Page 90 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

Downstairs, the cabin is quiet. Morning light filters through the windows, casting long shadows over the wooden floors. The kitchen smells like coffee—someone’s already been down here.

I find Ren at the stove, shirtless, his bandaged torso on full display. I swallow hard, unable to pull my eyes away from him. He’s always been so hot. Effortlessly so. He’s always spent the least time in the gym and still walked around looking like muscles and sex. Even now. Even hurt. Bruises bloom across his ribs, dark and mottled, but he moves with less stiffness than yesterday.

He glances over his shoulder when he hears me. His good eye—the one not still partially swollen—softens. “Morning, baby.”

I swallow hard again. A bandaged hand enters my line of sight, offering a glass of water. Ren.

I take it mechanically, my throat too tight to thank him. His injuries glare at me in the morning light: the bruised ribs, the gash on his eyebrow, the raw knuckles from fighting his way back to us.Back to her.

His good eye meets mine, and I see it—the same guilt festering in my chest.

“Morning,” I echo, heading for the fridge. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He turns back to the pan in front of him. Eggs. Scrambled. “Figured I’d make something before she wakes up.”

“She’ll need protein. And electrolytes.”

Ren nods, nudging the eggs with a spatula. “Got some fruit too. And coconut water.”

I pull out a container of fresh berries and a tub of Greek yogurt. My hands move automatically, but my chest feels tootight. Despite all the love being shared in that nest upstairs, it doesn’t erase one fact.

Three days.

And before that?

Before that, they lied to me. Hid things from me. Made me feel like an outsider in my own pack.

The knife in my hand clatters against the cutting board louder than I mean it to.

Ren tenses. He doesn’t look at me, but I see the way his shoulders stiffen.

Silence stretches between us, weighed down by too much.

Finally, he exhales. “Finn.”

I keep chopping strawberries. “Yeah?”

“I’m—” He stops. Swallows. “I’m sorry.”

My fingers still.

Ren turns fully now, his expression raw. “For everything. For shutting you out. For making you feel you didn’t have a say.”

I stare at him. The words are there, lodged in my throat.You did. You all did.

But I don’t say them.

Instead, I set the knife down. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do.” His voice is rough. “We all do.”

I press my lips together.

Footsteps sound on the stairs. Heavy. Stone.

He appears in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep, his gaze flicking between us. “Everything okay?”

Ren doesn’t answer. Just looks at me.

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