53. Finn
Chapter Fifty-Three
Finn
Okay. It’s okay. We're inside. We made it inside. This is good, right? This is progress. Except Kaia is still shaking. Still unnaturally pale. Still pressed so tightly into Lachlan's chest that I'm not sure where one of them ends and the other begins.
And Adrian looks like he's about to murder someone. His jaw is locked. His shoulders are rigid. His hands keep clenching and unclenching at his sides. I know that look. It’s the look he gets when someone threatens what's his.
And right now? Kaia is his. Ours. And someone just tried to take her.
Jonas hovers near Lachlan and Kaia, his hand on her shoulder. His voice low and soothing. But she's not responding. Not really. Her eyes are open but unfocused, like she's here but also somewhere else. Somewhere far away from us.
I need to do something. I need to fix this.
The thought comes automatically, urgent, like a reflex I can't control. My hands are already moving—reaching for my phone, my mind racing through options. Food. I should order food. Comfort food. Something warm. Something that will make her feel better. Tea. She needs tea. I can make tea. I can—
And then I stop.
Because for just a second, I see my mother's face.
Not the way she looked at the end—pale and still and gone—but before.
When she was sick. When I was too young to understand what was happening but old enough to know something was wrong.
I remember bringing her things. Water. Blankets.
Books. Anything I could carry. Anything I could do.
Because if I just kept moving, kept trying, kept fixing, maybe she wouldn't leave.
But she did anyway.
And I've been doing it ever since. Running. Fixing. Filling the silence with noise and action because stillness feels too much like that hospital room. Too much like helplessness.
But Kaia doesn't need me to fix this.
She needs me here. Present. Not running around trying to solve something that can't be solved with food or tea or frantic energy.
I take a breath. Let it out slowly.
Then I move to the kitchen—not frantically, but deliberately. I order food because we'll need to eat eventually. I make tea because her body will need the sugar. But I'm not doing it to fix her. I'm doing it because these are things I can offer. Small acts of care. Not solutions.
After I order food to be delivered, I stay in the kitchen for a moment. My hands are steadier now. This is different. Kaia isn't dying. She's here. She's safe. And what she needs isn't me scrambling to save her.
She just needs me to stay.
I pull the sweet tea out of the fridge and use two hands to pour it into a water bottle with a straw.
I honestly have not seen her willingly drink anything without a straw.
I make sure to add a ton of crushed ice, too.
The way she likes it. When I come back, she's still in the same position on the couch.
Head buried in Lachlan's chest. His arms wrapped around her. His low purr rumbling through the room.
I crouch down beside them. Hold out the glass. "Hey," I say softly. "I got you some tea. Your favorite." She doesn't move. Doesn't look up.
Lachlan's hand comes up. Strokes her hair gently. "Baby," he murmurs. "Finn got you some tea. Can you drink some? I think your body needs some sugar." Still nothing.
My chest tightens. I set the glass down on the coffee table. Carefully. Then I stand and look at Adrian. He's standing by the window. Staring out at the driveway. His posture is rigid. His scent is sharp. Dangerous, like ozone before a storm.
I walk over. Slowly. "Hey," I say quietly. He doesn't respond. "Adrian."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He turns. His eyes are hard. "I said I'm fine."
"And I'm saying you're full of shit."
His jaw tightens. "Finn…"
"You're giving off scary vibes," I say. "Like, really scary. And I get it. I do. But you need to breathe."
"I am breathing."
"No," I say. "You're seething. There's a difference."
He stares at me. For a long moment. Then he exhales. Slow. Controlled. "They tried to take her."
"I know."
"They had guards. And cops. And they were going to…"
"But they didn't," I interrupt. "You stopped them. She's safe."
"For now."
"For now," I agree. "But that's all we can control. Right now." He looks at me, his eyes boring into mine. And I see it. The fear beneath the anger. The terror that came from almost losing her.
I step closer. Reach out. Rest my hand on his chest. "She's okay," I say softly. "She's here. She's ours. And we're not letting her go."
His hand comes up. Covers mine. "I can't lose her."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do," I say. "Because we won't let it happen."
He stares at me. Then he gives a little nod, his shoulders dropping a fraction. The dangerous edge in his scent softens. Not gone. But manageable. "Thank you," he says quietly.
I smile. "That's what I'm here for. Emotional support Omega."
He huffs. Almost a laugh. "You're more than that."
"I know," I say. "But it sounds better than 'chaos gremlin.'"
This time, he does laugh. Soft. Brief. But it's there. And I count it as a win.
Then Kaia jerks upright. Sudden. Sharp. We all jolt. Lachlan's arms tighten around her instinctively. Jonas moves closer. Adrian's entire body goes rigid again.
She's gasping for air now, each breath shallow and ragged, her chest heaving with the effort.
Her eyes are wide and unfocused, darting around the room but not really seeing anything.
Sweat beads on her forehead. Her hands tremble, fingers curled into tight fists.
"I can't…I can't…" she stammers, the words catching in her throat.
"Adrian," Jonas says, his tone urgent. "Bark at her. Tell her to breathe."
Adrian moves fast—crosses the room in three strides. But then he stops. Looks at me.
"Cover your ears," he says.
I press my palms over my ears.
Then Adrian turns to Kaia. His voice drops. Low. Commanding. Alpha. "Omega. Breathe."
I can hear the distortion of his voice through my palms—the bark muffled but still commanding, still carrying the weight of absolute certainty. And somehow, that makes it more powerful. Not less. Because even filtered, even dampened, Adrian's authority cuts through everything.
My own breathing catches. Steadies. Without my permission, my body responds to the Alpha directive, my lungs expanding on instinct. It's primal. Involuntary. The kind of response that lives deeper than thought.
My hands stay pressed against my ears, but my breathing has already aligned with his command. In. Out. Steady. Controlled. This is what it means to have an Alpha who knows how to lead.
Kaia gasps and her body jerks. But then she breathes. In. Out. In. Out.
I move immediately. Crossing to Kaia. Kneeling beside her. "Hey," I say softly. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."
She looks at me. Her eyes are wet. "I can't…"
"You can," I say. "You are. You're breathing. You're here. You're safe."
I reach out. Take her hand. It's cold. Shaking.
"Let's go to my nest," I say. "Come on. It's safe there. It's…"
She shakes her head.
"No?"
She shakes her head again. Lachlan shifts, his hand on her back. "You know what we need to do," he says quietly.
I blink. "What?"
"We need to go to the ocean."
I stare at him. "The ocean?"
"Yeah." He looks at Kaia with a serious expression on his face.
Then at me. His eyes are wide and intense, like he's about to reveal some ancient wisdom.
"We need to run into the water, like right now.
Clean off all the bad vibes. That's what the ocean is for.
" He gestures dramatically toward the waves, as if the ocean itself is calling to us.
And suddenly, it makes sense. Perfect sense.
The ocean. The salt carried in every crashing wave.
The vastness that stretches beyond what our eyes can see.
The cold that shocks your system awake. The waves that roll in with ancient rhythm, constant and eternal.
It's not just water. It's cleansing. Washes away everything we've carried that we shouldn't have.
It's healing. A salve for wounds we didn't even know we had. It's what we need.
"Yes," I say. "Yes. Let's go."
I stand. Pull Kaia up gently. She's unsteady. Weak. I don’t think I can hold her on my own. But then, Lachlan is here. Scooping her up. Cradling her against his chest. "Let's go," he says.
And we do. We move as one. Out the back door.
Across the deck. Down the steps. Onto the sand.
The moon is high and full, casting silver light across everything—transforming the beach into something otherworldly.
The sand glows pale blue-white beneath our feet, cool and soft, still holding the memory of the day's warmth deep beneath the surface.
Each grain catches the moonlight like tiny fragments of glass, creating a luminous path toward the water.
The dune grass sways in the night breeze, their long blades whispering secrets, casting dancing shadows that stretch and contract across the silvered ground.
Beyond them, the twisted silhouettes of coastal pines stand sentinel, their branches reaching toward the star-scattered sky like dark fingers against the deep indigo canvas.
The air tastes of salt and night-blooming jasmine, cool against our skin, carrying the eternal rhythm of the waves—crash and hiss, crash and hiss.
The world feels suspended between darkness and light, between fear and healing, between what was and what will be.
Sacred. Ancient. Powerful. The ocean calls to us with a voice older than memory, and we answer.
The sound of the waves is steady. Rhythmic. Grounding. Each crash and retreat is like a breath, in and out, reminding us that the world keeps turning, even when we feel stuck.
I run ahead. My feet hitting the sand hard. My heart pounding. My body buzzing with energy. This is what we need. This is what she needs. Not words. Not explanations. Not apologies or promises. Just this—the raw, elemental truth of the ocean.
The ocean is everything. It’s the salt that cleanses, purifies, and strips away the layers of worry and fear. The cold that shocks you back into your body, reminds you that you're alive, that you're here, that you're real. The vastness that makes your problems feel small. Manageable. Temporary.
It's the sound of the waves. The rhythm that your heartbeat can’t help but match. The pull of the tide. The way it takes everything you don't need and carries it away. Out into the deep. Gone.
And then I smell it—really smell it. Not just the ocean air around us, but the way it lives in each of us. The way it's woven into our very chemistry. We weren't randomly drawn here. We didn't just happen to find each other in this coastal town by accident.
The ocean was already in us. Already part of our chemistry. Already calling us home to each other.
This place, this beach, this endless stretch of water—it's not just where we live. It's what we are. It's the foundation of everything we've built together.
I hit the water first. The cold slams into me. Sharp. Shocking. Perfect. I dive under. Let the salt water cover me. Let it wash away the fear. The panic. The feeling of almost losing her. When I surface, I see them. Lachlan wading in, Kaia still in his arms. Jonas and Adrian right behind.
Lachlan doesn't stop until the water is waist-deep.
Then he pauses, bends forward and turns so Kaia can move to his back, letting the push of the waves do most of the work.
Her arms are around his neck. Her legs around his waist. He starts swimming.
Slow. Steady. Carrying her through the water.
I watch. And I see it—the moment her shoulders loosen.
The moment her breathing evens out. The moment the tension starts to drain away.
The salt water is doing its job. Washing away the contamination.
Scrubbing away the fear. The feeling of her parents' presence that lingers like a ghost on her skin.
The terror that's been coiled tight in her chest. The panic that makes her heart race.
The sense that she's not safe. The ocean is taking it.
All of it. Wave by wave. And giving her back herself. Her real self.
Jonas is beside me now. Treading water. Watching Lachlan and Kaia. "This was a good idea," he says quietly.
Adrian surfaces nearby. His hair slicked back. His expression calmer. The dangerous edge finally gone.
Lachlan swims in a wide circle. Kaia's head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes closed. Her breathing steady. Then she lifts her head. Looks around. And her eyes land on me. I grin. Lift my hand. Do the come here gesture.
She blinks. Then she lets go of Lachlan and swims toward me. Her strokes are slow. Unsteady. But she's moving. She's choosing. When she reaches me, I catch her. Pull her close. "Hey," I say softly.
"Hey," she whispers. Her skin is cold. Her hair is wet. Her eyes are clearer.
"You okay?" I ask.
She nods. "I think so."
"Good." I hold her. Just hold her. Let the water move around us. Let the salt do its work. The ocean is vast. Endless. Stretching out in every direction. And we're just small. Floating. Together.
But that's the point. The ocean makes everything else feel small.
Manageable. Survivable. All those problems that seemed so overwhelming on land?
Out here, they shrink down to nothing. The ocean puts things in perspective.
It reminds us what truly matters. Her parents came.
They tried to take her. But they didn't. And now?
Now we're here. In the water. Washing it all away.
She leans her forehead against mine. "I love you."
My breath catches. "I love you too."
We float here. Together. The water holding us up. The salt healing us. The moon watching over us. Time slows, stretching into something endless.
And I realize this is what we are. Sea salt and scent marks. The ocean that cleanses. The pack that grounds. The love that heals. Kaia is ours. And we're never letting her go. Not to her parents. Not to anyone. She's home. And home is here. In the water. With us. Where she belongs.