Page 217 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

I gulp hard, daring to slide my gaze in Hailey’s direction.

Nobody has to say it. I can see it.

Hailey looks at me as if I am some angel. Some perfect person who can do no wrong.

“What if this isn’t what you want?” I whisper. “What if you don’t want any of this?”

Hailey shifts closer, her free hand reaching up to cup my jaw. Her touch is gentle, but it sends a shiver through me. “I don’t know what I want,” she admits quietly. “I’m still figuring that out. But I know I don’t want to lose you, Finn. I…” Her cheeks grow rosy even in the dim light. In a voice so quiet it’s almost lost to the silence, she continues. “I don’t want to lose any of you.”

Her words hang in the air between us, trembling with vulnerability and quiet conviction. I feel my heart swell, my breath hitching as I stare at her. The way she’s looking at me now—I don’t know what to do with that kind of attention, that kind of belief, because some part of me still doesn’t understand how I could deserve it.

I’ve spent so long trying to figure out my place in this world, trying to convince myself that I’m not just a burden. And now, Hailey’s looking at me like I’m something more, like I’m someone she needs, someone shewants.

“Do—” A lump forms in my throat that feels like a bowling ball as I swallow. “But do you want me, Hailey.”

It comes out as more like a statement than a question and she blinks at me, long lashes fanning over her cheeks. When her brows furrow, my chest constricts some more.

“Finn…”

Oh fuck. Here it comes.

“I—” Her gaze darts to Stone then Jax. Her shoulders stiffen slightly, and I can see the moment she forces herself to push through the hesitation. The words come out in a rush. “Of course I want you. You’re the one who makes me tea when I can’t sleep, who knows exactly which blanket I like best in the nest, who notices when I’m cold before I do. You’re the one who makes me feel safe just by being near, who looks at flowers like they’re precious miracles and then looks at me the same way. How could I not want you, Finn?”

The words slam into me with the force of a freight train, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at her. Her cheeks are flushed, buther eyes are steady, unwavering. She means it. I can see it in the way she’s looking at me, like I’m the only one in the room, the only one who matters.

“You…” My voice cracks, and I have to swallow hard before I can speak again. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” she says, her tone soft but certain. “I mean it, Finn. I don’t care that you’re not an alpha. I don’t care about any of that. You…you make me feel safe. You make me feel seen.”

Her words hit something deep inside me, something I’ve spent years trying to bury. I’ve always felt like I was too much and not enough all at once—too soft to be an alpha, too independent to fit neatly into the omega mold. I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere, like I didn’t fit. But here she is, looking at me like I’m everything she’s ever wanted, everything she’s ever needed.

“You…” My throat tightens again, and I have to look away, my gaze darting to Stone and Jax. They’re not pressuring me, not pushing me to say or do anything. They’re just…waiting. Giving me the space to figure this out.

And for the first time, I realize that I don’t have to figure it out alone.

“You’re sure?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re sure you want me?”

Hailey’s lips twitch into a small, nervous smile, and she leans forward, her forehead pressing against mine. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she says softly. “I don’t want to do this without you. I don’t…I don’t think I can. The thought of you leaving…it’s breaking me apart.”

Her words melt the last of my resistance, breaking through the walls I’ve spent so long building. I feel my shoulders sag, the tension draining from my body as the weight of my doubts and fears finally lifts. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this—her, this pack, this family—but maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s enough that they’re giving it to me.

I let out a shaky breath, my hand tightening around hers. “Okay,” I whisper, the word trembling on my lips. “Okay.”

Her smile widens, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I can breathe again. Her hand slips from mine to cup my jaw, her thumb brushing against my skin in a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself, Finn,” she murmurs. “That’s all I need.”

Her words wrap around me, warm and steady, but they leave a strange ache in their wake. I stare at her, at the way her lips curve into the softest, most hopeful smile, and I want to believe her. I want to believe that I’m enough just as I am, that I don’t have to be anything more than this broken, half-mended version of myself. But the doubt is stubborn, burrowed deep inside me like a thorn I can’t quite reach.

Her thumb brushes against my jaw again, and the tenderness in her touch nearly undoes me. “Finn,” she murmurs, her voice trembling slightly, “you don’t have to say anything else. Just…stay. Please.”

My chest tightens at the plea in her voice, and I feel the weight of her words settle over me like a blanket. She doesn’t know how dangerous it is to ask that of me, how fragile my resolve is. I’ve spent so long convincing myself that leaving would be better for everyone—that they’d be better off without me—but now, with her looking at me like this, I can feel my carefully constructed logic unraveling.

Her lips part as if to say something, but no words come. Instead, there’s just the faint rise and fall of her chest, the way her honey-vanilla scent wraps around me, warm and steady despite the tension lingering in the air. Her hand is still cupped lightly against my jaw, her thumb brushing along my skin like she’s afraid I might disappear if she stops touching me. That fear—whether it’s hers or mine—is enough to make my heart ache.

I don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s her, maybe it’s me, or maybe it’s both of us at once. All I know is that one moment, I’mstaring into her wide, searching eyes, and the next, her lips are on mine.

The kiss is soft, tentative, like she’s still afraid I might pull away. But I don’t. I can’t. Her lips are warm and gentle, and the way she leans into me, her fingers tangling in my hair, sends a shiver down my spine. Everything else fades—the tension in the room, the weight of Stone and Jax’s watchful gazes, the ache in my ribs—until there’s nothing left but her.

I kiss her back, my hand slipping to the curve of her waist, and she makes a soft, breathy sound against my lips that makes my chest ache all over again. It’s not desperate or hurried—it’s slow, controlled, filled with all the things I haven’t been able to say. Her fingers tighten slightly in my hair, and I feel her press closer, her body fitting against mine like she was made to be there.

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