Page 59 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

Another car passes, its headlights sweeping through the cabin in slow motion. In that brief illumination, I catch the devastation etched into Ren’s features before darkness swallows us again. Theshadows seem to deepen the hollows under his eyes, the sharp cut of his jaw where he’s grinding his teeth.

“We have to tell Finn,” Jax repeats, softer this time.

Ren goes very still. The kind of stillness that comes before something breaks. His scent turns sour, bitter with self-loathing. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Tell him what, exactly?” The words tremble with what I know is carefully contained rage. “That I’m a broken piece of shit that doesn’t deserve to be his alpha?” His fist connects with the back of the driver’s seat, making us all flinch. “That this fucking rift between us ismyfault? That the fact we can hardly feel him is all because ofme?”

“Ren—” I start, but he’s not done.

“Or what?” His voice rises, raw and ragged. “Tell him that all his scars, all his pain, the fact hedied,wasmyfault?” A harsh, broken sound tears from his throat. “Or are you going to tell him that he wasn’t the only one I killed that night?”

The words hang in the air like torn metal. Sharp and ready to draw blood. Through our bond, I feel the moment the last of his walls crumble, leaving nothing but the bleeding wound he’s been carrying for two years.

No one speaks. What can we say? The truth has festered between us like poison, and now here it is, spilled into the open. Ren’s breathing is harsh in the darkness, each exhalation carrying the weight of guilt that’s been crushing him since that night.

Finally, Jax puts the SUV into drive again. The engine’s quiet rumble fills the silence where our words should be. We drive the rest of the way in a heavy quiet, each lost in our own thoughts, our own versions of that night. The streetlights pass in a steady rhythm, like a metronome counting down to something inevitable.

By the time Jax pulls into our driveway, killing the engine, we’ve all put on that mask of numbness we wear around Finn. For a moment, none of us move. The house looms before us, darkexcept for the porch light casting long shadows across the lawn. It used to feel like coming home meant peace, sanctuary. Now it feels like walking into a minefield.

“It’s late,” I say finally. “We should…”

“Check on Finn,” Jax finishes, already opening his door.

The house is quiet when we enter, too quiet. Even at this hour, there’s usually some sign of life—music from Finn’s phone, the TV playing softly, something cooking in the kitchen. But tonight, there’s nothing.

Jax heads straight for the kitchen, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood. “No dinner,” he calls back, voice tight. “Not even dishes in the sink.”

“You told him to order in.” Ren’s voice is rough and it’s clear that everything that happened in the car is still riding on him.

“Yeah,” Jax replies. “But did he?”

“Did either of you actually check?” Ren growls. “Did anyone call to make sure he was okay?”

When neither of us answer, Ren growls again. His fist flies toward the wall before he stops himself and growls low in his throat. I can see it in the way his body holds the tension that he wants to head upstairs right away to check on Finn. But he’s holding himself back. He doesn’t feel worthy to even be in Finn’s presence.

“I’m going up,” Jax says after a moment. “I need to see him.”

None of us points out that Finn might not want to see us. That he might be tired of our promises to do better, to be there more, to fix whatever’s breaking between us.

The stairs creak under our feet as we climb. I catch traces of cleaning products in the air—Finn must have been stress cleaning again. The thought makes my heart heavy.

When we get to the top of the stairs, the nest room door is closed. Unusual. Normally, Finn leaves it open, an unconscious invitation for any of us to join him.

Jax raises his hand to knock, then hesitates. “Maybe we should…”

“Let him sleep,” Ren finishes, that edge still in his voice. “Since that’s apparently all we’re good for lately—leaving him alone.”

“That’s not fair,” I start, but Jax cuts me off.

“None of this is fair,” he says quietly. “To any of us.”

We stand there in the hallway, three alphas who can’t even figure out how to take care of their omega. The irony would be funny if it didn’t turn out that we hadanotheromega I’m currently keeping hidden from this clusterfuck that is our pack.

“Tomorrow,” Jax says finally, pulling me from my thoughts. “We’ll talk tomorrow. All of us.”

Ren makes a sound that might be agreement or might be derision. It’s hard to tell with him lately.

As they head to their rooms, I linger in the hallway. I need to go to the cabin, check on Hailey. Even with the exhaustion weighing heavy on my bones, and the guilt that sits like acid in my throat.

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