34. Adrian
Chapter Thirty-Four
Adrian
Finn is still curled into my chest, quieter now. Not asleep. But not fully present, either.
Somewhere in between.
My hand moves slowly along his back, steady, controlled. The same pattern, over and over. He needs consistency right now. Something predictable. Something safe.
Upstairs, Kaia is with Jonas. My jaw tightens. Not with jealousy. Or even irritation.
Assessment.
She went to him. Didn't hesitate. Didn't wait to be told. Didn't ask permission.
Most people did. They hovered. They second-guessed. They watched from a distance like they were afraid of doing it wrong.
She didn't. She saw him hurting and stepped in.
Finn shifts slightly, his fingers bunching into my shirt. "Are you sure he's okay?" he asks, voice quiet.
"Yeah," I say. "He's with her."
Finn goes still for half a second. "Good."
My hand slows slightly on his back. "You okay?" I ask.
He huffs. "I will be."
Not an answer. But closer than he was earlier.
I let it go. Pushing Finn never works.
Staying did.
So I stay. But my attention remains upstairs.
Jonas had been bad, worse than he lets on. He always minimizes it. Always makes it sound manageable. It's not.
And I should have caught it earlier.
The thought settles in, sharp and immediate. Too much stimulation. Too much noise. Too much everything. Beach. People. Energy. Emotion. And Kaia. My jaw flexes and I hear a pop.
Not because of her. But because I didn't factor her in fast enough. This is on me.
Finn shifts again, like he can feel the direction of my thoughts. "Don't," he mutters.
"I'm not," I say automatically. A lie. Because I’m already adjusting. Already recalculating. Water intake. Breaks. Triggers. Structure. Control. That's where I come in. How I operate. But now there's Kaia, too.
My gaze flicks toward the stairs. She doesn't follow structure. She doesn't wait for direction. She doesn't need permission. And somehow that works. Better than anything I would have done.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath.
Finn lets out a quiet snort. "You're in trouble."
I don’t respond. Because he isn’t wrong.
She challenges me without even trying to. Threw my own words back at me in the kitchen. Looked at me like I wasn't intimidating. Or untouchable. Like I was just a man. That shouldn't matter, but it does.
My fingers still briefly against Finn's back before I force them to move again. "She's not temporary," I say quietly.
Finn doesn’t hesitate. "Nope."
No discussion. No debate. Just truth.
My gaze shifts back to the stairs, sharper now. Focused.
She’s here to stay.
And now, after watching her with my pack, and understanding that she’s a part of us now, everything falls into place. I lean back slightly, grounding myself in the moment.
This isn’t chaos. This isn’t disruption.
This is alignment.
And if anyone thinks they're going to take this away from us, they'll find out how wrong they are.
Finn's breathing evens out against my chest, as if he can sense my resolve. He’s not asleep. But calmer.
"You're doing the thing," he says softly.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you're already ten steps ahead and planning how to protect everyone."
I don’t deny it. "Is that a problem?"
"No," Finn says. "It's just very you." A beat. "And very hot."
Despite everything, my mouth twitches. "You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
I do. But I don’t say anything.
Footsteps sound on the stairs. Light. Careful.
Kaia.
I don’t move. Don’t shift Finn. Just watch as she appears in the doorway, her expression soft but tired. "He's okay," she says quietly. "He's talking. And flirting."
Finn's shoulders drop immediately. Relief. Pure and simple.
I continue to murmur reassurances in Finn's ear.
Kaia looks at Finn, her gaze gentle. "I'm making him toast and grabbing Gatorade. You can come up with me if you want." A beat. "No pressure."
Finn shakes his head slightly, pressing into me.
I nod at her before turning back to Finn, pulling him close. "It's okay. You don't have to."
She nods back. "Okay." Then she’s gone again. Moving into the kitchen. Efficient. Purposeful. Taking care of Jonas without being asked.
Finn exhales slowly. "She's really good at this.”
"Yeah," I say.
"Like…really good."
"I know."
Another beat. "You're going to fall so hard for her."
I don’t respond.
Because I already can't imagine a life without Kaia. I just haven't admitted it yet.
The spring of toast jumping up from the toaster echoes from the kitchen. Cabinets opening and closing. The thump of the fridge doors.
She's moving through our space like she belongs here. Because she does.
Everything in me stills and aligns.
I've spent years keeping people at arm's length.
Not consciously—not cruelly—but carefully.
Because I learned early that attachment is a risk.
People come into your life, let you care, let you build something real, and then they leave.
They always leave. A job opportunity in another city.
A relationship that doesn't fit their timeline.
A realization that this life, this pack, this intensity isn't what they actually wanted.
So I learned to hold back. To wait. To watch for the signs that someone was temporary before I let myself believe they could be permanent.
But then there was the hammock.
Kaia, curled into me, telling me everything.
Her voice breaking as she shared the parts of herself she'd been taught to hide.
And I felt something shift—something fundamental and terrifying.
A recognition that I didn't want to lose this.
Didn't want to lose her. The way she fit against me.
The way her honesty made me want to be honest in return.
The way she looked at me like I wasn't too much, too controlling, too intense—like all of that was exactly what she needed.
I told myself it was too soon. That I needed to be careful. That I couldn't let myself fall until I was certain she wouldn't leave.
But watching her now—moving through the kitchen like she's lived here her whole life, pulling out the Gatorade without asking where it is, making toast for Jonas because she noticed he needed something simple and grounding—I realize something.
She's not performing. She's not trying to prove she belongs here.
She just does.
She saw Finn breaking down and didn't hesitate.
Didn't ask permission. Didn't wait for someone to tell her what to do.
She just stepped in and took care of him because that's who she is.
And now she's upstairs with Jonas, reading his needs with the same intuitive understanding, offering exactly what he needs without making it a production.
She's not here on trial. She's not testing the waters to see if this fits.
She's already home.
And that's when it hits me—truly hits me—that she's not going anywhere.
Not because she's trapped. Not because she has nowhere else to go. But because she's chosen this. Chosen us. Chosen to be part of this pack in every way that matters.
The fear I've been carrying—the one that whispers she'll leave, they always leave—finally goes quiet.
Because Kaia isn't like the others. She doesn't see this as temporary. She sees it as everything.
And I'm done protecting myself from that.
I'm done holding back.
She's ours. Completely. And I'm going to make damn sure nothing ever threatens that.
This isn’t temporary. This isn’t casual. This is everything.
With a start, I realize I need to look into who her family is. Not to control it. Not to fix it for her.
But to make sure they never touch her again.
Finn lifts his head from my chest to look at me. "You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah."
"You sure? Because you have that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're about to do something very Adrian."
I raise a brow. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're about to make a plan, execute it perfectly, and not tell anyone until it's already done."
He’s not wrong. But I say, "I'm not doing anything.”
"Yet," Finn adds.
"Yet," I concede.
He smiles faintly but keeps looking at me. "Good."
Kaia reappears a moment later, toast on a plate, Gatorade in hand. She pauses in the doorway, looking at us. "You two okay?"
Finn nods. "Yeah. We're good."
She smiles softly. "Okay. I'm going back up."
"Take your time," I say.
She hesitates for just a second, like she wants to say something else. Then she nods and disappears up the stairs again.
Finn waits until her footsteps fade before speaking. "You're going to do some digging, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
Yes. I am. Because I need to know. Not out of curiosity. Not out of control. But because if someone’s looking for her, if someone thinks they have a claim on her, if someone thinks they can take her back, unwillingly, they need to understand something very clearly.
She’s not theirs anymore.
She’s ours. And I don't lose what's mine.
"Yeah," I say. "I am."
Finn nods slowly. "Good." A beat. "Because she deserves to know we're not going anywhere."
"She does."
"And you're the one who needs to tell her that."
I frown. "Why me?"
"Because you're the one she's still scared of," Finn says simply. "And when you choose her anyway, when you make it clear that you're not the thing she's running from, that's when she'll really believe it."
I go very still. Because he’s right—she is still afraid of me. Not physically, but of what I represent. Control. Power.
The life she left behind.
I need to show her that I’m not that. That I can be controlled and calculated but still choose her. That I can be powerful but still make her safe. That I can be everything she’s afraid of and still be exactly what she needs.
"I'll tell her," I say, barely above a whisper.
Finn smiles. "I know you will." He settles back into my chest, his breathing evening out again.
And I stay here, holding him, staring at the stairs. Thinking. Planning. Preparing.
Because this is what I do.
I assess. I strategize. I protect. And Kaia, she's mine to protect now—whether she knows it yet or not.
And if anyone thinks they’re going to take her from us, they’re going to learn very quickly that I don't lose.
Ever.