53. Hailey
Chapter 53
Hailey
T he door to our room clicks shut behind me, but the sound feels louder than it should, like a final nail driven into the fragile silence that’s been hanging between us since Finn stormed upstairs. He’s pacing at the edge of the bed, his movements sharp and agitated, his hands threading through his hair in a way that tells me his thoughts are spiraling, dragging him deeper into the dark.
I stay by the door for a moment, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to reach him when he’s like this. The tension in the room feels suffocating, but I know it’s not directed at me. Finn’s anger isn’t the sharp, hot kind—it’s cold, seeping into every corner of the room, filling the space between us with heavy, unspoken pain.
He’s hurt. Betrayed.
And I don’t blame him.
“Finn,” I say softly, stepping toward him. I can feel his pain. It’s like a hot fire inside me, eating me from within. And I’m helpless. Helpless to take that same pain away from him.
He stops pacing but doesn’t look at me, his shoulders rising and falling with the force of his breaths. His hands curl into fists at his sides, the tremor in them barely contained .
“They lied to me,” he says, voice low and raw, like it’s scraping against the inside of his throat. “For two years. They kept this from me, Hailey. How the fuck am I supposed to trust them now?”
I don’t have a good answer for him, because there isn’t one. So I reach for the only truth I can offer. “I don’t know,” I admit. “But I know they love you, Finn. I know they thought they were protecting you.”
“ Protecting me?” He finally turns to face me, and the fire in his gray eyes makes my breath catch. “By hiding something like this? By pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t?” He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him, the sound sharp and jagged. “Hailey… No. That’s not protection. That’s cowardice.”
The words hang heavy in the air between us, and for a moment, I can only look at him, my heart aching at the raw pain written across his face.
“You’re right,” I breathe, and the admission makes his eyes snap to mine. “They should’ve told you. They made a mistake. But, Finn…” I hesitate, searching for the right words, the ones that will reach that wounded part of him, chase away the pain tearing through him. The same pain I can feel. “They’re hurting too. I saw it in their faces downstairs. This isn’t easy for them either.”
He scoffs, turning away from me, his arms crossing over his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Yeah? Well, maybe it shouldn’t be easy for them.”
The frustration in his voice makes my chest ache, but I don’t let it stop me. I cross the room and place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles, the way his body is practically vibrating with it. “I’m not saying you have to forgive them, Finn,” I murmur. “I’m just saying…don’t shut them out. Not completely.”
Because I know, deep down, even with this earth-shattering realization, he loves them. He loves them more than life itself. And I can’t watch him push them away, knowing it will only rip him apart instead.
He doesn’t respond right away, but he doesn’t pull away from my touch either. It’s a small victory, and I cling to it, letting my thumb stroke softly along the fabric of his sleeve.
“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” he says finally, his voice cracking under the weight of his pain. “The bond—it wasn’t just about them. It was about me, too. It was part of who I was, Hailey. And now…” He trails off, his throat working as he swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Now I don’t know who I am without it.”
His words cut through me like a knife, and I feel my chest tighten painfully. He’s not just angry—he’s lost. Adrift. And I can see how much it’s breaking him, the way his body trembles under the weight of it all, the way his breath hitches like he’s fighting to hold himself together.
“Finn,” I say softly, stepping in front of him. My hands come up to cradle his face, my thumbs brushing the curve of his cheekbones. His skin is warm under my touch, and I can feel the way his jaw clenches, the way he’s trying so hard not to let himself break. “Whatever’s left of the bond is still there…and you’re still you,” I whisper, my voice steady despite the emotion clawing at my throat. “You’re still the same person who fought for me when I didn’t even know how to fight for myself. You’re still the same person who makes me feel safe just by being near. You’re still you. And that’s enough.”
For a moment, he just looks at me, his gray eyes searching mine like he’s trying to find something to hold on to, something to ground him when everything else feels like it’s slipping away. Then, slowly, he leans into my touch, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, like the words are meant for himself as much as for me.
“You won’t have to find out,” I promise, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him close. His body presses against mine, warm and solid, and I can feel the way he sags into me, like he’s finally letting himself lean on someone else.
But then he moves, his hands coming up to cup my face, his fingers trembling slightly as they brush against my skin. His lips find mine in a kiss that’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. But it doesn’t stay that way.
The kiss deepens, becoming something raw and desperate, like he’s trying to pour every ounce of his pain and his longing into me. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer, and I can feel the tremor in his movements, the way his body shakes with the force of his emotions.
“Finn,” I whisper against his lips, my hands tangling in his hair as I try to ground him, to steady him. But he’s relentless, his lips trailing down my jaw and to my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
“I need you,” he murmurs, his voice cracking with the weight of his confession. “I need?—”
His words cut off as I let out a soft sound, half a gasp, half a moan, and he freezes, his hands tightening on my waist as he pulls back just enough to look at me. “Are you…” His voice is low, hesitant. “Is it…the pre-heat?”
I shake my head quickly, my cheeks burning as I press a hand to his chest. “No. It’s not that. Not another wave, at least. It’s just…” I trail off, struggling to find the words to explain what I’m feeling. “It’s…” Should I even say it? “They said you’re my mate, Finn.”
His throat moves.
“I believe it,” I whisper. “And it feels so good, Finn. It feels right. I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
His eyes search mine, and I can see the flicker of relief and something else—something warm and steady—cross his face.
“Our bond,” he repeats, his voice soft, almost reverent. “That’s what I need.”
For a moment, he just looks at me, his gray eyes softening as the tension in his body begins to ease. Then he pulls me close again, his forehead pressing against mine as his arms wrap around me, holding me like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion.
“No. I’m the one that doesn’t deserve you,” I whisper, my hands tangling in his hair as I press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “But you…you deserve this, Finn. You deserve all the love.”
The next few days are a strange mix of tension and routine. Finn keeps his distance from Stone and Jax, his interactions with them limited to short, clipped exchanges that barely scratch the surface of what needs to be said. I can see the way it wears on them—Stone’s jaw tightens every time Finn walks out of a room, and Jax’s normally steady presence feels strained, like he’s barely holding himself together.
But Finn doesn’t budge.
He spends most of his time with me, and I can feel the way our bond is deepening, growing stronger with each passing day. It’s not something I fully understand yet, but it feels right, like a thread connecting us that neither of us can—or want to—sever.
It’s in the small things. The way he brushes my hair out of my face when I’m curled up on the window seat, his touch lingering like he’s afraid I might disappear. The way he leans into me, like he wants to get under my skin whenever his scent spikes with anxiety. The way his eyes linger on mine when he thinks I’m not looking, like I’m the only thing worth paying attention to.
But there’s something else too. Something subtle but undeniable.
Ever since that night, that drastic revelation, Finn’s scent has been changing .
At first, I don’t notice it for what it is. It’s not dramatic, not yet, just softer, sweeter, with a warmth that lingers in the air after he leaves the room. It’s comforting, familiar, and I let myself sink into it, thinking it’s just…him. Just the bond between us growing stronger.
But it’s not just his scent. It’s the way he’s been acting.
He’s always been attentive, but now there’s a nervous energy to him, like he’s constantly looking for something to do with his hands. He’s been rearranging the blankets and pillows on the bed, smoothing them out with an almost obsessive focus, only to start over again minutes later. He lingers in the kitchen, his hands fluttering over the tea and snacks like he’s trying to prepare for something but doesn’t know what.
I watch him for days, puzzling over the changes. The way he keeps stealing my blouses when he thinks I’m not looking. How he’s arranged the living room pillows into a perfect semicircle three times today. The constant cleaning, organizing, rearranging—like he’s trying to make everything perfect but can’t quite figure out what perfect looks like.
Stone notices, too. I catch him watching Finn with a guarded expression. When Jax raises an eyebrow in question, he just shakes his head. Maybe he’s also trying to piece it together, this subtle shift in Finn’s behavior that we can’t quite name.
Or maybe it’s just me alone that doesn’t know what this means. Because Jax and Stone start exchanging more looks. More things said behind knowing gazes without words passing from their lips.
It’s not until I find Finn in our bedroom one afternoon, meticulously folding and refolding that old quilt from the closet, his movements jittery and almost frantic, that the pieces finally click into place. The scent changes, the restlessness, the compulsive need to create order and comfort…
He’s nesting .
The realization sends a jolt through me, followed swiftly by a thread of anxiety. I’ve never seen another omega truly nest before. I’ve never seen one go into heat either. The only experience I have in this is my pre-heat, but the waves are random and when they hit, the only thing I feel is a need to have the pain-pressure eased. This is real. This is something else entirely.
I glance toward the hallway, where I know Jax and Stone are talking quietly in the living room. Yesterday and today in particular, Jax has been watching Finn more closely than usual, his eyes sharp and calculating in a way that makes my stomach twist.
Finn doesn’t seem to notice my reaction. He’s too focused on the quilt, his fingers smoothing out every wrinkle with meticulous care.
“Finn,” I say gently, stepping toward him.
He looks up at me, gray eyes wide and a little dazed, like he’s been pulled out of a trance. “Yes, sunshine?”
“Are you…are you feeling okay?”
He blinks, as if the question catches him off guard. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”
I hesitate, not wanting to push him, but the worry gnawing at my chest won’t let me stay silent. “You’ve been… different lately,” I say carefully. “And your scent…”
His expression shifts, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “My scent?”
“It’s sweeter,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, but my heart is racing. “And the nesting…”
He stiffens, his hands freezing on the quilt. “I’m not—” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as his focus lands on the quilt in his hand. I see the moment his throat bobs as he swallows hard.
“Finn,” I say softly, reaching for his hand.
He lets me take it, but he doesn’t look at me. His fingers are warm and trembling slightly in mine.
“Finn,” I say again, more gently this time, my thumb brushing over his trembling fingers.
His gaze darts to mine, wide and full of something raw—fear, uncertainty, denial. “I can’t be going into heat,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “It’s not time.”
I don’t say anything at first. I let him process, but the way his fingers grip mine, tighter now, like I’m the only thing anchoring him, tells me he’s not just trying to convince me—he’s trying to convince himself.
“It’s not time,” he repeats, voice rising slightly. He pulls his hand away and starts pacing, fingers dragging through his hair. “I can’t…I won’t. Not now. Not after what they did.”
“Finn…”
“ No , Hailey.” He turns to look at me, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “It’s definitely not time. Do you know why? Because I can’t—I won’t —let them have even a piece of me right now. Not after…not after they lied to me. For two years.”
The anger in his voice is sharp now, cutting through the air like a blade, but I can still hear the hurt beneath it, the betrayal that’s been eating away at him.
“Finn,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Your heat isn’t about them. It’s about you. Your body, your needs?—”
He shakes his head violently, cutting me off. “No. No, I can’t.” His hands curl into fists at his sides, and I can see the war waging inside him—the fear, the anger, the denial all crashing together in a storm he doesn’t know how to weather. “They don’t deserve to be part of this. Not Stone, not Jax. And Ren? He’s not even here. How the hell am I supposed to?—”
He breaks off, his voice cracking, and I can see the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes.
I step into his space carefully, my hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. “Finn,” I whisper, surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice. “You’re not alone in this. I will help you. Like you helped me. I?—”
He looks at me, his eyes searching mine for something—reassurance, maybe, or hope. “Oh, Hailey,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “My sweet precious sunshine.” He swallows hard, his throat working against the lump I know is there.
“You don’t have to handle it alone,” I say firmly, my hands sliding down to take his. “I’ll do my best.”
His throat moves. “You have no idea…” he whispers. “You’ve never seen me like that before. The heat…it takes over. Every instinct, every thought, every fiber of my being will scream for one thing— them . My scent…it becomes…overpowering. Sickly sweet. And my slick… It drips from me, coats my skin, fills the air. I’ll be desperate, Hailey. Writhing, begging, clawing at them for relief. My body…it’ll betray me. My hips will buck, my thighs will clench, I will ache with a need so intense it’ll feel like I’m being torn apart. I’ll crave their touch, their scent, the feel of their knots inside me, filling me, claiming me. I’ll be feral , Hailey. An animal driven by pure instinct. I’ll need their knots, their scent, their everything… so desperately that I won’t even recognize myself.” His voice drops to a barely audible whisper. “And they…they’ll be just as wild. Driven by my scent, by the need to claim me, to possess me, to breed me.” A shiver goes through him, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and a dark, desperate longing. “It’s…it’s primal, Hailey. Raw. And…I don’t want you caught in the center of it. After everything that’s happened in the last few days, you don’t need to deal with that.”
My heart aches. He’s still thinking of me. Even now.
“I want to help.”
He grimaces.
“I don’t care about seeing you desperate or seeing you need them? You’re my best friend. My—” My cheeks heat. Maybe because the words still feel so unbelievable. “My mate . My family.”
“Hailey—”
“No.” My voice is firm and Finn looks startled for a bit before he chuckles and pulls me into him. We collapse on the bed and he’s suddenly on top of me, pressing me into the soft fibers. I chuckle too. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to scare me away with the details, but you’ve seen me at my worst before. Don’t hide from me. Please.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing across my brow. “It won’t be pretty.”
“When has anything in my life ever been pretty?”
That draws a weak laugh from him, but his eyes are serious when they meet mine again. “I just…I don’t want you to get scared when…”
“I won’t.”
He sighs. Presses his forehead against mine, his lips ghosting across my lips, before he groans. “And this place. I hate this place. I want my nest.”
I know what he means. This isn’t home. It’s not the place he’s spent years building into a sanctuary, piece by piece. It’s not the nest he’s poured so much of himself into, the space that holds his scent and his memories and his heart.
This place is just a house.
I wish I could change that for him.
I will.
The next day is a blur. I try to transform our room into something closer to home. I raid the linen closets, gathering every soft blanket and pillow I can find. I arrange them the way I remember our nest—blankets draped just so, pillows creating the perfect hollow. Each time Finn rearranges things in his restless state, I let him, adding what I can to the familiar patterns.
I get Stone to find me plants outside. I tuck them into spots around the room, trying to bring back that homey feel. It’s not the same—nothing could be—but watching Finn’s shoulders relax slightly when he catches sight of them makes it worth it.
His scent grows sweeter with each passing hour, filling our makeshift nest with a warmth that’s almost dizzying. It clings to my skin, sinks into my clothes, and I find myself breathing it in like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
But it’s not just me.
The air in the house feels heavier, charged with something unspoken, something primal. Finn’s scent is everywhere now—soft, sweet, intoxicating—and I can see the way it’s affecting the alphas.
Jax has been tense, his usually calm and steady presence fraying at the edges. There’s a sharpness to his movements, a restless energy that wasn’t there before. I catch him pacing the hallway outside our room more than once, his shoulders tight, his jaw clenched. When he thinks we’re sleeping, he leans against the doorframe, his head tipped back as he breathes deeply, like he’s trying to steady himself.
Stone isn’t faring much better. He’s quieter than usual, amber eyes tracking Finn like a predator watching its prey. He keeps his distance, but I can see the strain in every line of his body—the way his fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to reach out, to touch, to claim. His scent has grown heavier, more dominant, and I can feel it in the air whenever he’s near, too.
Neither of them says anything about it, but their instincts are obvious. Finn’s impending heat is pulling at them, fraying their control, and I can tell it’s taking everything they have to keep themselves in check.
But they don’t push.
And then there are the other things—the quiet murmurs between Jax and Stone. The way they’ve started stockpiling what Stone referred to as Finn’s favorite snacks in the pantry, the extra blankets and pillows they’ve added to the closet.
One afternoon, I catch Jax in the kitchen, his hands braced against the counter as he stares at a list in front of him. His jaw is tight, shoulders tense, and when I step closer, I can see it’s a checklist of supplies—food, water, medical kits, more blankets .
I hover in the doorway, not wanting to intrude. Things between all of us are…complicated. We haven’t had time to process everything—the scent match, the truth about what happened two years ago, the Academy, and then there’s all the pain and secrets between us. But watching him now, seeing the careful way he’s planning for Finn’s needs, I can’t hate him. Can’t hate any of them, really. Neither can Finn, though he’s hurting in ways I can barely comprehend.
Jax notices me after a moment, his head lifting slightly. The silence stretches between us, not exactly uncomfortable, just…careful. Like we’re both trying to figure out where we stand.
“There’s tea,” he says finally, nodding toward the kettle. “Just made it.”
It’s such a small thing, but I understand the gesture for what it is. I’ve seen how the alphas move around Finn these past few days—gentle, attentive. They’re extending the same courtesy to me, I realize. Trying to make us both feel safe.
“Thanks,” I murmur, moving to pour myself a cup.
From here, I can see his list more clearly. He’s thought of everything—extra pillows, fever reducers, electrolyte drinks. Things I wouldn’t have known to consider.
His eyes flick toward the hallway, where Finn is curled up on the couch, legs tucked under him as he flips through a book he’s not really reading. “Just trying to be prepared,” he says quietly.
There’s something in his voice—something raw and aching—that makes my insides ache, too. He’s not just making lists; he’s trying to build some semblance of security.
“It’s hard,” I say softly, surprising myself. “Being away from home.”
Jax exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Well…we want to wait a little longer before we go back. Doesn’t matter anyway. House is probably still a mess. And Ren…”
He trails off, his frustration evident .
“And Ren’s not here,” I finish, understanding the weight of that absence.
Jax nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. And that’s not helping.”
It’s late afternoon when it finally happens.
I’m sitting in the living room with Stone, the silence between us heavy. Jax is out getting the last items on his list, and Finn is upstairs, rearranging the cedar chest for what feels like the hundredth time.
“He’s close,” Stone says quietly, amber eyes fixed on the stairs.
I nod, my hands twisting in my lap. “I know.”
Stone exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “Hailey…Fuck.” He runs his hands over his face. “I’m so fucking sorry this is the messed up pack you’ve been saddled with. If I could change it all…make us better before we found you…I would go back and do it all over again. This isn’t how any of this should be playing out and I want to apologize beforehand for what’s about to?—”
Before he can finish, there’s a crash from upstairs, followed by Finn’s muffled curse. We’re both moving before the sound fully registers, taking the stairs two at a time.
We find him in the bedroom, surrounded by the contents of the cedar chest he’s apparently upended. Blankets and pillows litter the floor around him, and he’s kneeling in the middle of the chaos, his hands fisting the fabric of a quilt.
“I don’t…” he starts, his voice trembling. “I was just trying to organize them, but they didn’t feel right. Nothing feels right.”
His voice cracks, and he looks up at us, gray eyes wide and glassy. His cheeks are flushed, his skin damp with sweat, and his scent—gods, his scent—is so thick and sweet now that it’s almost unbearable .
Stone releases a choked groan, injured arm slamming into the door frame as he closes his eyes shut tight.
“Finn,” I whisper, moving toward where Finn’s settled on the floor.
He shakes his head, his hands tightening on the quilt. “I can’t… I can’t stop it,” he says, his voice breaking. “It’s too much. I feel like I’m burning up.”
I kneel beside him, my hands coming up to cup his face. His skin is so warm. Like there’s a fire right underneath my fingers.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “You don’t have to fight it. Just let it happen.”
His breath hitches, and he looks at me, his eyes filled with fear and something darker—something desperate and primal. “I don’t want to lose myself,” he whispers, right before he glares in Stone’s direction.
“You won’t,” I say firmly, my thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “I’m here, Finn. I’ve got you. I won’t let you lose yourself.”
He exhales shakily, his body sagging against mine. But his scent only grows stronger, wrapping around us like a cocoon, and I know, without a doubt, that his heat has started.