The Backyard
Tadeo
It’s been twenty-six hours since Knox marked Skyla.
Twenty-six hours of groveling.
Twenty-six hours of praying Skyla will forgive us—and her bond with Knox will take hold.
The crisp air smells like smoke and salt and the faint sweetness of Skyla’s scent drifting across the yard.
Alex is manning the grill, turning the burgers with way too much focus.
Knox is stretched out on the lawn chair beside me, looking deceptively calm.
He hasn’t said a word in over twenty minutes.
Skyla’s in the hammock with Dakota, curled up against his chest. His fingers trail lazily up and down her arm, whispering things I can’t hear, but she does smile every so often—small, fleeting smiles, but smiles all the same.
We’ve all apologized a dozen times. Alex looked like he wanted to punch himself.
Knox sounded like he was begging, which I didn’t think was possible.
Me? I didn’t know what the hell to say. I didn’t even know Knox was going to do it.
And I’m glad I didn’t—saved me from having to grovel too much.
But still, I’ve been acting sorry anyway.
We shoulder problems as a pack, and I refuse to let my packmates carry this alone.
Skyla giggles, and I swirl the last inch of sweet tea in my glass, the ice long since melted. My gaze keeps drifting back to her, tracking every twitch, every tilt of her head, searching for something—anything—that might mean her bond with Knox took.
The thing is…I don’t want the bond to work because we need it. I meant what I told her last night—mental bonds don’t make a pack. We’re already tied together in every way that matters.
But she deserves one.
All omegas do. But especially her.
She’s been through so much, held together by sheer will, by stubborn strength she shouldn’t have had to find on her own. And some stupid, hopeful part of me keeps thinking—maybe if the bond takes, it’ll heal something in her.
I don’t know if that’s wishful thinking or instinct talking. Maybe both.
I wish I knew what to look for, because I refuse to ask either one of them if they feel anything. That would be cruel.
Skyla laughs again, a real one this time—bright and unguarded. The sound cuts through the afternoon air like sunlight after rain.
“I can’t wait to introduce you to my sisters,” Dakota says, grinning wide. “You think I’m loud? Wait until you meet them.”
That earns him another burst of laughter, higher and sharper. “Oh no,” Skyla says, wiping at her eyes. “There’s more of you?”
“Three more,” he says proudly. “All betas. All disasters.”
She giggles even harder, her whole body shaking with it, until she catches her breath and sighs. “You’re lucky,” she says softly. “All I have are an omega mom and two alpha dads.”
Something in her voice changes. Small. Careful.
Then she says, “But I haven’t talked to them in over a year.” A sad smile fills her face.
The words hang there for a second before they really hit. I glance up, and Knox and Alex both do the same, heads snapping toward her like they misheard.
“Why so long?” Dakota asks, voice soft and curious.
Skyla bites her bottom lip, shoulders curling in on themselves like she instantly regrets saying anything. “My old pack wouldn’t let me talk to them,” she admits. “I don’t really know why.”
Knox’s whole body goes still. Then he shifts forward, jaw clenched, digging into his pocket for his phone. “Do you know their number?” he asks, already unlocking the screen.
The way he says it makes something swell and ache in my chest. There’s no hesitation in him, only quiet, fierce alpha certainty that says, I’m gonna fucking fix this.
Skyla stares at him, wide-eyed. “Really? You’ll let me—”
“Yes,” Knox says simply. “What’s their number?”
Skyla hesitates for half a second before reaching out for Dakota’s hand. He helps her untangle from the hammock, murmuring something soft that I can’t catch. Her pink slippers hit the grass, and instead of going to Knox—like I expect—she walks toward me.
And sits right in my lap.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
Her weight settles against me, light but solid in her pretty pink sweater, with her scent filling my lungs. My first thought is that this must be some kind of punishment. That she’s still angry at Knox, maybe all of us, and sitting here is her way of saying I choose him instead of you.
But my second thought comes faster, quieter—thank you.
Because even if this is a punishment for my pack alpha, I’ll take it. I’ll take every second of her pressed against me, the warmth of her back against my chest, the sound of her small, nervous breaths.
Knox doesn’t look pleased—his nostrils flare—but he doesn’t say anything about it. “The number?”
Skyla’s voice is soft as her eyes roll upward, remembering it. She says each number slow and precise. Like she’s scared that if she says it too fast, it’ll disappear again.
Knox dials, then puts it on speaker.
The line rings once.
Dakota inches a little closer.
Then twice.
Alex stares at the phone, the forgotten burgers sizzling away.
Three times.
And then—
Click.
“Hello?” An alpha answers with a gruff rumble.
“Daddy?” Skyla’s brown eyes are already filled with tears.
“Skyla?” The voice on the other end breaks with disbelief, but it’s enough to make the hairs on my arms rise.
Skyla lets out a sob that sounds like it’s been locked in her chest for years. “Daddy.”
There’s a sharp sound through the receiver, like the phone clattering against a countertop, followed by muffled noise—movement, hurried footsteps, something falling. Then the alpha’s voice comes back, thick and shaking.
“Oh my God, sweetheart—Deborah! Robert!” he yells, his voice booming so loud it echoes through the tiny speaker. “Get in here! It’s Skyla! Skyla’s on the phone!”
Dakota’s hand flies up to his mouth, eyes shining. Knox’s shoulders sag, the tension melting from his body. Alex turns off the grill without even looking.
On the other end of the phone, there’s chaos—another voice, higher and frantic, overlapping with the deep, steady rumble of another alpha.
“Skyla?” a woman cries out. “Baby, is it really you?”
“Mom,” Skyla whispers, her voice cracking. She’s clutching Knox’s phone with both hands now, her body trembling. “It’s me.”
The older omega’s voice breaks again, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “We thought we’d never hear from you again,” she says.
Skyla covers her mouth, the tears falling freely now, and I can’t tear my eyes away from her. I’ve seen her stoic, screaming, and falling apart—but I’ve never seen her shake like this. It’s like her whole world is cracking open and being rebuilt in the same breath.
Knox’s hand twitches across me, like he wants to reach for her but knows better than to interrupt.
“We have called Brayden every week like clockwork,” a deeper voice says. It must be her other father, Robert. “I’m so glad he finally let you call.”
Skyla freezes, she’s stone still in my arms. The warmth drains from her face. Her lips part, but nothing comes out at first—then a soft sound, like she’s trying to breathe through it. “He didn’t let me call,” she says finally, voice trembling. “He—Brayden—he rejected me.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then—
A sharp gasp from her mom, followed by a low, vicious roar from one of her dads.
It rattles through the speaker, deep and primal, the kind of sound that makes every alpha within earshot tense.
“That fucker,” Robert snarls. “I’ll gut him. I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill him.”
Skyla flinches at the volume, but before I can say anything, Alex—who’s been standing near the grill, beer in hand—mutters, “Fuck yeah,” under his breath, then takes a long swig.
It shouldn’t make me smile. But it does.
“Skyla,” her mother says again, voice cracking but gentle, desperate. “Sweetheart, do you need us to come get you? We’ll leave right now. There are clinics for rejected omegas. We can get you help, baby.”
Skyla shakes her head quickly, swiping at her cheeks. “No,” she says. “I’m okay. I have a new pack now. They’re…they’re all really good men.” She pulls in a deep breath, then says, “I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
And something in my chest tightens and expands at the same time. Pride. Pure and heavy. It pounds through my ribs in rhythm with my pulse.
Good men.
The sound of her mother’s crying fills the speaker again—soft, relieved, the kind that breaks you open and puts you back together all at once.
And then they talk.
They talk for hours.
Not about what Skyla’s been through. Not about the scars on her neck or the abuse she endured. Just… life.
The kind of simple, happy things Skyla’s been starved for.
Her parents tell her about the new house they’re fixing up. About her grandparents still arguing over who cheats at cards. About a cousin who had twins and a family trip to the coast that turned into a disaster when one of her dads fell asleep in the sun and came home lobster-red.
Skyla laughs. Not the careful, polite sound I’ve gotten used to hearing the last few days—but a real laugh, bright and full, bubbling around the phone until we’re all smiling like idiots.
She stays firmly in my lap, legs dangling, the phone held up to her face while her mom tells her about a new garden that’s “absolutely thriving, baby—you’d love it.” Every now and then, Sky hums in agreement, murmuring soft questions.
I cling to the omega, keeping my arms wrapped around her waist. The pure bliss radiating off of her is addictive, and lovely, making her floral scent edge so sweet it makes my teeth hurt.
I fucking love it.
The conversation drifts easily from one story to the next. We eat when the burgers are done, Skyla taking little bites between stories, until, inevitably, her mom insists, “Now let me hear these good men you’ve found.”
Knox straightens immediately, clearing his throat like he’s preparing for a board meeting. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, taking the phone when Skyla hands it over.
He does most of the talking, voice warm and steady.
He introduces us one by one, peppering a few random details.
My job as CFO at a small startup, Dakota and Alex doing a tremendous job caring for Skyla during the day, but he skims over his own job, simply stating he does some freelance work when he can.
But her parents don’t press. I get the feeling all they care about is that Skyla’s happy.
I really hope she is.