45. Hailey
Chapter 45
Hailey
S tone’s voice echoes in my mind all day. “ Good .” The single word reverberates through me, a constant hum beneath my skin like the aftershock of a struck bell. I can’t shake it, can’t escape the memory of his heavy, possessive gaze burning into me. Even now, days later, my body responds to that remembered intensity—skin warming, a persistent flutter in my abdomen that refuses to settle.
For three days, it’s been like this.
I find myself watching him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. My eyes track his every move. He hovers at the edge of the garden while Finn and I work, a silent, watchful presence. Every shift of his body, every adjustment of his stance—I see it all. The breadth of his shoulders, the powerful lines of his body beneath his worn t-shirt, the way his straight chestnut hair curls slightly at his nape…I drink it all in.
The tension in the house has everyone on edge. Every morning, Finn and I scrub ourselves raw with blocker soap, but it hardly matters. The scents still build, layer upon layer, until the air feels thick enough to choke on. At meals, Stone sits beside us, eating in silence, his gaze tracking everything I do. Lifting a glass of water? His eyes are on me. Reaching for a piece of bread? His gaze intensifies. It’s unnerving, exhilarating, and utterly intoxicating.
And Finn… He notices. Of course, he notices. He always does. These past few days, there’s a flicker of heat in his eyes when he looks at Stone, a possessiveness that mirrors Stone’s, but with an edge of challenge. He catches me watching Stone, and a slow smile spreads across his lips, a knowing glint in his eyes. It’s a look that makes my cheeks flush, my core clench with a sudden warmth.
Sometimes I catch him watching me watching Stone, and there’s something in his expression that looks almost like satisfaction. Like he’s witnessing something inevitable unfold, something he’s been waiting for. He’s hurting, but he’s also happy? It all feels so complicated and that realization sends a confusing mix of emotions through me—guilt that I could want anyone besides him after everything he's done for me, but also relief that he doesn’t seem hurt by it. That perhaps, in some way I don’t fully understand yet, my growing awareness of the alphas is exactly what he hoped would happen.
But Stone’s attention isn’t solely on me. His gaze keeps flickering to Fin, too, lingering on him with an intensity that makes the air crackle. It’s a look that speaks of a deep, unspoken connection. It’s in the way Stone’s hand brushes against Finn’s as they reach for the same dish, the way their eyes meet across the table, a silent conversation passing between them. At that moment, I see the raw hunger in Stone’s eyes, a primal urge to pull Finn onto the counter, right there in the kitchen, and fuck him hard. It’s so instinctively clear that the thought sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
Now another day is here, and the persistent ache hasn’t faded. If anything, the pre-heat symptoms are worse. A restless fire beneath my skin that only Finn’s touch seems to soothe. Every night, I end up in the nest, whimpering and needy as he works me through the worst of it. But even that relief is temporary, and part of me fears tonight will be the same—panting and wanting while I beg him to make it better .
As for Finn, he’s sprawled out in the nest, his arm thrown lazily over his face as he sleeps. His steady breathing fills the room, a comforting rhythm that contrasts with the storm of emotions still churning inside me.
I sit up carefully, trying not to disturb him, and glance around the room. The nest feels safe, cozy even, but the weight of all this tension clings to me. I need space to clear my head.
Be brave , I tell myself.
Sliding out of the nest, I tiptoe across the room. Finn doesn’t stir, and I take that as a sign to keep going.
The hallway is quiet, the morning light casting soft shadows on the walls. For a moment, I hesitate, glancing back toward the nest, but then I take a deep breath and step forward.
The house is quiet, my bare footsteps quieter. I pass the wall lined with framed photos and I stop to study them, my fingers brushing lightly over the framed glass.
Here, in all these pictures—Finn, Stone, Jax, and even Ren look happy, relaxed. Finn’s grin is wide and infectious, his arm slung around Jax’s shoulders in one photo. Stone’s expression is softer than I’ve ever seen it, his arm draped protectively around Finn in another. And Jax…Jax is laughing in most of them, his smile bright and mischievous, his energy practically radiating off the pictures. It’s so different from the alpha I’ve come to know him to be.
But it’s Ren who catches my attention the most. His smile in one photo is small, almost shy, and it feels so out of place compared to the cold, intimidating alpha I’ve met.
My chest feels heavy as I stare at the photos. They look so close, so happy.
I don’t want to make this worse for Finn—for any of them.
Even though it’s been hard to trust, I’m starting to…like them. I like Finn’s warmth, Stone’s quiet strength, and even Jax’s constant reliable energy, though I haven’t spent much time with him. I want them to be happy like they are in these pictures again. I want Finn to smile like that, wide and carefree, without the weight of everything hanging over him.
But Ren… I haven’t seen him since that day.
The memory sends a shiver through me. The way his hand had tightened around my throat, the panic that had overwhelmed me—it feels like a lifetime ago, but the bruises on my neck are still faintly visible. I told myself I wouldn’t ask where he’s been, wouldn’t press for answers I wasn’t sure I wanted.
Still, the thought lingers. Where is he?
I shake the thought away and keep moving.
The house feels quiet, almost too quiet, as I make my way downstairs. I brush past Finn’s indoor plants, my fingers trailing on some of their leaves. Every door I pass is locked, though I don’t test the handles. I wasn’t thinking about leaving, but the locked doors still send a pang of unease through me.
Eventually, I find myself in the sitting room. The space is cozy, even with no one in it. I glance around, my fingers brushing against the edge of the couch as I sink into it.
The remote sits on the coffee table, and after a moment of hesitation, I pick it up and start pressing buttons, flipping through the channels until something catches my eye.
One of Finn’s reality shows flashes onto the screen. It’s loud and ridiculous, the kind of show that doesn’t take itself too seriously, and I can’t help but smile a little.
For a moment, the noise and chaos of it are enough to distract me, to make me forget the tension that’s been pressing in on me all morning.
But then the show cuts to a commercial.
The screen shifts, and the playful music is replaced by the sharp, dramatic tones of a news report.
At first, it doesn’t register. My mind is still half caught in the absurdity of the show, but the anchor’s voice cuts through the room: “Authorities are still searching for the mysterious thief responsible for a series of break-ins… ”
I glance up, my attention snagged by the words.
And then I see her.
Vi.
Her face fills the screen, grainy and worn down by the poor quality of the footage, but unmistakable. Her purple hair is tied back, defiant eyes staring straight into the camera. My stomach drops.
The anchor’s voice continues, but the words blur together, distant and meaningless in my ears. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart. All I can see is her .
The caption beneath her image reads "MYSTERY OMEGA THIEF: STILL AT LARGE."
I don’t realize I’m moving until I’m already on my feet, my legs carrying me closer to the screen. My hand trembles as I reach out, my fingertips brushing against the glass like I can somehow touch her, reach her, pull her back.
“Vi,” I whisper, the word slipping free before I can stop it.
Her face flickers on the screen as the footage loops, and the anchor continues to speak. “Authorities warn that the suspect may be armed and dangerous. Citizens are urged to remain cautious and report any sightings immediately…”
“Dangerous?” My voice cracks, barely audible in the empty room. She’s not dangerous. She’s scared.
I press my palm flat against the screen, my heart aching.
We made it out, but not together.
She’s alone.
The image shifts, replaced by a video of police cars and flashing lights, and I let my hand fall to my side. My legs feel shaky as I sink back onto the couch, staring blankly at the screen, my mind racing.
I haven’t spoken about her. Finn hasn’t asked. But he will. Eventually. And I don’t know what I’ll say. How can I explain the guilt, the fear that she might get caught again?
If I can help Vi, I will. But how ?
I let the noise of the TV wash over me, hoping it will drown out the whispers of guilt and fear. But the image of Vi’s face, her defiant eyes, remains, a constant reminder that she’s just as vulnerable as I am.
I don’t know how long I sit there. The constant flow of the program gets pushed to the background of my mind as other thoughts come to the fore. Thoughts of Vi getting caught. Of me getting caught. Of me losing everything these alphas and Finn have tried to give me here.
I don’t…I don’t want to lose it all.
The sound of footsteps is what pulls me from the spiral, and I glance up just as Jax steps into the room.
“Oh, hey,” he says. His voice is warm and easy, like he’s been up for hours.
My body moves before my mind can catch up. I’m halfway to my knees when I realize what I’m doing, my muscles remembering years of training like it was yesterday. See an Alpha, show respect. Submit. Or else.
I grip the edge of the couch, forcing myself to stay seated. Jax isn’t them. He’s nothing like the monsters at the Academy who taught us to kneel, who made Vi, me, and all the others practice proper positions until our knees were bruised and bleeding. Who would punish any hint of the defiance that still blazes in Vi’s eyes on that security footage.
But right now, with the Academy’s ghost so close to the surface, every instinct screams at me to drop my gaze, to sink to the floor, to be a good omega. To survive.
My breath stutters as I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay put.
I can do this.
I am stronger than this.
Jax goes still. He’s big, not in the same way Stone is, but his presence feels…larger. His energy is calm, collected, and commanding, and it makes me acutely aware of how small I feel in comparison .
“I figured you’d be up,” he says cautiously. I’m aware of the fact he doesn’t come any closer. Stays where he is. “Thought you might want something to eat.”
I blink, only now realizing he’s carrying a tray—breakfast, I realize, with waffles piled high and drizzled with whipped cream and syrup. A small bar of chocolate rests at the edge.
I blink at the tray, still fighting the demons that are threatening to pull me under. “You brought me…chocolate?”
Jax’s lips twitch into a faint smile, but it’s more subdued than Finn’s teasing grins. “I thought you could use a little sweetness,” he says, dark brown eyes catching mine. “Besides, they’re Finn’s favorite. I wondered if you would like them, too.”
I don’t know what to say. My stomach twists as I reach for the tray—not in fear now, but in something closer to nervousness.
“Thank you,” I manage softly.
He nods, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he moves to sit across from me. He doesn’t plop down or sprawl; instead, he lowers himself into the chair with purpose, his posture straight and composed. Even sitting, he radiates control.
“You’re watching Finn’s show?” he asks, his eyes flicking briefly to the TV, where the chaotic drama of a reality competition plays on screen.
I shrug, feeling self-conscious. “It was just on.”
Jax huffs softly, almost a laugh. “He’d watch it for hours if we let him. Says it’s relaxing, but I think he just likes to yell at the screen.”
His words make a small laugh brush from my nose.
“Once, I heard him shouting. I thought someone was breaking in. Turns out it was only some omega losing a pack of alphas on screen and Finn was screaming at her as if she could hear him.” His voice is calm, steady, but there’s a faint warmth to it that eases some of the tension in my chest. I take a cautious bite of the waffles, and for a moment, the sweetness of the syrup and the lightness of the whipped cream distract me from everything else .
“You like it?” he asks, his tone quieter now as he watches me.
I glance up at him, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah. It’s… good.”
His eyes catch the motion of my hand, the way my hair falls back into my face a moment later. For a second, he doesn’t move, but then he leans forward slightly.
“I’ve got something for that,” he says, that deep timbre of his voice pitched low.
I blink at him. “For what?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he rises from his seat. “Stay here,” he says over his shoulder as he disappears down the hall.
I’m left sitting there, my fork paused halfway to my mouth, wondering what he could possibly mean.
When Jax returns, he’s holding something small in his hand. As he steps closer, I see it’s a hair clip—simple, black, with a faint sheen to it.
“I thought this might help,” he says, holding it out for me to see.
I stare at it, startled. “Where did you get this?”
“It was Finn’s. Back when his hair was longer. He hasn’t used it in years, but I’m sure he won’t mind.”
I blink down at the clip, something strange happening in my chest. It’s such a small thing, but the thoughtfulness behind it leaves me momentarily speechless.
“May I?” His voice goes gentle, dipping lower, and I look up at him, my cheeks heating as I nod.
He steps behind me, his presence looming. I feel the warmth of him a moment later when he crouches, his hands brushing against my hair with a softness that surprises me.
His fingers are large but surprisingly gentle as they gather my hair at the nape of my neck, the faint tug sending a shiver down my spine. He pauses, his hands steady, and then his fingers spread, threading through my hair with deliberate care. The first pass is slow, his touch warm against my scalp, and heat blooms under my skin, creeping into places I don’t want to think about.
The sensation is unexpected—intensely heated.
I grip the bowl in my lap a little tighter, the edge pressing into my palms as if it can anchor me. But his hands keep moving, combing through the strands with a rhythm that’s almost hypnotic. Each stroke lingers, his fingers firm yet tender as they glide over my scalp, and I have to bite down on my lower lip to stop the soft whimper threatening to escape.
He leans closer, just enough for the warmth of his body to radiate against my back. The faint brush of his knuckles grazes the skin at my nape, and my breath catches in my throat. His hands slip lower, kneading gently at the base of my skull, and a soft sigh escapes me before I can stop it.
God, it feels good. Too good.
My shoulders drop involuntarily, the tension melting away under his touch. I lean into him without meaning to, my body betraying me, chasing the feeling. My eyes flutter closed for a moment, and the world narrows to the firm press of his fingertips and the deep, soothing motions as he massages the tight muscles at the back of my neck.
The scent of him surrounds me now, clean soap and a darker, richer cedar. It rises slowly till it’s almost overwhelming, filling my senses and making it impossible to think of anything else.
Jax gathers a section of hair, his fingers sliding through it slowly, almost reverently, as if savoring the texture. The deliberate drag of his hands against my scalp sends another ripple of warmth through me, and I shift slightly, gripping the bowl tighter as the ache in my chest spreads lower.
The fabric of my blouse brushes against my skin as I move, and I freeze, suddenly aware of how sensitive I feel. My nipples tighten against the soft material, and I clench my thighs together, willing myself to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly.
The gesture shouldn’t feel like this .
But his hands linger, his movements unhurried.
When a low groan rumbles in his chest, the sound vibrating against me, making my core clench, I stifle a gasp. Heat pools between my legs.
“It’s soft,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
I can’t bring myself to respond. My heart is pounding in my chest, and the heat of his hands so close to my skin is making it impossible to think.
When he’s done, he steps back, his voice quiet. “Do you want to see?”
I nod again, turning slightly as he moves away. But it’s impossible not to notice the shift in him—the way his shoulders seem a little tighter, the way his steps are slower.
And then I see it.
The bulge in his pants is impossible to miss, straining against the fabric in a way that makes my cheeks burn. It’s…fuck…it’s bigger than Stone’s.
My eyes widen despite myself, and I quickly look away, my face heating further.
Jax clears his throat, his voice low and apologetic. “Ignore it,” he says softly, his tone steady but faltering just slightly at the end. “I’m not going to touch you. I’m not going to do anything.”
But the look in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens as he turns away, tells me he’s not entirely convinced of that himself.
Ignore it ? I think to myself, my face burning. That’s impossible .
When he returns, he’s holding a small mirror.
“Here,” he says, his voice calmer now as he sets the mirror in front of me.
I stare at it for a moment, hesitant, before finally looking at my reflection.
The person staring back doesn’t feel like me. The hair clip holds my hair neatly in place, framing my face in a way I haven’t seen before. It’s strange, seeing myself like this—like I belong here, like I’m capable of being something more than the scared, fragile girl who ran from everything.
Jax steps behind me, his reflection appearing over my shoulder. The sight of him—tall, broad, and steady—makes something flutter within me. His presence feels overwhelming, but not in a bad way. Not in a bad way at all.
“How does it look?” he asks, voice low and deep, almost a whisper in my ear.
I swallow hard, my fingers brushing over the clip. “It’s…really nice,” I say, but my voice is now barely audible. “Thank you.”
Jax’s hand lifts, his fingers brushing against a stray strand of hair that’s fallen loose. He tucks it behind my ear, his touch lingering for just a moment too long.
“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. His gaze is intense, unwavering, and the weight of it feels like it’s pulling me under.
“Jax…” I whisper, unsure of what to say.
His lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile, but his eyes never leave mine. “You should hear it more often,” he says simply.
My chest constricts on my heart, an ache blooming low in my belly. There’s something about the way he says it—so genuine, so certain—that makes me feel raw and exposed, like he’s seeing parts of me I’ve tried to keep hidden.
Jax steps back, breaking the spell. The air feels instantly colder, his absence a stark contrast to the warmth that lingered moments before. He moves to the armchair across from me, lowering himself into it with a controlled grace that belies the tension humming beneath his skin. He sits rigidly, his thighs spread wide, the fabric of his pants straining against his erection.
I glance at him, my gaze drawn to the way his hands grip the arms of the chair, his knuckles white, the muscles in his forearms flexing. He reaches for a blanket draped over the edge of a nearby seat. Without a word, he unfolds it and lays it across his lap. He smooths it out with slow, precise motions, his gaze fixed on the task, but I can see the pulse throbbing in his throat, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
I watch him, my cheeks still warm, and try to focus on finishing my breakfast. The waffles are good, but my appetite is fading fast.
Jax shifts in his seat, and I catch the faintest hint of frustration in the way his fingers flex against the blanket.
When the blanket doesn’t seem to do the job of hiding his massive hardness, he leans forward, grabbing Stone’s laptop from the coffee table. He flips it open and seems like he’s focused on it.
For a while, he’s silent, his eyes fixed on the screen. The soft clicking of the keys fills the room, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not actually working.
I glance at him again, my curiosity getting the better of me. Is he really working, or is he just trying to distract himself?
The thought makes my cheeks heat all over again, and I glance away, focusing on the TV instead.
The silence stretches, the tension lingering in the air like a static charge.
Eventually, Jax lets out a quiet sigh, closing the laptop with a sharp click. He stands, the blanket still gripped to his lap, and looks at me.
“I’ll be back later,” he says, voice deeper than it was before. When he sets the blanket down on the chair, the movement reveals the hard outline of his erection beneath the now-rumpled fabric. A lump forms in my throat, my gaze fixed on the telltale tent.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
As he leaves the room, I exhale shakily, my body still humming with the tension he left behind.