14. Kaia
Chapter Fourteen
Kaia
The motel bathroom is unforgiving. I stare at myself for a moment, fingers braced against the chipped edge of the sink, the overhead light buzzing faintly and casting everything in a harsh yellow tone.
"You're fine," I mutter. The girl in the mirror does not look convinced. My hair is still damp from the shower. I try to tame it—to make the wetness look intentional—but without a hair dryer, it just looks like I'd tried, which somehow makes me feel worse.
I reach for the small makeup bag I'd packed without thinking. Just my travel makeup: concealer, mascara, and something neutral for my lips. Enough to make an effort, but not enough to hide behind.
I get dressed quickly: jeans, my best shirt (which wasn't saying much), and my other pair of sneakers.
I look normal. "They're not going to care," I say out loud.
But what if they do? I exhale sharply. No.
If they don't like me like this, then they're not my true pack.
I grab my jacket and head back to the café.
The walk feels longer than it did this morning, because this time, I’m thinking way too much. About Finn, and Lachlan, and Jonas. About how all of them have this way about them that makes me feel safe and seen.
The café comes into view, the CLOSED sign glowing in the window.
They’re already here waiting for me. Finn leans against the front of a Blue Ford Bronco, talking passionately about something.
Lachlan stands beside him, giving Finn his full attention.
The scene makes me slow down so I can watch them.
Then Finn sees me, and his entire face lights up. When has anyone ever looked at me like that? "Oh my gosh!" he says, pushing off the car and running toward me. "You look incredible!"
I blinked. "I didn't pack date clothes..."
"No, seriously." He walks in a circle around me, taking in my faded blue button-down, the careful way I've tucked it in. "That color is perfect on you. And look—" he points at the collar "—it's got character, like it's got a story. I love that." My cheeks warm. I don’t know how to respond.
Lachlan comes forward, slower than Finn. His gaze settles on me in his steady way, like nothing else exists. "You look beautiful," he says. I feel like he really means it.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
Finn claps his hands. "Let's go home! There are tacos to eat!" This makes me huff out a laugh, which is much easier than the times before.
Finn opens the passenger door for me. "Front seat privilege. You’ve earned it."
"By doing what?" I ask.
"Just existing," he says, closing the door behind me.
I mutter, "That feels like a low bar."
"It's a very important bar," Lachlan says.
I shake my head but smile. Lachlan pulls away from the café, focusing on the road.
Finn talks about everything—some new item the grocery store is selling, how he almost bought the wrong type of tortillas, how Adrian has extensive opinions on tortillas.
I listen and watch the town pass by. With Finn talking in the back, the hum of the car, and Lachlan's steady presence beside me, I forget to be nervous.
Well, until their house comes into view.
My breath catches at the sight. It isn't massive or overwhelming, but it's stunning.
The exterior is painted a warm cream color—soft and inviting, nothing like the stark white marble of my childhood home.
Set right on the beach with wide windows that open to the ocean, the house looks lived-in, feeling familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
There's a pair of worn flip-flops abandoned on the porch beside a weathered beach chair, and a half-empty glass of something sits on the railing, like someone just stepped away mid-sip.
A rocking chair sways slightly in the breeze, and I can almost see someone sitting there, watching the ocean.
But it's the garden that undoes me. It's nothing like the manicured, geometric perfection of my father's landscape design—those carefully pruned hedges and color-coordinated flower beds arranged like a chess board.
This garden is wild and intentional all at once.
Wildflowers—purple coneflowers and golden yarrow—grow alongside deliberately planted roses and lavender.
The paths wind organically through the beds rather than cutting in rigid lines.
There are stones placed thoughtfully but not obsessively, and herbs grow in terracotta pots clustered near the back door.
It's tended with love, not control. Someone cares for this garden, but they let it breathe.
This place feels loved.
"Wow..." I whisper.
Finn grins. "Right? They did good."
Lachlan parks in the driveway, and for a second, none of us move. Then Finn asks, "You ready?"
I hesitate, just for a second, then nod. "Yes."
The front door opens before we even get close.
Everything stops. The man standing in the doorway is sharp and composed, dressed in a suit that makes him look like he belongs in a boardroom, not on a beach.
His presence fills the entrance in a way completely different from Lachlan's.
Not quiet or grounding. Controlled, precise, and powerful.
My chest seizes and my vision tunnels. No, no, no.
My breath comes too fast, and my body reacts before my mind can catch up.
All I can feel is panic, sudden and violent.
My hands form involuntary fists, my shoulders draw in tight, and my lungs refuse to draw in air. It’s too much, too familiar, too…
"Kaia." Lachlan's steady voice finds me through my terror. He’s right beside me, and I didn’t realize.
"I can't..." I gasp, my breath ragged. "I..."
"It's okay," Jonas says, appearing in my peripheral like he's been here the whole time. "You're okay, Kaia."
"I'm sorry," I choke out, mortified, even though I know I’m having a panic attack. "I don't..."
"Hey," Finn interrupts, his voice softer than I've ever heard it. "None of that. You're good. You're okay."
I look up, shaking. The man in the doorway, who must be Adrian, is gone. Disappeared without a word. Though I know he’s gone, my body doesn’t catch up. My focus narrows, and I continue to spiral. The world moves in circles around me and my breathing grows more uneven. "I can't..."
"Hey, you don't have to do anything," Jonas says calmly. "Just breathe."
Lachlan's presence next to me is grounding. He doesn’t touch me, he just stays at my side. "Look at me," he whispers. I try, but my vision blurs. Despite that, I try to focus on him, on his steadiness, on his safety.
"Breathe in," he says. I drag in a breath that is much too fast and shaky. "Good. Breathe out." I let it out, and we do this again and again, slowly, until my lungs decide to work again.
Then I hear footsteps, and I flinch. I look up and see Adrian standing in the same doorway, but without the suit. He’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Somehow, the outfit makes him look even more put together than before. But he’s different now—less sharp, less threatening.
My chest finally loosens as he says, "I'm sorry." His voice is calm and controlled. "I didn't mean to startle you."
I shake my head quickly. "No, it's not...I just..." My brain isn’t comprehending words and my face burns. "I'm sorry..."
"Stop apologizing, beautiful," Jonas says.
Finn places something cold in my hand. I look at it. Just water. "Drink up," Finn says. I obey automatically and take a small sip, then another.
Jonas watches me. "If this is too much, we can do this another night," he says gently.
Lachlan nods. "No pressure."
I swallow hard and look between each of them.
At the open doorway where Adrian stands back, giving me space.
At Finn, who is definitely hovering, but somehow not crowding.
At Jonas, who is calmly trying to give me back control.
And then there’s Lachlan, steady as always, just trying to make sure I’m okay.
"I'm okay," I say, though my wavering voice isn’t too convincing. "I just...needed a second. I'm really sorry. That was—" They all cut me off.
"Understandable," Lachlan says.
"Normal," Jonas says.
"That was nothing," Finn says.
This makes me laugh. "I swear I'm not usually like that..."
Adrian says quietly, "You're okay. It's okay." I look at him, and without the suit that gave him that look of sharp control, he doesn’t feel like a threat. He just feels...present.
A few minutes later, Finn is guiding me around the side of the house toward the back patio.
His hand rests lightly on my shoulder as we navigate the narrow stone path.
"Fresh ocean air. It's the solution to almost everything," he says with quiet confidence, like he's tested this theory a hundred times before and it has never failed him.
The ocean stretches out in front of us, closer and louder now, vast and dark under the evening sky.
The sound of the waves fills the space, steady and grounding, each crash and retreat a rhythm I can feel in my chest. The smell of salt and seaweed, sharp and clean, cuts through the fog in my head.
The breeze lifts my hair and carries away some of the weight I've been holding inside.
Finn hands me the water again. "Sit." He gestures to a chair—a weathered Adirondack painted a soft sage green, its wood worn smooth by years of use and salt air.
The paint is faded in places, chipped in others, but that only makes it feel more real, more lived-in.
I sink into it and find it surprisingly comfortable, the seat curved to cradle my body, the armrests wide enough to rest my forearms. My body still feels a little shaky, but I do feel better.
The patio itself is a study in comfortable chaos.
It's not large—just enough space for a handful of chairs arranged in a loose semicircle facing the ocean.
There's a small wooden table between two of them, weathered to a silvery gray, with a stack of dog-eared books and a few empty mugs.
Potted plants line the edges—some thriving, some struggling, all of them real and imperfect.
Lavender and rosemary spill over their containers, their scents mixing with the salt air.
A rope hammock is strung between two trees, and I can see the indentation where someone has spent time there.
The deck boards beneath my feet are worn and slightly uneven, and there's a faded outdoor rug that's probably seen a hundred storms.
It's nothing like the geometric precision of my childhood home's gardens—no manicured hedges or perfectly positioned furniture. This space breathes. It's been loved into existence, not designed into perfection—and somehow, that makes it feel safer than anything I've ever known.
Over the crash of the waves, I hear movement inside.
Voices and the sounds of things being moved around and cooked in the kitchen.
It’s normal. They’re just going about their day like everything is normal.
They aren’t making my panic attack a big deal.
They aren’t making me feel broken. I exhale slowly and stare out into the water.
"I feel like a complete loser," I admit quietly.
Finn snorts. "Wow, bold take. Extremely incorrect, but bold."
I huff out a breath. "I just...I couldn’t even get up the driveway without..."
He cuts me off. "Having a human reaction? Yeah, that's crazy. I've never seen that before."
I glance at him as he watches me, completely unbothered. Being completely normal. "You're fine,” he says. “Seriously.”
I swallow and look back to the ocean. The majority of the panic has faded—not completely, but enough that I can sit here with Finn. And for the first time since we arrived at the house, I believe I might actually make it through the night.