43. Adrian
Chapter Forty-Three
Adrian
It's been four days since Jonas took her to the bookstore.
A couple weeks of watching her settle deeper into the pack.
Laugh easier. Move through the house like she belongs here, because she does.
And I'm done waiting. Done keeping my distance.
Done pretending I don't feel this with the same intensity as the others.
I've been planning this since I met her, which feels way longer than a few weeks. But this isn't just a date. This is everything. The moment I stop hiding. The moment I show her exactly who I am. What I need. What I can give her.
And hope to gods she doesn't run.
My father taught me that protection means anticipating every risk.
Eliminating variables. Never giving anyone a reason to doubt you.
In my family, care was expressed through provision, through solving problems before they became visible, through control that kept everyone safe.
Affection existed, but it lived in perfectly managed circumstances rather than messy emotional vulnerability.
That worked. Until it didn't.
When I courted Finn, I tried to make myself indispensable before I allowed myself to be vulnerable.
I arranged everything, solved his problems, decided what he needed.
I thought I was showing him I cared. Instead, I made him feel managed.
Controlled. When I realized what I'd done, I pulled back—terrified I'd hurt him again if I didn't get it exactly right.
With Kaia, the suit incident confirmed my worst fear.
I meant to look polished. Reassuring. Professional.
Instead, she saw the intimidating Alpha associated with power and control—everything she'd escaped.
Her fear devastated me because I recognized that I had accidentally reproduced the very dynamic that nearly destroyed her.
I didn't just feel embarrassed. I believed I had proven that my instincts make me dangerous to people I love.
So I've kept my distance. Waited. Watched. Overanalyzed every word and gesture, terrified that one serious mistake would show her I'm no safer than her father. That wanting her gives me too much power. That every act of protection might resemble possession.
But Kaia is teaching me something I never learned growing up: that love doesn't require perfection. That I can make a mistake, acknowledge it, repair it, and still be chosen. That protection can mean letting someone see the flaw, hear the apology, and decide whether I'm still worth choosing.
This isn't just a date. This is everything. The moment I stop hiding. The moment I show her exactly who I am. What I need. What I can give her.
I stand in my home office, staring at the ocean through the window. Phone in hand. Confirmation email pulled up.
Spa appointment: 2 PM.
Dinner reservation: 7 PM.
Everything arranged. Everything controlled.
Exactly how I need it. My jaw tightens. She's still afraid of me.
Not terrified. Not anymore. But cautious.
She watches me sometimes, like she's waiting for me to become the thing she ran from.
The suit. The control. The man who makes decisions for her instead of with her.
And I've been so careful. So controlled. So distant. Because I didn't want to scare her. But distance isn't what she needs. She needs to see me. All of me. And trust that I won’t use the fear she’s placed in my hands to control her.
A knock at the door pulls me back.
"Come in."
Lachlan steps inside. Closes the door behind him.
"You're overthinking."
I don't look at him. "I'm not."
"You are," he says. "I can feel it.”
I exhale. Set my phone down. "What if she's not ready?"
"For what?" Lachlan asks. "A date? Or for you to stop pretending you're not in love with her?"
I run a hand through my hair. "Both."
He's quiet for a moment, then steps closer.
"She chose Jonas," he says. "She chose Finn. She chose me."
"I know. No need to rub it in."
"So why wouldn't she choose you?"
I turn to face him. "Because I'm the one she's afraid of."
Lachlan doesn't argue. Doesn't dismiss it. Just nods.
"Yeah," he says. "You are."
Tension coils in my jaw.
"But," he continues, "she's not running anymore. She's staying. And if you keep hiding from her, she's never going to see what you're actually offering."
"Which is?"
"Safety," he says simply. "Through structure. Through control. Through knowing you'll handle everything so she doesn't have to."
I exhale. Slow. Controlled. "What if that's not what she wants?"
"Then she'll tell you," Lachlan says. "But you won't know until you show her."
He's right. I hate that he's right. But he is. I've been so focused on not scaring her that I haven't let her see me at all. And that's not fair to either of us.
"Go get her," Lachlan says. "Take her out. Show her who you are."
I nod. Once.
"And Adrian?"
I glance back.
"Stop being afraid of yourself."
He leaves. And I stand there, staring at the door.
The silence settles around me, heavy and expectant. My hands flex at my sides—an old habit, something I do when I'm trying to regain control. But control isn't what I need right now.
I've been here before. Standing at the edge of something real, something that matters, and watching it slip away because I held too tight or not tight enough. Because I let people in and they left. Because I showed them who I was—intense, demanding, unyielding—and they decided it was too much.
So I learned. I adapted. I built walls that looked like boundaries and called it protection.
But Kaia isn't them.
And I've been too afraid to let her choose me.
The realization hits sharp and clean, cutting through every excuse I've built. I'm not protecting her by staying distant. I'm protecting myself. And that's not fair to either of us.
Lachlan's words echo in my head: Stop being afraid of yourself.
I take a breath. Let it out slowly. Then I straighten my shoulders, the movement deliberate, grounding. I check my watch: 12:47 PM. She'll be at the café. Maria will let her leave early if I ask.
I can do this. I can show her who I am—not the polished version, not the careful one—but the real one. The one who wants to take care of her, protect her, give her everything she's ever needed without her having to ask.
And if she doesn't want that? Then at least I'll know. At least I'll have been brave enough to try.
I head downstairs, each step steady and certain. My heart pounds, but it's not panic. It's anticipation.
It's time.
I drive to the café, and when I arrive, I find Kaia smiling as she makes smoothies for some kids.
Three of them, all under ten, leaning against the counter with their elbows propped up and their faces tilted toward her like she's the most fascinating person they've ever seen. Their eyes are bright, completely captivated, tracking her every movement as she works.
She's talking to them—I can't hear what she's saying from here, but I can see the way her mouth curves, the way her hands move with exaggerated flourish as she pours something bright pink into a cup.
Then she reaches for a container of straws, pulls out a handful of the ridiculous swirly ones, and sticks at least six of them into one smoothie.
The kids erupt into giggles.
One of them—a little girl with pigtails—claps her hands together. "That's so many!"
Kaia grins and leans in conspiratorially. "I know. Don't tell Maria."
The kids dissolve into laughter again, delighted, like she's just let them in on the best secret in the world.
And I just…stop.
I stand there in the doorway, watching her. Really watching her.
This is who she is. Beneath the walls, beneath the control, beneath every defense mechanism she built to survive—this is Kaia. Unguarded. Genuinely happy. Free.
She's not performing. She's not trying to be efficient or controlled or practical. She's just…herself. Playful. Kind. Joyful in a way that feels effortless.
My chest does something I don't have words for. Something that settles deep and certain.
This. This is exactly who I want to be brave for.
Not the version of her that's careful and measured. Not the one who's still learning to trust. But this one—the one who makes kids laugh with too many straws and smiles like the world is full of good things.
I want to protect this. I want to give her a life where she can be this person all the time, without fear, without hesitation, without ever having to hide again.
She senses me before she even sees me.
When she looks up, I smile at her. I stand in line, and when it's my turn, she says, "What can I get for you, sir?"
Oh, it's going to be a long date.
I smirk. "Can you please make us two drinks to go?"
She glances at the clock.
"I have a couple more hours, and I took a break earlier to eat."
"I already talked to Maria," I say.
Her brows furrow. "About what?"
"About you getting off at one today."
She blinks. "What? Why?"
"Because," I say carefully. "I'd like to take you somewhere."
"Like a date?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Oh."
I wait. Patient. Controlled. Even though my heart is pounding.
"Okay," she says finally.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Relief floods through me. Sharp. Immediate. "Good," I say. "So make yourself something fun, and if you like me at all, make me something with caffeine?"
She smiles and nods, still looking slightly stunned. She gets to work on our drinks, and Maria comes in from the back and smiles at me. I smile back.
Kaia hands me a steaming cup of black coffee—hot, dark, no frills—and a vibrant berry smoothie for herself, the kind of bright purple-pink that catches the light. It's the color of someone who's learning to want things just because they make her happy.
"Let me just finish…"
Maria cuts her off. "No! Go. Have fun! I'll see you Monday. Have a great weekend."
"But…"
"No."
I smile. "Come on, beautiful."