60. Kaia
Chapter Sixty
Kaia
I'm not the girl who ran anymore. I'm not the Omega raised as an Alpha, taught to hide everything that made me who I am. I’m done hiding. Done being afraid or alone. Never again.
I'm not the sad, desperate girl in the motel, skipping meals because I could only afford to eat once a day, rationing my money down to the last dollar.
Surviving instead of living.
When I come downstairs, I feel lighter. Not because anything has changed, but because for the first time in a long time, I let myself acknowledge everything it took to get here.
Clean and dressed in comfortable clothes, I feel like I’m finally standing here in this moment instead of fighting my way toward it.
I grin at Finn, who is waiting by the front door. "Beach?" he asks, hope bright in his eyes.
I smile, already reaching for my shoes. "Yeah."
We walk together hand in hand, our fingers intertwined, shoes kicked off in the sand. The others stay behind, giving us space. They understand that sometimes we need these moments, just the two of us. Omega Time is what Finn likes to call it.
The sand is warm under my bare feet, fine and soft.
The ocean stretches out endlessly before us, blue and vast and free.
I stop at the water's edge, letting the waves lap at my toes.
The water is cool, refreshing. My blue glittery toenails catch the sunlight as the waves wash over them, and I pause—really pause—to look at them.
A small, frivolous, beautiful thing I chose for myself.
A symbol of everything I've learned about letting myself have joy.
Finn stands beside me, quiet for once. His usual chaotic energy is settled, peaceful. "You okay?" he asks after a moment, glancing sideways at me.
I nod, meaning it. "Yeah."
"Really?" He needs to be sure.
I turn to look at him fully, meeting his eyes. His expression is open, vulnerable in a way he doesn't often show.
"Really," I say with absolute certainty.
He studies my face, searching for any sign of doubt or fear. Then smiles, satisfied with what he sees. "Good." He squeezes my hand gently, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. Then lets go. "I'm gonna go back," he says. "Give you some time alone."
"You don't have to…" I start to protest.
"I know," he says, still smiling. "But I want to. You need this." He knows me well enough now to understand when I need solitude. He kisses my cheek, quick and sweet. Then turns, heading back toward the house. His footprints trail behind him in the sand.
I watch him go, warmth blooming in my chest. Then turn back to the ocean, drawn to it like always.
The water is calm today, gentle waves instead of the crashing surf.
I wade in slowly, step by step. The salt water rises to my ankles, my knees, my thighs.
Until I'm waist-deep, surrounded by the ocean that called me here.
The salt stings slightly against the marks on my body. But it doesn't hurt, not really. It feels cleansing—like the ocean is washing away the last remnants of who I used to be, leaving only who I am now.
I close my eyes and breathe in the salt air deeply.
Let it fill my lungs. The ocean has always been my refuge, from the very first moment I arrived here.
From the moment my car died on the highway and I smelled the sea for the first time.
It called to me then, a siren song I couldn't resist. Promised freedom when I was trapped.
Promised safety when I was running. Promised home when I had nowhere to go.
And it delivered. Everything it brought me to. This town with its quirky residents. This house full of warmth and love. This pack that chose me as much as I chose them.
I think about the girl I was weeks ago. Terrified of every shadow, every shift in the wind.
Alone in ways that went bone-deep. Running from a life that tried to shape her into something she wasn't. I thought being an Omega meant weakness, meant being owned, meant losing myself completely to the needs and desires of Alphas who saw her as property.
But I was wrong. Being an Omega doesn't mean weakness. It means softness when the world demands hardness. Open when everything tells you to stay closed. Vulnerable in a world that punishes vulnerability.
And vulnerability isn't weakness. It's strength. The strength to trust when you've been hurt. The strength to choose when you could run. The strength to love when love has been used as a weapon against you.
I'm not weak. I never was.
I was strong enough to run when I needed to, to leave everything I knew behind.
Strong enough to survive when I had nothing, when every day was a struggle just to eat and sleep.
Strong enough to trust when I was terrified, when every instinct screamed at me to keep my walls up.
Strong enough to choose them, to let myself want them.
To let them choose me back. Strong enough to be exactly what I am without apology or shame.
An Omega. Not weak because of it, but strong because I survived everything the world told me that being one meant.
I open my eyes slowly and look out at the horizon where the ocean meets the sky. The line between them is crisp and clear. The ocean is endless, infinite, stretching beyond what I can see. Just like the life ahead of me—with them. So many possibilities, so many tomorrows.
I'm not running anymore. I'm not hiding who I am. I'm not afraid of what comes next. I'm here. Present in this moment. Chosen and choosing. Home in ways that have nothing to do with walls and roofs.
I wade back to shore slowly, taking my time. The sun is starting to set, the sky beginning its nightly transformation. Painting itself in shades of orange and pink and gold. Beautiful. Perfect. Exactly as it should be.
I sit in the sand, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped around my legs. Watching the waves roll in and out, endless and eternal. The rhythm of it soothes something deep inside me.
After a while, I hear footsteps behind me. I don't turn. I don't need to. I know them now—the rhythms of each step, the subtle differences between them. I could tell them apart anywhere. Familiar. Safe.
Lachlan.
He sits beside me in the sand, close but not touching. Giving me space while still being present. "You okay?" he asks, like he always does.
I smile, unable to help it. "Yeah."
"Really?" He needs to know for certain.
"Really." I meet his eyes so he can see the truth in mine.
He nods, satisfied. We sit in silence for a while, just existing together. Sometimes words aren't necessary. Sometimes presence is enough.
"Thank you," I say finally, breaking the comfortable quiet.
He glances at me, eyebrows raised slightly. "For what?"
"For waiting," I say, needing him to understand. "For not pushing. For letting me choose on my own timeline instead of yours." I pause, swallowing against the emotion rising in my throat. "For everything."
His expression softens, something tender passing over his features. "You don't have to thank me," he says gently.
"I know," I say. "But I want to. I need you to know what it meant."
He reaches over, taking my hand in his much larger one. His grip is warm and solid. "You're ours," he says quietly, with absolute conviction. "We're yours. And that's all that matters."
I squeeze his hand back, holding on tight. "Yeah," I whisper. "It is."
More footsteps approach, soft against the warm sand. Adrian, Jonas, Finn. I know that Finn is walking between his (our) Alpha and Beta without looking. They join us in the sand, sitting around me in a loose circle. Not crowding—never crowding. Just here. Together.
We watch the sunset together in silence. The sky shifts gradually, a slow transformation. Orange to pink. Pink to purple. Purple to deep blue. The first stars appear overhead, faint at first. Distant pinpricks of light. Beautiful.
"I love you," I say suddenly, the words spilling out. To all of them. To each of them. To no one in particular and everyone at once.
"I love you too," Lachlan says, his voice low and steady.
"Love you," Finn echoes cheerfully.
"Always," Jonas adds softly.
"Completely," Adrian finishes firmly.
My heart swells, so full of emotion I can barely breathe. Full and warm and perfect. I lean back into Lachlan. He wraps his arms around me immediately, steady and grounding, solid as stone.
Finn leans against my side, his warmth seeping into me. Jonas rests his hand on my knee, his touch gentle and reassuring. Adrian sits close, his shoulder brushing mine, his presence solid and protective. We're all here. All together. Complete in ways I never imagined possible.
The ocean waves crash gently against the shore, rhythmic and soothing. An endless pattern. The salt air fills my lungs with every breath, clean and fresh. The marks on my body pulse softly, warm beneath my skin. Permanent proof of what we chose, what we are.
I'm not running anymore. I'm not hiding from myself or anyone else. I'm not afraid of tomorrow or next week or next year. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I want to do. With them. My pack. My home. My choice.
The ocean brought me here. To this beach. To this town. To them. And I'll be forever grateful for that.
And I'm never leaving. Not because I can't, not because they won't let me, but because I don't want to. This is home in every sense of the word. They are home. I am home. Finally. Completely. Perfectly.
The stars come out fully as the sky darkens, bright against the deepening blue. We stay on the beach long after the sun sets, long after the last rays of light fade. Just being. Together.
And for the first time in my entire life, I'm not afraid of what comes next. Not worried about tomorrow or next week or the future. Because whatever it is, whatever challenges or joys or surprises come, we'll face it together. Handle it as a pack. Support each other through everything.
All of us. Pack. Family. Home.
I close my eyes and breathe in the salt air deeply, one more time. Feel the warmth of their bodies around me, solid and real and present.
The ocean whispers its eternal song. Gentle. Constant. Unchanging even as everything else shifts.
And I whisper a thank you back in my heart. For bringing me home. For giving me this. For everything.