Chapter 44 In the Garage
In the Garage
Alex
The faint thud of weights hitting the mat echoes through the garage.
Dust drifts lazily in the slant of afternoon light, cutting through the air.
It smells like metal and detergent in here—sharp, clean, and weirdly sterile—despite the wide-open garage door and the faint breeze rolling in from the street.
Dakota’s moving a few dumbbells around, reorganizing the rack like anyone actually gives a shit about symmetry.
His shirt’s damp with sweat, tufts of hair sticking to his temples.
Then he grabs the tiny twenty-pound weights and starts dusting them, and for some reason, that’s what finally breaks me.
“The whole house-beta thing really hit you hard, huh?” I lean against the workbench, crossing my arms.
Dakota pauses mid-lift, frowning over his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I point at the rag in his hand. “It means you clean now. I’ve lived with you for a year, man, and I’ve never once seen you wipe down a surface. Hell, the only reason your room was ever clean was because Tadeo threatened to torch it—with you still in it.”
Dakota barks out a laugh and tosses the rag at me. “Screw you, I’ve always been tidy.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, throwing it back. He catches it easily with one hand. “You’ve always been tidy. Even though your dirty socks were in the fruit bowl a few months ago.”
“They were clean,” Dakota snaps back. “And it’s not like I’m going crazy or anything—I’m just dusting.”
“The weights,” I stress, gesturing to the rack. “In the garage. Where dirt literally lives. Next thing I know, you’ll tell me you alphabetized the spices.”
He shrugs, a sheepish grin tugging at his mouth. “Maybe I did.”
That makes me stop. “You did not.”
“Sky likes it that way,” he says simply, and goes back to lining up the weights like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I can’t help laughing. “You’re gone, man. Totally whipped. Look at you—cleaning, cooking, alphabetizing spices like some kind of suburban beta husband.”
Dakota drops the last dumbbell with a little too much force, the thud vibrating through the cement floor. “Isn’t that the whole point?” he shoots back, straightening to face me. “Aren’t we supposed to claim our omega, take care of her? Make sure she’s happy?”
“Sure,” I say, smirking. “But you’re taking it to a new level. You’re like one throw pillow away from nesting with her yourself.”
He laughs, shaking his head, then points the rag at me like it’s a weapon. “You shouldn’t talk.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Please,” he drawls. “You look at her like she’s the fucking sun. It’s probably because she laughs at every dumb joke you make, but still. You’re just as bad as me, Alex—worse, even. At least I admit it.”
I grin without missing a beat. “Oh, I admit it. I’m head over heels for that tiny blonde. I’d rip out my left nut with my bare hands if she asked me to.”
Dakota’s mouth drops open, half disgusted, half exasperated. “What the hell, man? Why are you giving me shit, then?”
“Don’t know.” I shrug. “I’m bored. Why can’t we go inside?”
Dakota stares at me for a long minute, before scrubbing his face with both hands. “Because,” he says finally, “I wanted to give Skyla some privacy to talk to her mom.”
That takes a little of the wind out of my sails. I lean back against the workbench, tapping my fingers against the edge. “Ah.”
Dakota shrugs, still fiddling with a stray weight like it suddenly got interesting. “Skyla’s been a little sensitive this morning.” He hesitates, glancing toward the house, his voice dropping. “Can you…feel her?”
“Kind of,” I admit with a grimace. “It’s really faint, though. It doesn't really surprise me,” I add. “It’s only been a little over twenty-four hours since we marked her. Her bond with Knox took a few days to form.”
Dakota shifts his weight, chewing his lip. “Could you maybe…concentrate on your bond or whatever? Just to see if she’s okay?” He gives me those big, puppy dog eyes, like there’s a chance I’ll say no.
“Give me a minute.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, tuning in to the quiet hum at the back of my mind where my bond with Skyla sits. Our bond is still new—only a day or so old—thin and growing stronger bit by bit, kind of like a radio signal still finding its frequency.
But there’s nothing sharp or panicked coming from her, only a dull ache pulsing under my ribs. Faint, but steady. It could be her. It could be me. Hard to tell.
She’s probably fine. Just…talking to her mom. Omegas get emotional about that kind of stuff, right?
Dakota exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “It could be my imagination,” he admits. “But she’s been off today. I figured maybe she’s working through something. Maybe processing her feelings about being newly mated, or shit like that. I’m sure another omega is just easier to talk to.”
I nod, chest tight but trying not to show it. “Yeah. You’re right.”
The silence stretches, too long, too heavy. I can’t stop bouncing my leg, heel thudding against the concrete. My skin feels too tight for my body.
She’s fine. I keep telling myself that. Just talking. Maybe crying a little. Normal omega stuff.
But the longer I sit here, the itchier I feel—like there’s something I’m supposed to be doing, some switch in my head flipping back and forth between go check on her and leave her the hell alone.
Dakota picks up a dumbbell and starts wiping it down again, pretending to be focused. He’s not fooling me. He’s worried too, even if he’s too polite to say it.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck, exhaling through my nose. The garage suddenly feels too small. Too still.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, reaching for my phone in my pocket, desperate for a distraction—music, news, anything to keep me from marching inside like a crazy person. But my fingers meet empty fabric. I check the other pocket, patting my whole waistband. Nothing.
“Shit.”
Dakota looks up. “What?”
“I left my phone inside.” I pat my pockets again to be sure. Still empty. “You mind if I run in real quick and grab it?”
He narrows his eyes immediately. “I can see right through that trick, man. You just wanna bug Sky.”
I throw up my hands. “I swear, it’s not a trick. I’m not gonna say a word to her. I forgot it on the counter.”
“What could you possibly need it for?” he shoots back.
“What if there’s an emergency or something?”
Dakota snorts. “Avoiding boredom doesn’t count as an emergency.”
I glare at him, half amused. “You’re way too cocky for someone who didn’t know how to use the dryer until, what, two months ago?”
He grins, unfazed. “Yeah, well, look at me now. Domestic as hell.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes, but my chest feels tight. “This is on your head, beta. If someone dies because I didn’t have my phone—”
“Then I’ll be sure to alphabetize your funeral flowers,” he cuts in with a shitty smirk.
I open my mouth to shoot back, but give up with a groan. “Wonderful.”
I glance toward the street, eyes drifting over the familiar stretch of cracked driveways and patchy lawns.
Old sedans and hand-me-down trucks line the curb; someone’s sprinkler sputters weakly across a yard where the grass has turned brittle and yellow with the cold.
Mrs. Heller’s plastic flamingos are still leaning sideways like they’ve given up on life.
Then I freeze.
The familiar SUV turns the corner, tires crunching over gravel, sunlight glinting off the windshield. My stomach drops. “Is that Knox?”
Dakota glances toward the street. “Why the hell is Knox home so early?”
I squint, shading my eyes as the vehicle pulls into the driveway. Through the windshield, I catch a glimpse of Knox’s face—jaw tight, eyes dark and unreadable—and every muscle in my body goes rigid. Whatever that look is, it’s not his usual post-work exhaustion. It’s something else. Something bad.
I straighten, heart thudding once before settling into a steady, alert rhythm.
The car door slams hard enough to echo off the houses across the street. Knox is out of the car in an instant, his boots pounding against the gravel like he’s going to war.
“Why the hell haven’t either of you answered your damn phones?” he snaps, eyes sharp and voice too loud for the quiet afternoon.
Dakota blinks, startled. “What—”
“What’s wrong?” I cut in, already moving toward him. My stomach drops, instincts kicking straight into gear. “Knox, what happened?”
He doesn’t answer, shouldering past me, heading for the house like he’s tracking blood. The front door bangs open against the wall, his voice echoing through the entryway.
“Skyla?” His voice slices through the air—commanding, desperate. “Sky! Where are you?”
I bolt after him, down the hall, straight to our bedroom.
Knox’s boots march down the hall, the sound echoing through the house like thunder. “Skyla!” he calls again, louder this time, voice breaking on her name. No answer. Not even a sound.
My chest goes tight. What the fuck is happening?
A cold rush of panic claws up my throat. I shove past the doorway into the bedroom—and stop dead.
She’s there.
Right in the middle of her nest, tangled in blankets, eyes wide and unfocused. Her breathing’s too fast—sharp, shallow gasps that sound more like choking than crying. Her hands are trembling, clutching at the edge of a blanket like it’s the only thing holding her together.
Dakota freezes beside me, color draining from his face.
“Sky?” I croak, stepping forward, but Knox’s arm shoots out, stopping me. He drops to his knees beside her first, voice low but urgent.
“Hey, hey—look at me, omega,” he murmurs, brushing the hair from her face.
She doesn’t seem to hear him. Her lips move, but no sound comes out.
My heartbeat feels like it’s trying to crack my ribs open. Whatever happened—it’s bad. Real fucking bad.