Page 124 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

Something passes between them—one of those silent conversations I’ve never quite learned to read. Finally, Finn sighs dramatically.

“Fine. But only if you promise to actually help instead of hovering like some oversized mother hen.”

“I do not hover?—”

“You absolutely hover.”

“Right.” I stand, gathering my mug, desperate to escape before the memories can fully surface. Because I know why Stone hovers. Jax and I both do. “We should go.”

Setting my cup in the dishwasher, Finn’s laugh follows us as Jax and I gather our things. Through the doorway, I catch glimpses of them—Finn already planning with animated gestures, Hailey watching him with that mix of wonder and devotion, Stone pretending not to hover while definitely hovering.

“Ready?” Jax asks quietly, keys jingling in his hand.

I nod, unable to trust my voice. As we head for the door, I hear Finn’s voice drift after us:

“—and that’s why I’m absolutely not allowed to grow mushrooms anymore. But don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll start with something simple. Like man-eating petunias.”

Hailey’s laugh, soft but real, nudges something in my chest that I try to ignore. Something that feels dangerously like hope.

Gods help me.

Gods help us all.

Chapter 33

Jax

The SUV glides silently through morning traffic, city buildings rising all around us. Ren sits in the back as always, his reflection in my rearview mirror, expression carefully blank, as if he doesn’t want me to know what he’s thinking. I take the long route to the office, giving us both time to settle. The familiar landmarks scroll past—the café where Finn used to stop by to get cinnamon rolls for the office, the park where we’d sometimes eat lunch together, the shortcuts we’d take on days when being apart felt like drowning.

Before.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel as we pass the intersection where it happened. Where everything changed. I don’t look in the mirror, but I know Ren has gone very still, his scent spiking with that bitter note of self-loathing that’s become far too familiar.

“Traffic’s light today,” I say, just to break the silence.

Ren makes a noncommittal sound. Through the mirror, I watch him stare out the window, jaw like rock.

The city passes in a blur of steel and glass, signs for boutiques and cafes blending together. Two more blocks to the corporate office of Iron Fitness and I can already see its sleek silhouette risingagainst the morning sky, all clean lines and dark windows. Finn helped design the lobby, back when we first bought the place. His touch is everywhere—the indoor garden with its carefully curated plants, the natural light streaming through strategic skylights, the way the whole space feels welcoming rather than intimidating.

I release a measured breath as I pull into the underground parking. Our usual spot sits empty, waiting. Everything about this morning feels loaded with meaning.

“How’s the Burlington merger coming along?” I ask as we step into the elevator. I don’t even know why I ask. I certainly am not focused on any of the many companies that have wanted a cut of the Ironwood name.

“Road was clear. No signs we were followed.” Ren’s voice is clipped, distracted. Then he blinks, seeming to register what I actually asked. “I mean—the merger. It’s…proceeding.”

I study his reflection in the polished elevator doors. He’s already three steps ahead, running scenarios I hadn’t even thought to worry about. This is what he does—what he’s always done, even back when we opened our first gym. While I focused on expansion plans and equipment orders, he’d spend nights researching security systems, background checks, liability issues. Always looking for the darker angles, the hidden threats.

It would be admirable if it wasn’t so telling of how deeply yesterday’s events shook him. Sometimes I wonder what made him this way—what happened in that wealthy family he never mentions, why he showed up at my apartment one night with nothing but a duffel bag and the declaration he wanted to be my business partner instead of taking over his family’s corporate empire. But even after all these years, some doors between us remain firmly closed.

The elevator rises smoothly, numbers ticking upward. Neither of us speaks again until we reach our floor. The early morning quiet wraps around us as we move through the office. A few employeesare already at their desks, heads down over computers. They barely glance up as we pass—they’re used to us arriving early, used to the careful distance we maintain.

My office door stands open, exactly as I left it two days ago. But instead of going in, I follow Ren to his. He doesn’t comment when I enter behind him, just moves to his desk with that precise control that means he’s barely holding himself together.

The room is spartan compared to mine—no personal photos, no artwork, just clean lines and organized efficiency. A sleek monitor sits on his desk, cycling through various feeds: security cameras, traffic data, news tickers. I never questioned it before—not with the property and land disputes we’d faced as the gyms expanded, not after other packs started viewing our success as a challenge. And after the accident…well, Ren’s heightened vigilance seemed like a natural response. Stone and I assumed it was his way of coping, of trying to control what he could.

But now, as the feed switches to a view of our property, something catches in my chest. There’s Finn in the garden, wearing that ridiculous pink sun hat he loves, showing Hailey how to properly till the soil. Even from this angle, I can see how Finn’s smile transforms his face—all perfect white teeth and deep dimples, the kind of handsome that makes people stop and stare.

I didn’t know Ren had cameras covering the garden. Didn’t know he sat here every day, watching Finn tend his herbs and flowers. The realization settles like ice in my gut, making me question what else I might have missed by writing off Ren’s obsession with security as simple business precaution.

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