52. Jax
Chapter 52
Jax
D ays blend together at the cabin, each one establishing a routine that feels almost normal if you don’t look too closely at the undercurrents. By our third morning, we’ve fallen into patterns that give structure to our exile—breakfast together, security checks, inventory management, and the small domestic tasks that keep four people functioning in an isolated space.
By mid-afternoon, the constant vigilance begins to wear on all of us. It’s Stone who discovers the collection of board games tucked away in a cabinet beneath the living room bookshelves, his surprised laugh drawing us all to where he kneels on the hardwood floor.
“Look at this,” he says, pulling out dusty boxes of Scrabble, chess, and an ancient-looking Monopoly set. “Ren’s idea of emergency entertainment, I guess.”
Hailey approaches cautiously, her curiosity evident as she peers over Stone’s shoulder. “I’ve never played these before,” she admits quietly, fingers hovering over a deck of cards as if unsure whether she’s allowed to touch.
Finn, who has somehow found a dying plant and has been nursing it back to health at the kitchen window, turns at her words. “Never? Not even as a kid?”
She shakes her head, that familiar shadow crossing her face whenever her past comes up. “My parents, they never bought… No.”
The understatement hangs heavy in the air until Stone breaks it with deliberate casualness. “Well, consider this your education, then.” He grins, pulling out a battered Scrabble box. “Starting with the sacred art of making up words and arguing they’re legitimate.”
“That’s not how Scrabble works,” I interject, but I’m grateful for the distraction.
Stone’s eyebrow lifts in mock challenge. “Says the man who tried to convince us ‘quox’ was a word last time we played.”
“It should be a word,” I defend, remembering that night in our living room, the four of us sprawled across the floor with wine and laughter flowing freely. It feels like a lifetime ago. “It sounds like a word.”
“That’s not how language works either,” Finn points out, but there’s a softness to his voice that’s been absent lately, a brief return to the teasing dynamics we’d once taken for granted.
“We should play,” Hailey suggests suddenly, her voice gaining confidence. When we all look at her. Whenever she speaks, shows any sort of initiative, it’s always a bit surprising. Surprising, but not unwelcome. My gaze travels over her face, noting that she doesn’t look too bad this morning. Her skin is flushed, pre-heat still assaulting her, but she and Finn have been perfect with applying the scent blocker, showering multiple times a day, and even dealing with the heavier waves on their own.
It's top-class work. I should be relieved. A part of me isn’t. A part of me wants them both to be begging and writhing beneath me.
But now isn’t the time for that. They’re both traumatized. They need each other.
My cock can wait.
“I want to learn,” she adds, cheeks warming. “If that’s okay. ”
Something shifts in the cabin’s atmosphere—a lightening, a breath collectively released.
“Of course it’s okay.” Finn sets down the plants and moves to join her by the games cabinet. “We’ll start with something easy. Maybe cards?”
Stone shakes his head, already clearing space on the coffee table. “Scrabble. It’s educational.”
“It’s competitive as hell is what it is,” I counter, but I’m already grabbing cushions from the couch to arrange around the table. “Don’t let Stone fool you, Hailey. He’s ruthless.”
“Says the man who made us play Risk until 3 AM because he couldn’t accept defeat.” Stone shakes his head.
Hailey watches this exchange with widening eyes, her gaze darting between us as if trying to reconcile this playful bickering with the tension that has defined our interactions since arriving at the cabin. Beside her, Finn begins explaining the rules of Scrabble, his hands moving expressively as he talks about letter values and word multipliers.
We settle around the coffee table, Hailey and Finn on one side, Stone and I on the other. If Ren was here, he’d be on my left. His absence creates an ache. The familiar ritual of drawing tiles and arranging them on our racks feels almost surreal in our current context.
“Ladies first,” Stone suggests, nodding to Hailey, who stares at her tiles with intense concentration before carefully spelling out “CAT” on the board.
“Perfect,” Finn encourages, helping her count up her points. “See? Three points for C, one for A, one for T.”
Stone follows with “BATCH,” building off her T and utilizing a double-word score. His smile is smug as he counts out eighteen points, though I notice how he’s deliberately chosen a word that’s straightforward and clear, rather than the obscure vocabulary he typically deploys to crush us.
My turn comes, and I find myself studying Hailey rather than my tiles. She’s leaning slightly against Finn’s shoulder, her face animated in a way I haven’t seen before, and the contrast between this engaged young woman and the terrified omega who arrived at our door is striking. When Finn whispers something in her ear that makes her smile, the intimacy between them sends a complicated mix of emotions through me—happiness for their connection mingled with a selfish fear of what it might mean for our pack’s future.
“Jax,” Stone prompts, breaking into my thoughts. “Sometime today would be nice.”
I refocus on my tiles, eventually placing “DRIVE” on the board for a decent score. Finn follows with “WHISPER,” utilizing the S from Stone’s play and landing on a triple-word score that puts him firmly in the lead.
“Ruthless,” Stone mutters admiringly. “I’ve taught you well.”
As the game progresses, something remarkable happens—we begin to relax. The conversation flows more naturally, punctuated by good-natured arguments over word legitimacy and teasing complaints about tile distribution. Hailey grows more confident with each turn, her initial hesitation transforming into thoughtful concentration as she plots her moves.
“So is this what you normally do?” she asks during a lull while Stone is deliberating over his tiles. “At home, I mean. Play games together?”
The question is innocent, but it pierces the bubble of momentary normalcy, reminding us all of what we’ve lost.
“Sometimes,” Finn answers when neither Stone nor I immediately respond. “We used to. Stone, Ren, and Jax work a lot.”
“But Friday nights were usually game nights,” Stone adds, placing his tiles carefully on the board. “Unless Ren had an exhibition at the gallery.”
Hailey’s eyes widen slightly. “He’s an artist? ”
Finn shrugs. “Not for a long time.”
We settle back into the game after that, though a little tenser than before. It just reminds me that this whole pretense, this bubble we’re in, is not our reality.
As the afternoon wears on, we move from Scrabble to card games, Stone patiently teaching Hailey the rules of poker while Finn prepares a simple dinner. The domestic rhythm feels almost normal, even as the satellite phone sits silent on the counter, a reminder of Ren’s continued absence and the dangers waiting beyond this quiet cabin.
After dinner, while helping with dishes, I notice Finn pausing by the old record player tucked into a corner of the living room, his fingers tracing the edge of the cabinet with familiar longing.
“Does it work?” I ask, moving to stand beside him, careful to maintain the invisible boundary of personal space that’s developed between us again.
“I think so,” he whispers, opening the cabinet to reveal a collection of vinyl records. “Looks like Ren’s taste. Lots of jazz. Some classical.” He pulls out an album, examining the cover. “This is one of Ren’s favorites.”
The observation carries a weight of shared history—of late nights when Ren would pour whiskey and put on records while he painted masterpieces.
“Put it on,” I suggest. “It’s too quiet in here.”
Finn hesitates, then nods, carefully removing the vinyl from its sleeve and placing it on the turntable. The first notes fill the cabin, the cool, measured bass line creating an immediate atmosphere of sophisticated calm.
From the kitchen, I see Stone pause in his task of drying dishes, his head tilting slightly in recognition of the music. Beside him, Hailey sways unconsciously to the rhythm, her small movements making me smile.
“You like jazz?” Stone asks her .
She looks startled, as if caught doing something wrong. “I…I don’t know. But it’s…it makes me feel something.”
“That’s exactly right,” Finn tells her, adjusting the volume slightly. “That’s what it’s supposed to do.”
As the trumpet enters, cool and confident, Stone sets down his dish towel and moves to the center of the living room. In a gesture that surprises us all, he extends his hand to Hailey.
“May I have this dance?” he asks, his voice formal but his eyes kind. “Nothing complicated, I promise.”
Hailey looks to Finn, obviously seeking reassurance. When he nods, she hesitantly places her hand in Stone’s much larger one, allowing him to guide her into a simple, slow sway that accommodates the music’s languid tempo.
“I don’t know how to dance,” she admits, looking down at her feet.
“Neither does Stone,” Finn calls out, his lips twitching with repressed amusement. “That’s why he’s perfect for teaching beginners. Low expectations all around.”
Stone’s indignant “Hey!” draws a small laugh from Hailey, easing some of the tension from her shoulders as she settles into the impromptu lesson. Her movements are stiff at first, too concerned with getting it “right,” but as Stone continues his gentle guidance, she gradually relaxes.
“That’s it,” he encourages when she stops watching her feet and starts feeling the rhythm. “Jazz isn’t about precision. It’s about how it moves you.”
From my position by the record player, I watch this unexpected scene unfold—our most physically imposing alpha patiently teaching our little omega to dance, his movements careful and respectful, her trust in him growing with each measure of music. It’s a side of Stone that outsiders rarely see, this gentleness that exists alongside his strength.
Finn watches them too, his expression complex—pride in Hailey’s growing confidence mingled with something wistful as he observes her connection with Stone. When the song transitions to another with a more pronounced swing, I find myself moving toward him.
“Your turn,” I say, offering my hand. “Show her how it’s really done.”
For a heartbeat, I think he’ll refuse—that the distance that’s been creeping back between us will keep him away. When he finally places his hand in mine, the simple contact sends electricity through my veins. His fingers are cool against my palm, and I resist the urge to bring them to my lips, to warm them with my breath as I used to. Instead, I guide him to the center of the room, hyperaware of every inch where our bodies connect, of the memory of how perfectly we fit together.
For a few magical minutes, we exist in a bubble of normalcy—two couples dancing to timeless jazz in a wood-paneled cabin, the outside world and all its dangers momentarily held at bay.
“Switch?” Finn suggests as the song ends, and without discussion, we rearrange ourselves—Finn guiding Hailey through more complex movements while I find myself face-to-face with Stone.
Despite all the jokes, Stone is a capable dancer when he wants to be. His injured arm limits some movements, but we adapt, finding a new balance that works within his current capabilities.
“This was a good idea,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.
I nod, watching as Finn demonstrates a simple jazz step to Hailey, whose face is alight with the joy of discovery. “They both needed it. We all did.”
“It’s not enough, though,” he adds, the reality of our situation seeping back like a dark cloud. “A few hours of normal doesn’t change what’s coming.”
“I know,” I nod. “But it reminds us what we’re fighting for. ”
I can almost believe we might find our way back to being a real pack.
Almost.
The next morning brings reality crashing back when the satellite phone finally rings. Stone takes the call in the bedroom upstairs, his voice too low to distinguish words but the tension in his tone unmistakable. When he returns, his expression is unreadable as he joins us in the kitchen.
“That was Ren,” he announces, sliding onto a chair by the table. “Everything’s quiet at the house. No sign of anyone coming back or watching the place.”
“That’s…good news, right?” Finn asks cautiously, looking up from the tea he’s brewing at the stove.
Stone nods, though something in his posture remains guarded. “He thinks we could head back in a few days.”
“Back to the house?” Hailey’s voice is small, uncertain. She sits at the kitchen table, a cookie in hand. “Is that safe?”
“Ren seems to think so,” Stone replies and I study his face for any hint of what else might have been discussed in that call.
Hailey doesn’t look convinced, and honestly, neither am I. The Academy doesn’t strike me as an organization that gives up easily, not after sending armed mercenaries to retrieve one escaped omega.
“We don’t have to decide anything today.” I straighten, rolling my shoulders. “We’re secure here for as long as necessary.”
Finn places a fresh cup of herbal tea in front of Hailey, his fingers brushing hers in a gesture that seems unconsciously comforting. “What did Ren say about the damage to the house?”
Stone shrugs. “Didn’t mention it. Don’t worry, I plan to put in a good few days making it as good as new.” He flashes what should be a comforting smile but not even Stone can hide the strain of the past few days.
As Hailey and Finn eat, the conversation shifts to practical matters—what supplies we would need to pack if we did return home, what security measures we should implement regardless of location.
By afternoon, the weather turns, bringing a steady rain that drums against the cabin roof and transforms the forest outside into a misty, ethereal landscape.
Hailey curls up on the window seat with one of the books she discovered on Ren’s shelves, while Finn rests with his head on her lap, face turned to the window, watching the rain.
It’s after dinner, when Hailey and Finn have gone upstairs, that Stone approaches me in the kitchen. His movements are hesitant as he collects dishes from the table, placing them carefully in the sink before turning to face me.
He hesitates, then lowers his voice so it won’t carry upstairs. “There’s something else. About the call with Ren.”
My attention sharpens immediately. “What?”
“He asked about Finn. About how he’s…adjusting.” Stone’s eyes meet mine, weighted with unspoken meaning. “I told him about the…about the fact Finn had considered leaving us…”
My gut twists.
“Ren thinks…” Stone trails off, his gaze shifting to the window where rain continues to fall in steady sheets. He takes a deep breath, seeming to gather his resolve. “Ren thinks we need to tell him the truth. About what happened during the accident. About the bond.”
We’ve been having this dance for years and now Ren is on Stone’s side? Ren who’d been so afraid of Finn finding out just how he’d messed up that night? What the fuck made him change his mind?
“Well?” I prompt, because Stone’s scent has gone sharp with something that feels like guilt .
He sets a cup down with too much focus. “Well, are you surprised?” When I don’t immediately respond, he turns to face me, his good arm bracing against the counter. “We’ve been nothing but dicks to Finn.”
The bluntness of it catches me off guard, though it shouldn’t. Stone’s always been the one to call things as they are. “Not this again, Stone. We’ve already been through this. We were trying to protect him. Still are.”
“Were we?” His laugh is bitter, hollow. “Or were we just being typical alphas, making decisions on our own with no regard for the ones we’re so sure we’re protecting?” He gestures vaguely upward. “You saw him that night. With that baseball bat. That’s who he is, Jax. That’s who he’s always been. Fucking fierce and fucking perfect. He’s stronger than we give him credit for. He could have handled this if we’d just told him. And now he wouldn’t be thinking of leaving.”
The truth of it sits like lead in my gut. “I know.”
“ Do you ?” Stone’s eyes are hard now. “Because I’ve been thinking about it all morning. About how many times we’ve dismissed his strength because we thought if we let him know about everything, he’d shatter. Christ, even Ren had some semblance of it. Why do you think he kept that gun under the bed where Finn could reach it?”
I remember the way Finn had looked in that moment, baseball bat in hand, fierce and protective. Not an omega cowering in fear, but a warrior defending his home. His pack. His mate.
“Shit,” I breathe, running a hand through my hair. “We really fucked up, didn’t we?”
Stone’s voice is raw with self-recrimination. “Do you remember when he first came to us? How alive he was? How he’d challenge us, push back, make us think? When did we start trying to shelter him from things?”
The memory hits hard—Finn in those early days, his gray eyes sparkling with mischief as he argued art with Ren, challenged Stone’s cooking methods, teased me about my taste in movies. He’d been so vibrant, so unapologetically himself.
But I also remember the moment we all broke apart. It’s as raw as if it happened just yesterday.
“ The moment we almost lost him, Stone . Or have you forgotten that?”
Stone’s throat moves, and he looks away. “Well…now he’s got Hailey.” His words are soft but weighted. “His mate . The one person who sees him exactly as he is and loves him for it. Can you blame him for wanting to protect that? For thinking he needs to choose?”
I think about the way Finn looks at Hailey, how naturally they fit together. How she never questions his strength, never tries to make him be anything other than what he is. “No,” I admit. “I can’t blame him at all.”
“He needs this,” Stone says, hand wrapped around a soup can so tightly I worry it might crumple. “We fucked up. He needs her as much as she will need us. And we need them both.”
I nod. Because I know it’s the truth. It’s been over two years and I haven’t been able to do the one thing I’ve been put here to do. Keep my pack together. But Hailey. She’s come and she’s fitting into the cracks, slowly pulling the broken pieces back into the whole. “Yeah…” I whisper. “He needs her.”
Stone sighs, cracking the bones in his neck as he does. “And what about this Academy? All my leads have been dead ends. The only progress so far is that list of warehouses you have and even then, getting information on each location is taking too long. If they come for her again…”
“We won’t let her go,” I say softly. “And neither will he.” I pause, gaze shifting to the window as the leaves shiver in the breeze. “Remember when he found that injured fox in the garden?”
Despite everything, Stone’s lips twitch. “Spent three weeks nursing it back to health. Cried for days when it finally ran off into the woods. ”
“But he didn’t regret it. Didn’t stop caring about other creatures that needed help. It’s part of why we…” I trail off, but I’m sure Stone hears the unspoken words. Part of why we fell in love with him.
From upstairs, I hear a small laugh—Hailey’s. It’s followed by Finn’s deeper chuckle, and something in my chest twists.
“If we fuck this up,” I say roughly, “and we lose them…”
Stone moves over, his hand tightening on my shoulder. “Then we don’t fuck it up.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No,” he agrees. “But maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’ve been making everything too complicated. Thinking too much about pack dynamics and alpha instincts and what we should do instead of just…being there. For him. For each other. All of what we did and didn’t do, and he was thinking of leaving us, Jax. And…fuck…I don’t blame him. After the accident, when the bond broke?—”
His words fade into the chaos of pain that rises in my mind.
Finn died…and our bond broke.
Completely.
And that’s the crux of it—I’ve always known. Even as we constructed justifications and convinced ourselves we were acting in his best interest, some part of me recognized the selfishness in our silence. We couldn’t bear to say it aloud: the bond is broken. Because saying it would make it real in a way we weren’t prepared to face.
“—we should have shattered it completely. Yeah, we’d be risking it all, but maybe?—”
Stone pauses suddenly, color draining from his skin, and I’m about to ask why just as the scent of sage and rain hits me. Finn.
I turn to find him standing there at the entrance to the kitchen, gaze locked on Stone.
The temperature in the kitchen seems to drop ten degrees. My chest constricts as I watch Finn go impossibly still. He’s gripping the doorframe so hard his fingers look strained, and his scent—gods, his scent. The sage and rain turns sharp, acidic, with shock.
“What bond?” His voice is barely a whisper.
None of us move. None of us breathe. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, broken only by the distant sound of the wind playing in the leaves outside.
Movement at Finn’s back and a moment after, Hailey appears. She’s staring at us and the fragile scared omega we took in isn’t there anymore. The look of shock on her face quickly morphs into horror as her gaze slides to Finn.
Fuck, they were supposed to be sleeping.
Hailey reaches for Finn, wraps her arm around his arm as she presses herself into his side, her instincts moving before thought.
Because she can feel it. Without me having to voice anything. She can feel Finn’s heart breaking in two. Just like mine is.
Just like Stone’s.
“ What bond ?” Finn takes a single step into the kitchen. “ What are you talking about ?”
“Finn,” Stone starts, but stops when Finn holds up a hand.
“You’re talking about the accident.” His voice is eerily calm now. Too calm. “The same accident that gave me these, right?” He lifts his shirt to reveal the network of scars across his torso.
Just the sight of them and guilt almost suffocates me.
I exchange a quick glance with Stone, whose face has gone ashen. We never told him. After he woke up from that coma, after everything…we never told him how close we came to losing him completely. How for three minutes and forty-two seconds, we did lose him.
“You’ve been keeping secrets.” Finn says, and now there’s a tremor in his voice. He swallows hard. “You lied to me.”
The betrayal in his voice cuts deeper than any blade. I take a half-step forward, but Finn backs away.
“The bond,” he says again. “What happened to our bond?”
None of us answer. None of us can. How do you tell someone that the thing connecting you—the thing that made you pack, made you family—snapped the moment their heart stopped beating? That we felt it break, felt it shatter into pieces that never quite fit back together?
That we’ve been wounded ever since, hoping it would repair itself, but it never did?
“Finn,” Stone tries again, but Finn is already backing toward the door.
“You know what,” he whispers. “ Fuck you.”
He turns and walks away, his steps unnaturally steady. For a moment, Hailey watches him go, her back turned to us. And then, when she finally turns to face us, the hurt and accusation in her eyes is enough to break even me.
We hear as she hurries after him and catches him on the stairs, murmuring, and then footsteps as they climb higher. A door closing. Not slamming. Just… closing.
Somehow, that’s worse.
“Well,” I say into the silence, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “I guess now he knows.”
Stone makes a sound like he’s been shot all over again.
Two years. We’ve kept this secret for two and a half years, thinking we were protecting him. Thinking if we just pretended hard enough, loved him fiercely enough, it wouldn’t matter that the bond was fucking hanging by a string. That it would mend itself and we’d be alright again.
Now, listening to the quiet sounds of movement upstairs—Finn pacing, probably, trying to process what he’s learned—I wonder if we’ve just made the biggest mistake of all.
Because some secrets, once revealed, change everything.
And some bonds, once broken, can never be repaired.
…
Fuck. That.
I’ve spent nine hundred and thirteen days fighting for him. Nine hundred and thirteen nights watching him sleep, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelashes, the way his hand always reaches for us even in dreams. I’ve spent two and a half years learning every detail of his smile, cataloging every laugh, fighting to keep us together even without the bond humming between us.
If he thinks I’m giving up now, he doesn’t know me at all.
Some bonds might break. But we’ll build something stronger in its place—something forged by choice, by stubborn determination, by the kind of love that doesn’t need magic to survive. I’ll rebuild this connection one moment at a time if I have to, one touch, one kiss, one whispered promise until he understands that broken doesn’t mean unfixable.
I’ve never needed a magical bond to love him.
And I’m not about to stop now.