What if I can’t do this without you?”
Finn’s hands tighten around mine, his gaze locking on mine. “You can,” he says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think you are, sunshine. You don’t need me to stay to prove that.”
I blink at him, my heart twisting. “Stone and Jax…” I trail off, my voice trembling.
“They’re good alphas,” Finn says firmly, his gray eyes steady. “ I know you don’t trust them yet, but they’ve been doing everything they can to make this easier for you. Giving you space, holding back…even when they’re hurting for you.”
“And Ren…” I whisper, memory of his hand at my throat coming back enough that I ghost my fingers over the spot.
Finn groans. “We’ll have to…we’ll have to deal with that later.”
I swallow hard, my mind racing.
“They’ve been trying, Hailey,” Finn continues, his voice soft. “And I know this is a big demand, but for your sake, for the pain that will come with your heat, I think…I think you owe it to yourself to try, too.”
I shake my head, tears spilling over. “But what if trying means losing you?” I whisper.
Finn’s hands tighten on mine, his grip warm and steady. “You won’t lose me,” he says firmly. “I’m not going anywhere, sunshine. But you have to let them in. You have to give them a chance.”
I want to protest, to tell him he’s wrong, but I can’t. His certainty collides with my fear, creating a confusing storm of emotions. And beneath my panic, beneath my desperate clinging, there’s a quiet voice I’ve been trying to ignore—one that whispers what Finn is saying might be true. That despite everything, some primal part of me recognizes those alphas as mine. The realization terrifies me almost as much as the thought of losing Finn. And if I don’t try—if I don’t push past the fear and meet the alphas head-on—I’ll lose more than just myself.
I’ll lose Finn, too.
The thought sends a fresh wave of determination through me, cutting through the fear like a blade. I pull back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “If I do this,” I say quietly, “if I try…will you stay?”
Finn blinks, caught off guard by the question.
I continue, swallowing hard. “What if I can make you stay?”
For a moment, he doesn’t speak, his expression raw and conflicted. Then, slowly, he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead.
“You already make me want to stay,” he whispers against my skin. “Every single day.”
The words break something inside me, and I press my face into his chest, holding on to him tightly.
That little flicker of fire within me, the same one that helped me and Vi escape that truck, the same one that pushed me to run, the same one that led me back here after I abandoned Finn—it rises again.
Because maybe I can do this.
Maybe, by saving myself, I can save Finn, too.