On the Couch
Skyla
The air feels lighter tonight—like something in my chest finally loosened after years of being wound too tight.
I didn’t realize just how much I needed to hear my mom’s voice until that call ended.
Knox promised my dads that we’d plan a trip soon—once I’ve settled in fully with the pack. He told them the truth, that our bond was still new and we were still finding our rhythm. My parents immediately understood.
Then Knox gave them not only our address, but the whole pack’s phone numbers. Every single one. “That way, Sky’s mom can call her anytime she wants,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. My heart nearly cracked right in half at that.
Now, the house hums with the kind of quiet that feels safe.
The living room windows are open, letting in the smell of crisp autumn and distant rain.
The sun’s dipping low, and I can still hear the faint sound of laughter outside—Dakota and Alex arguing over who grills better while Tadeo pretends to care.
I sit on the couch in my portable nest, fingers wrapped around a mug of tea that’s already gone cold, staring at Knox’s phone sitting in front of me. It’s stupid, maybe, but I keep half expecting it to ring again.
It’s been so long since I felt like someone wanted to call me.
I trace a finger over the edge of my mug, smiling to myself as I listen to the faint sounds coming from the kitchen—the clink of dishes, the soft rush of running water, Knox humming low under his breath.
He’s still doing the dishes.
Of course he is.
He could’ve let them sit, but I think keeping busy gives him somewhere to put all that restless energy. Every so often, I hear the scrape of a plate against the counter and that quiet sigh he makes when he finishes a task.
And I can feel it from here—the quiet, glowing kind of happiness rolling off him. He’s proud of himself for what he gave me today, proud that he could fix something in my life instead of breaking it.
A small, wry smile tugs at my mouth.
Well, he owed me that much.
It’s a sharp thought, but I can’t help it. He hurt me. What he did doesn’t just disappear because he fixed one thing. And yet…
There’s a part of me that still feels so achingly thankful. Because hearing my parents’ voices, knowing they’re okay—that I’m okay—that’s something I didn’t think I’d ever have again.
And Knox made it happen.
I sink deeper into the blankets of my portable nest, eyes drifting toward the kitchen doorway. Knox’s silhouette moves across the light, broad shoulders coming into view as he cleans up. His careful movements don't fit the man who roared and bit and hurt me.
Maybe that’s why it still upsets me so much. Because I can’t tell which version of him is real.
The water shuts off. The hum stops.
And still, I don’t move.
I just hold my cold mug a little tighter and whisper into the quiet, “Thank you.”
Even if he can’t hear it.
Then a sharp twist of frustration hits me—fast, sudden, and hot in my chest. Before I can think about it, I’m already on my feet, the blanket sliding off my lap and pooling on the floor. The mug clinks against the coffee table as I set it down too hard.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
My heart beats faster with every step toward the kitchen. The faint scent of iron cuts through the air before I even reach the doorway, and dread blooms in my throat.
Knox stands by the sink, shoulders tense, staring down at his hand. The tiny light over the sink gleams off his skin—and that’s when I see it. Blood. Bright, fresh red, sliding down his thumb.
“Knox!” His name rips out of me with a gasp. I cross the kitchen in three strides. “What happened?”
He jerks a little, like he hadn’t heard me come in. Then he looks up, face calm in that too-controlled way that tells me it’s not.
“I’m fine,” he says simply.
But I can see the way his jaw ticks, the tendons in his arm flexing as he tries to hide the cut. There’s a deep gash along the pad of his thumb, bleeding steadily. A soapy knife sits on the counter beside him, glinting under the light.
“You’re bleeding,” I say, a little too sharply.
Knox shakes his head, giving me that small, reassuring half-smile that doesn’t fool me for a second. “It’s nothing, sweetheart. Just a nick.”
I step closer, grab his wrist, and tug. “Sit.”
“Skyla—”
“Sit down, Knox.”
He hesitates, like he’s about to argue, but then his shoulders drop. He moves to the kitchen table, lowering himself onto the chair with a quiet, wary obedience that makes my chest squeeze tight.
The cut’s still bleeding. Not gushing, but enough that the sight of it makes me wince. I glance around, scanning the counters. “Where is the first-aid kit?”
He blinks at me. “We don’t have one.”
I’m not surprised by that. “Okay. Where are the Band-Aids?”
Knox grimaces slightly, then says again, “We don’t have any.”
I pause mid-reach, then slowly turn my head toward him. “You don’t—have—any Band-Aids?”
He shrugs, a little sheepish. “We don’t need them.”
I roll my eyes. “Right.”
Of course, they don’t have Band-Aids. These men were washing dishes with laundry soap when I first got here. Half of their towels have holes in them. And now, apparently medical supplies are too much to ask for.
“Okay,” I mutter, marching toward the sink. “Fine. We’ll improvise.”
Behind me, Knox chuckles low under his breath, the sound warm and rough. “Yes, ma’am.”
I try not to smile as I grab a clean dish towel and run it under cool water.
When I turn back, he’s watching me with that soft intensity again—like he doesn’t know what to do with someone taking care of him.
I pull out the chair next to him and sit down, setting the damp towel on the table between us.
Knox’s eyes flick to the empty space in his lap, then back to me.
The disappointment that I didn’t sit in his lap is subtle, but it’s there—the faint tightening of his jaw, the tiny sigh he doesn’t quite let out.
Good.
He can suffer a little longer.
Knox rests his injured hand palm-up on the table, obedient now, watching me carefully with his dark green eyes.
It makes something twist low in my stomach.
I gently take his hand, my fingers brushing over the rough calluses of his palm before pressing the towel against the cut.
He doesn’t flinch, but his breath catches.
“See?” I mutter, focusing on the wound instead of his face. “This is why normal people keep first-aid kits.”
Knox chuckles softly. “We’re not exactly normal people, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I mumble, holding his hand a little firmer when he tries to pull away too soon.
The bleeding slows under the pressure, pink smearing faintly across the white towel. His hand dwarfs mine—warm, steady, patient—and even though I’m still angry, I can’t ignore the way my pulse stumbles when his fingers curl slightly, brushing over the side of my wrist.
Knox shifts, thumb brushing my wrist again. “I’m good now,” he murmurs.
I glare at him. “No, you’re not. Hold still.”
“Skyla—”
“I said hold still.” I press the towel more firmly against his thumb, biting back my irritation. “I swear alphas would let a limb rot off before they’d actually ask for help.”
Something slips through the air—faint, like a ripple of warmth brushing the edge of my mind. Annoyance. Heavy and unmistakably his.
I snap my head up, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t start with me. You need to be patient.”
Knox frowns, brows knitting. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you—” The words stall in my throat. Because he’s right. He didn’t say anything.
But I felt it.
Clear as a breath against my skin. That flicker of irritation, his pointed frustration curling at the edges of my thoughts like smoke. My chest tightens.
“I felt it,” I whisper, staring at him. “Knox, I—”
The rest of the sentence dies on my tongue.
Because I don’t need to say it out loud. He already knows.
And when his eyes widen—sharp inhale, nostrils flaring, pulse hammering beneath his skin—I know he feels me, too.
A tremor runs through me, dizzy and unreal. The world seems to tilt.
The bond.
It took.
I can barely breathe. My pulse races so hard it feels like my ribs can’t hold it in. “Can you—” I swallow, voice trembling. “Can you feel me?”
Knox doesn’t move. Not at first. He’s so still it’s like the world’s stopped spinning just to give him a second to process it. His lips part, breath catching in his throat, and then—slowly—his expression breaks open into the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
A smile. Wide, bright, real.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, sweetheart, I can.” He lets out a shaky laugh, his whole chest rising like he’s been holding that breath for days. “I thought I felt you earlier when you were talking to your family.”
My eyes widen. “You did?”
“I think so.” His voice is low, unsure. “You were so happy, and I felt it—this deep warmth in the back of my head. But I didn’t know if it was real or if I was…
hoping.” He exhales, eyes locked on mine, and grins, boyish and incredulous.
“But right now?” He taps his temple with his uninjured hand.
“Right now I can feel exactly how annoyed you are with me.”
A startled laugh bursts out of me. “You can?”
“Crystal clear,” he says, grin widening. “And it feels amazing.”
Knox is still grinning when footsteps sound behind us.
Tadeo’s voice breaks the quiet. “What’s going on in here?”
We both turn toward the doorway. He’s standing there barefoot, hair rumpled, his bare chest on full display. His gaze flickers between us—my wide eyes and Knox’s ridiculous smile, to our hands still tangled together on the table.
“Our bond,” I say, my voice trembling with disbelief. “It…it took.”
For a second, Tadeo just stares at me, not breathing. Then his mouth falls open. “You’re serious?”
Knox nods, still looking dazed. “She can feel me.”
The sound that bursts out of Tadeo is half laugh, half gasp. In a blink, he crosses the room, moving so fast the chair beside me rattles. He falls to his knees and catches me up in a hug that nearly knocks the air from my lungs.
“Oh, Dios mío, mi amor!” he says against my hair, voice cracking with relief. “You did it, baby.”
“Who did what?” Alex asks as he steps into the room. He’s holding a pair of tongs in one hand, a half-charred burger in the other. Dakota’s right behind him, sun still on his skin, sunglasses pushed up in his hair.
Tadeo turns toward them, eyes shining. “Their bond took,” he blurts, practically shouting the words. “Sky and Knox—their mental bond took.”
No one moves. The air hangs heavy with the smell of grilled meat and smoke. Then Alex’s mouth drops open. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” Tadeo says, stifling a laugh. Then he looks back at me, eyes wide and sparkling. “Right?”
I nod, my throat too tight for words. And in that instant, Knox’s joy floods through me—bright, fierce, pure—like sunlight breaking through a storm. It’s not just emotion; it’s warmth, steady and sure, echoing in the back of my mind until I can’t tell where his happiness ends and mine begins.
That’s all it takes.
Alex’s grin splits wide, unstoppable, and before I can brace myself, he’s crossing the kitchen in three long strides. He scoops me clean off my chair, spinning me once, his laugh booming through the backyard.
“Holy shit, sweetheart! You did it!”
I squeak, half laughing, half breathless, clutching at his shoulders. “Alex!—I—can’t breathe!”
He sets me down but doesn’t let go, one big hand braced against the small of my back. Behind him, Dakota's smile is much softer, his eyes glassy with tears.
Knox chuckles softly behind me, as Alex pulls him into a mighty hug.
For once, there’s no tension. No shame. No fear.
Just the sound of my pack laughing and happy. And through it all, the soft hum in the back of my mind—Knox—steady and bright, like the promise of something whole.
I’m still mad at Knox for what he did. I still feel a little betrayed. But I’ll forgive him…eventually.