Page 144 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

“Jax,” Stone says, his tone suggesting caution. “If they wanted privacy?—”

“I’m not going to intrude,” I snap without meaning to. “Just verify their safety. After everything that’s happened today, we can’t take chances.”

Stone doesn’t argue further, recognizing the futility of trying to reason with me in this state. The three of us head out toward the cabin, moving quickly but not running, aware that rushing up might only alarm Finn and Hailey if they are indeed there voluntarily.

The cabin comes into view through the trees. As we approach, the door opens, and Finn steps out onto the porch, his expression shifting from relaxed to concerned as he takes in our approach.

“Is something wrong?” he calls, clearly surprised by our appearance.

“You left your phones,” I respond, relief at seeing him safe warring with lingering concern and a flicker of irrational anger.

Understanding dawns on Finn’s face. “Oh. We didn’t think it would be a problem with all the new security. We weren’t planning to be gone long. Just needed some quiet after everything this morning.”

“Is Hailey with you?” I press, needing confirmation that both my omegas are safe.

“Yes, of course,” Finn assures me, stepping aside as if to invite us to verify for ourselves.

Through the open door, I can see Hailey curled on the small cot inside, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a mug of something hot cradled in her hands. She looks up as she hears voices, her expression transitioning from peaceful to confused to apologetic as she realizes the cause of our concern.

Relief hits me with physical force, my knees weakening with the sudden release of adrenaline and fear. I have to brace a hand against a nearby tree to steady myself, the emotional whiplash of terror to relief overwhelming my usual self-control.

“Jax?” Finn’s voice registers concern as he moves down the porch steps toward me. “Are you alright?”

I can’t answer, can’t form words past the knot in my throat. The minutes of uncertainty, the flash of absolute terror at the thought of losing them again—it’s all crashing over me now that I can see they’re safe, that my worst fears were unfounded.

Stone places a supportive hand on my shoulder while Ren hangs back, his expression unreadable but his posture alert, protective. Finn reaches me, his scent registering concern and dawning understanding.

“You thought something had happened to us,” he says softly, realization coloring his voice. “That we’d been taken.”

I manage a nod, still fighting for composure. Over Finn’s shoulder, I see Hailey emerging from the cabin, the blanket still wrapped around her, her expression shifting to dismay as she takes in the scene.

“Oh, Jax,” she breathes, hurrying down the steps to join us. “We never meant— We didn’t think?—”

“Your phones,” I finally manage, my voice rough with emotion. “You left them behind. After the press conference, I thought?—”

I can’t finish the sentence, the possibility still too raw, too terrible to articulate. But I don’t need to.

“I’m so sorry,” Hailey says, genuine remorse in her voice. “It was thoughtless. We just wanted a little space, some quiet to process everything. It didn’t occur to us how it would look, especially today of all days.”

Part of me wants to be angry—to demand they never do such a thing again, to impose stricter protocols, to ensure Inever experience those minutes of heart-stopping fear again. But another part, the better part, recognizes that my reaction is disproportionate.

“Please,” I say instead, sinking to my knees as my legs finally give out entirely, reaching for both of them with desperate hands. “I can’t lose you again. Either of you. I can’t.”

Finn and Hailey move into my embrace without hesitation, their warmth and scent surrounding me, grounding me in the present reality where they are safe, where we are together.

“You won’t lose us,” Hailey promises, her hand cradling my face with infinite tenderness. “We’re here. We’re safe.”

“But you have to trust us,” Finn adds gently but firmly. “Trust our judgment, our ability to assess risk. We can’t live in constant fear, always under watch, never allowed moments of privacy or independence.”

I know he’s right. Logically, I know this. But logic has little power against the primal fear of loss, against the memories that continue to haunt me.

“I’m trying,” I whisper, the admission costing me more than I can express. “But it’s…difficult.”

“We know,” Hailey assures me, her eyes full of understanding. “And we’ll help. We can compromise.” She thinks for a moment, then offers: “We’ll always tell someone where we’re going, even for short absences. And we’ll carry our phones, or at least one between us.”

“And in return,” Finn continues, “you’ll respect our need for occasional space and privacy. Not constant surveillance or checking in every fifteen minutes.”

It’s a reasonable proposal.

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