The Next Day
Dakota
The morning sun slices through the windshield, making the old SUV feel even warmer than it already is. I’m jammed in the backseat with Skyla squished between me and Tadeo, knees pressed together, shoulders brushing.
I love touching her.
The tension is electric, small shocks of it running between us with every bump in the road.
Alex’s fingers drum on the dashboard as the opening riff of death metal rips through the speakers.
I roll my eyes, then reach up and smack his arm. “Seriously? Isn’t it a little early for all that screaming?”
“It’s never too early for Cannibal Corpse.” Alex glances back at me, his shaggy hair falling across his forehead. “Don’t pretend like you don’t love it.”
I roll my eyes, sinking lower in the seat. The song changes—still heavy, but smoother, with a decent guitar riff threading through the chaos. Against my better judgment, my foot taps once against the floorboard. It’s really not that terrible, but I’d never admit that out loud.
Knox, of course, is in full dad-mode, reaching over the console to nudge the volume down while he drives. Predictably, as soon as his attention drifts back to the road, Alex’s hand creeps forward, twisting the knob up again. The guitars and growls crawl right back to ear-splitting levels.
Alex nods along, shoulders jerking with every thud of the bass. I glance at Skyla, sitting between me and Tadeo, and grin when she gives a tiny, helpless shake of her head. She’s still new to our chaos, but I think she likes it.
The drive settles into a strange rhythm after that—Alex humming tunelessly along with the guitar riffs and muffled lyrics. Knox’s jaw is set, pretending not to notice the volume creeping higher every time he looks away.
On the other side of Skyla, Tadeo’s shoulders are tight, stealing glances at the omega out of the corner of his eye.
His hand slowly edges closer to her, millimeter by millimeter, like it weighs a hundred pounds to move it those last few inches.
Finally, his knuckles brush the fabric of her borrowed joggers once, then they retreat, creeping back again.
It makes me want to smile.
My intense alpha—a CFO, sharp as hell, muscles for days, and completely undone by the idea of holding a pretty girl’s hand.
I bite back a grin, eyes flickering out my window so he doesn’t catch me staring.
Skyla, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice Tadeo’s nervous movements. She just sits between us, back straight as she stares out the windshield with those big brown eyes. Her soft curls continue to bounce into her face as we roll over the uneven roads.
We turn into a parking lot, then immediately jolt over a sizable pothole. The old SUV rattles like it’s about to shake apart. Knox grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t slow down until he finds a decent spot to park.
The massive store in front of us stretches wide and low across the lot. It’s basically a warehouse dressed up with glass doors and a giant yellow sign across the front. Pack & Save glows down at us in blocky letters.
The windows are plastered over with colorful ads:
“Fresh Fits, Secondhand Steals: Shop New & Used Clothes Today!”
“Feather Your Nest for Less: Discount Bedding, Blankets & More!”
And my personal favorite:
“Stay Cool & Sane: Scent Blockers & Rut Suppressants on Sale Now!”
I feel a little bad that we can’t take Skyla somewhere fancier.
Somewhere with velvet couches, soft music, and salespeople who smell like money.
But surprisingly, the omega doesn’t look upset in the least. If anything, she looks a little awed, taking it all in like this off-brand discount paradise is the best thing she’s ever seen.
“I’ve never been to a Pack & Save before,” she says as she looks up at the big building. Her eyes are bright, and her smile is wide like this is the highlight of her week. It’s such a silly little thing to light her up, but for some reason it does. “It’s so big!”
Tadeo’s eyes go wide, and he glances at me, disbelief written all over his face. All I can do is shake my head, making it clear that I agree with him.
I mean, how the hell has she never been to a Pack & Save?
They’re about as common as churches out here—even the tiniest towns have one.
Hell, my old hometown had three.
“Are you being serious?" Tadeo finally asks. “You’ve never been here before?”
Skyla shakes her head, blond curls brushing against her cheeks.
“Once I presented as an omega, my parents refused to let me leave the house. They were too scared I’d get snatched, so I ordered everything online.
And then my old pack kinda did the same thing.
Except, I didn’t really have a choice in what I wore, but I understood why.
They had an image to uphold,” she says like that’s a valid excuse for such controlling behavior.
“I was okay with it, though. It made me happy to make them happy.” Her voice is soft and cheery as she shrugs like it’s no big deal.
And it completely pisses me off.
Who the fuck refuses to let a twenty-two-year-old woman pick out her own clothes?
But before I can open my mouth, Alex twists in his seat to look back at Skyla, his expression sharp but steady.
“That’s some over-the-top alpha bullshit, right there,” he says flatly and Skyla’s eyes go wide.
She’s used to him laughing and joking, but the look on his face right now is nothing like that.
“A real alpha would let his omega pick her own damn clothes. Not dress her up in whatever the fuck makes him happy.”
For a second, Skyla just blinks at him, lashes fluttering like she’s not sure she heard him right. Then her mouth wobbles into the tiniest smile, her hands pressed tight against her chest. “I…I get to pick out my own clothes?” she whispers like she’s a little scared to ask out loud.
“Yes.” Knox glances back, meeting Skyla’s eyes head-on.
“Clothes, blankets, pillows, candles—hell, if you want those weird twinkling lights that hang from the ceiling, then you’ll get them.
” His voice drops lower, rough with a mix of restrained anger and fierce affection. “If it makes you happy, it’s yours.”
I swear Skyla’s eyes go glassy, her lips parting just a little, like she’s too shocked to speak.
The air in the SUV shifts, heavier somehow, and all of us move carefully, like if we breathe too loud it might break her open.
“Get whatever you want, carino.” Tadeo leans closer, but he doesn’t touch her, his hand hovering over her knee, as if he wants to anchor her without crowding.
Finally, Skyla blinks several times like she’s fighting back tears. Then she swipes her palms over her thighs, and gives us this tiny, trembling smile. “Okay,” she whispers.
Alex and I share a pained look, both of us angry and confused by what she must have gone through in her old life—her last pack must have been fucking awful if the Pack & Save has her this emotional. But there’s no sense in dwelling on it. All we can do is spoil the shit out of her in our own way.
Knox pops open his door first, then we all shuffle out of the SUV.
The smell of cheap detergent and potpourri hits me the second we step through the sliding doors.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, reflecting off the overly shiny, gray-speckled tile.
Rows of clothing racks stretch out, neon-orange discount tags dangling from jeans and cardigans, while the back wall towers with bedding, pillows, and mismatched kitchenware.
The place is a little busy but not terrible—mostly betas milling around, with a few alphas here and there, and the occasional omega drifting through the aisles.
It’s loud, chaotic, and overwhelming.
And judging from the way Skyla’s eyes go wide, it might just be the best thing she’s ever seen.
Tadeo spends a solid five minutes finding a cart without any squeaky wheels, then we make our way toward the back, starting with the nesting supplies.
The shelves are stacked high with comforters and pillows, bins full of fleece blankets and duvet covers. I used to roll my eyes at this kind of stuff when my sisters dragged me out shopping, but now I’m actually curious to see what’ll catch Skyla’s eye.
Our timid omega moves slowly, fingers brushing along the edge of a comforter before pulling back.
Skyla checks the discount tag first, every time, squinting at the red clearance stickers like she’s memorizing the numbers.
Only when she’s sure it’s “cheap enough” does she let her hand linger, stroking fabric, lifting a corner to feel the weight.
It kills me a little, watching that hesitation, the way she doesn’t quite believe she’s allowed to want things. But then Tadeo nudges a stack of throw pillows closer and Knox says, “Pick whichever ones feel good, little one. Don’t worry about the price.”
Skyla nods with a soft “Okay,” before letting her hands linger longer, and, slowly, her smile flickers brighter. She moves from shelf to shelf, lifting a blanket, folding it against her chest, and pressing her cheek to it like she can’t resist.
Alex and I trade a quick smile over her head as her excitement grows.
One fleece blanket becomes two, then she’s tugging a comforter set into the cart with a strength that surprises me, muttering about how the purple and pink pattern is “cheerful.” She even laughs when she finds a ridiculous sequined throw pillow shaped like a rabbit’s ass.
“It’s a bunny tail,” Skyla corrects me, showing me the fluffy ball pinned to the center.
“It’s an ass,” I snort, and Alex snickers too.
“You’re an ass,” Skyla cuts back, then slaps a hand over her mouth as if shocked she said that out loud.
I can’t help the laugh that erupts from my chest. Skyla’s giggling too, her face bright red.
“Fuck,” Alex says through his deep chuckle. “I knew I loved this omega for a reason.”
Skyla’s eyes flicker to Alex’s face when he says ‘love’. Her laugh slowly fades, replaced by the warmest smile. Fuck, she’s pretty.