Page 132 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

The criticism stings, but I can’t deny its truth. My anxiety, my hypervigilance, my need to control every variable… I know these aren’t healthy responses, know they’re born from my guilt and fear rather than a realistic assessment of the current threat. But knowing doesn’t make it easier to stop.

I find Ren and Hailey on the lawn as promised, though not quite in the scenario I expected. Rather than practicing throws or strikes, they’re seated cross-legged in the grass, facing each other, eyes closed, hands resting lightly on their knees.

Meditation? From Ren, who’s always preferred action to introspection?

I pause in the doorway, not wanting to disturb whatever is happening between them. The change in Ren over the past few days has been remarkable—the rigid wall he maintained between himself and the rest of us is crumbling visibly. Especially with Hailey, as if he’s finally permitted himself to accept the bond between them.

“You can join us,” Ren says without opening his eyes, his awareness of his surroundings as sharp as ever despite his apparent relaxation. “It’s quite nice.”

Hailey’s eyes flutter open, finding me in the doorway with a small smile. “Hey,” she says, her voice soft, especially without walls surrounding her. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I assure her, moving down the steps. “Just checking in. What are you two working on?”

“Centering techniques,” Ren explains, opening his eyes as well. “Helps maintain focus, make better decisions.”

I raise an eyebrow, surprised. “That’s…typically part of your training regimen?”

A shadow of his old defensiveness flickers across his face before smoothing away. “I’m adapting,” he says simply.

“It’s helping,” Hailey offers, reaching over to squeeze Ren’s hand briefly—another casual touch that seems to come more naturally to them now. “With the nightmares, too.”

The mention of nightmares tightens something in my chest. She hasn’t said much about them, but I’ve heard her in the night—the small, distressed sounds, the way she sometimes jolts awake, gasping for breath.

“Good,” I say, meaning it despite the persistent urge to take control, to fix everything myself. “That’s…good.”

Ren studies me with those penetrating ice-blue eyes, seeing more than I’m comfortable revealing. “The plan?” he asks, changing the subject with his typical directness.

“In motion,” I confirm. “A tabloid took the bait, planning to publish Monday. Now we wait to see if Heath’s person makes a move to suppress the story.”

Hailey’s brow furrows, a worried look crossing her features. “But…what if one of Heath’s other lackeys goes after it and not the police guy?”

Ren shakes his head. “The USB has files on it that reference sealed evidence.” He grins. He was the mastermind who thought of that part. “At least, evidence that should be sealed. The mole has to be the one to contain this. Anyone else wouldn’t know which records to falsify.”

Hailey grins, leaning in to press her nose against his. “You’re so smart.”

I can’t believe my eyes, but Ren blushes.

Hailey rises gracefully from the grass, brushing non-existent dirt from her leggings. “So we’re on standby until then?”

“More or less. The Ashgraves have people watching the tabloid’s offices. If anyone suspicious approaches, they’ll let us know.” I struggle to keep my tone casual, informative, rather than commanding. “Stone and I will take shifts with them for the stakeout.”

“I should be there too,” Ren says immediately, predictably. “Three sets of eyes are better than two.”

“And me,” Hailey adds, her chin lifting in that stubborn way that now both frustrates and endears. “It’s my false story that’s supposed to draw them out. I should be part of the operation.”

“Absolutely not,” I say before I can stop myself, the words sharper than intended. “It’s too dangerous.”

Her expression hardens. “I want to help. I’m not made of glass, Jax.”

“I didn’t say you were, but?—”

“But what?” She steps closer, challenging me directly in a way she never would have dared just weeks ago. “But I’m an omega? But I’m still recovering? But you’re afraid?”

The last accusation lands like a slap to the face. Yes, I’m afraid. Terrified, in fact, of losing any of them again. Of failing in my duty to protect. Of watching my pack shatter a second time.

“All of the above,” I admit, forcing myself to hold her gaze despite the urge to assert dominance, to shut down theconversation with an alpha command. “And yes, I know that’s my problem, not yours. I’m…working on it.”

The honesty seems to disarm her. Her expression softens, and she reaches for my hand. “I know you are. We all are. But part of that work is letting me make my own choices, take my own risks.”

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