17. Kaia
Chapter Seventeen
Kaia
The house feels different at night—quieter, softer. The energy that had filled it during dinner, warm and chaotic and alive, has settled into something calmer now. The ocean moves just beyond the windows, steady and constant, like it’s part of the house itself.
I stand in the entryway for a second, my bag digging into my shoulder, not entirely sure what to do. This is temporary, just for a few days. I have to keep reminding myself of that before anything else settles in.
Finn appears from the living room, already moving toward the hallway. "Come on," he says, gesturing for me to follow. "We're giving you the good room."
"I don't need the good room..."
"Of course you do. You're our guest, which means you deserve the best."
"She's not a guest," Jonas says from behind us.
My steps falter slightly, but Finn doesn't miss a beat. "Oh, right," he corrects. "You're our temporary resident with premium perks."
"That's not better," Jonas mutters.
"It's way better," Finn says.
I let out a small, quiet laugh. There it is again; it keeps coming, easier and easier. Finn pushes open a door and steps aside, gesturing dramatically. "Your room, my lady."
I step inside and my breath catches. Oh, it's perfect.
The bed dominates the room—a queen-sized sanctuary with a thick, cream-colored duvet that looks impossibly soft, layered over sheets so fine they seem to shimmer in the moonlight.
There are pillows everywhere. Not haphazardly scattered, but deliberately arranged—a mix of sizes and heights, some plump and inviting, others flattened and more supportive.
I can tell just by looking that they're filled with down, the kind that molds to your body instead of resisting it.
A soft throw blanket in warm sage green is draped across the foot of the bed, and another in a pale ivory is folded artfully over the headboard.
The whole thing looks like it's been designed specifically for comfort, for rest, for safety.
The color palette is all warm neutrals—creams, soft grays, touches of that calming green—nothing jarring or cold.
Soft moonlight filters in through the window, and the bed looks more comfortable than anything I've ever slept in.
The window faces the ocean, its curtains shifting slightly with the breeze.
I walk forward and brush my fingers over the soft, linen drapes.
Then, I notice the attached private bathroom. My chest tightens.
"This is..." I start, then stop. There isn't a word for it.
"Yeah," Finn says. "We don't do things halfway around here."
"I can see that."
I lower my bag to the floor slowly, like I don't want to disturb anything. While I'm still taking it all in, Finn claps his hands once.
"Okay, so important question."
"Yes?"
"What do you sleep in?"
My brain stalls. "I...what?"
"Pajamas," he clarifies. "Clothes. Sleepwear. You seem like an 'I have exactly one oversized shirt and that's it' kind of girl, but I don't want to assume."
I stare at him. "I have..." I gesture vaguely at my bag. "Stuff."
Finn glances at the bag, then back at me. Something in his expression shifts, not dramatically, but enough for me to notice. "Cool," he says. "Great. I love that." He turns immediately. "I'm going to grab you some clean stuff."
"Finn, you don't have to..." But before I can finish, he's already gone. I exhale and shake my head slightly. "They're a lot," I mutter.
Jonas moves quietly into the bathroom, and I hear the soft sound of him checking things—opening drawers, running water briefly.
He emerges a moment later, giving me space but staying nearby, his presence steady and unobtrusive.
He's already assessing what I might need, making sure everything is there without making a production of it.
Lachlan leans against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, watching me. "Yeah," he says. "They are." I glance at him, but there's no judgment in his expression, just understanding. "I know they're overwhelming," he adds, "but they mean well."
I smile. "I know." And I do. This is the strange part. I don't feel like I have to question whether they mean well.
Footsteps approach, and Adrian steps into the room with a mug in one hand and a water bottle in the other. "Here's some chamomile tea, and some water," he says gently, setting them on the nightstand. Steam curls up from the tea and catches in the ocean breeze.
I blink. "You didn't have to..."
"I know," he says with the same quiet certainty.
My chest tightens. "Thank you." Adrian nods once. The metal water bottle is beautiful, its soft blue fading into purple, like the ocean at sunset.
"I can take you to the café tomorrow," Lachlan says. "I’m always up early."
My head snaps up. "You don't have to do that."
"You're not a burden, Kaia." The words come easy and immediate, like he already anticipated my response.
I swallow. "I just..."
He interrupts me. "Come downstairs whenever you're ready.”
I nod. "Okay." They all say goodnight and leave as quietly as they entered. I look around the room, unable to stop smiling.
Just as I’m about to take a sip of tea, Finn bursts back in.
"I come bearing gifts!" he announces. He’s holding a basket—and not a small one. It’s huge! And overflowing with clothes and toiletries. He uses two hands to set it down on the dresser with a soft thud. "There's shower stuff. It's all new. I didn't know what you'd like, so I grabbed everything."
I stare at the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotions, and things I don't even recognize. "This is...Finn, this is..."
"Too much? Yeah, probably, but it's all necessary.
" He reaches into the basket again and pulls out a stack of clothes.
"These are mine." He tosses the pile onto the bed.
"There's also some Alpha hoodies in there, because obviously, and a long sleeve shirt that's Jonas's.
" My breath catches. "Have a great shower," he says, halfway out the door.
"Sleep well. If you need anything at all, I'm just a couple doors down. "
I watch him, overwhelmed. He just did all of this—they all did. "Goodnight, Finn."
He grins. "Goodnight, Kaia." Then he's gone, probably bounding down the hallway to one of the guys' rooms. I stand there for a second, looking at the bathroom, then at the basket. I grab a towel and step inside.
I don't truly need a shower, but I want one badly.
I turn on the water and wait for it to heat up.
When the mirror begins to fog, I step under the spray.
The water pressure alone is enough to make me pause.
It's strong and consistent and hot. Finally, some hot water.
This is nice. I don't rush; I just stand there, letting the hot stream wash over me, letting my shoulders drop.
When I step out, my skin feels warmer, and I feel looser, like something in me finally unclenched.
Back in the bedroom, I wrap my hands around the mug of tea and take a small sip. It's calming, grounding. I change into Jonas's long sleeve shirt. It smells faintly like him, like rain on the beach.
I climb into bed and stop. There's a blanket that wasn't there before. My fingers brush over it slowly. It's so soft and warm, and it smells like all of them. Familiar. Safe. My chest tightens, but not with panic—with something deeper.
I pull the blanket close and tuck it around myself before I can overthink.
The bed is perfect. Soft but not too soft, supportive.
Nothing like the motel. My body sinks into it immediately.
Relief hits me so fast it almost feels like exhaustion.
I should think about this. Question it. But before I can, my eyes close and my breathing slows.
Before the panic can come or the disbelief can settle, I fall asleep, fast and deep—like my body has finally decided it’s safe enough to rest.