The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate Chapter 203

Tristan

"I don't feel like a warrior right now."

"You are," I insisted. "The strongest person I know. And our babies are going to be fine because they have you. Because you're not giving up, and neither are they."

A knock on the door interrupted us. Orion poked his head in, Lily hovering behind him looking anxious.

"Can we come in?" he asked quietly.

"Please," Athena said, trying to sit up a bit.

Orion entered, and Lily ran straight to the bed, her eyes wide and worried.

"Are you okay, Aunt Athena?" she asked, her voice small. "Are the babies okay?"

"I'm okay, sweetheart," Athena said, reaching out to touch Lily's cheek. "The babies are okay too. They just need to stay in the hospital for a little while to make sure they stay safe."

"Can I hear them?" Lily asked, looking at all the monitors. "Their heartbeats?"

I adjusted the volume on the fetal monitors, and the room filled with the sound of two rapid heartbeats. Lily's face lit up.

"That's them?" she breathed. "That's my cousins?"

"That's them," I confirmed, feeling my throat get tight.

"They sound strong," Lily said seriously. "Like they're going to be okay."

"They are," Orion said firmly, coming to stand beside the bed. He met my eyes over Athena's head, and I could see his own fear and concern there. But his voice was steady when he spoke. "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better," Athena admitted.

"Sarah's on her way," Orion said. "She had to drop Liam with a friend, but she'll be here soon. And I called your pack," he said to me. "Derek is rallying everyone. They want to know what you need."

My pack. I'd been so focused on Athena and the babies that I hadn't even thought about them.

"Tell them I'll update them when I know more," I said. "And that I appreciate their concern."

"They love you," Orion said simply. "Both of you. The whole pack is worried."

Another nurse came in to check the monitors, and Orion took Lily's hand. "We should let you rest. But we'll be in the waiting room if you need anything. Anything at all."

"Thank you," Athena said. "For everything."

After they left, I settled back beside Athena, listening to the double heartbeat filling the room. Each beat was a promise. Each beat said they were still here, still fighting, still alive.

"Tristan?" Athena said softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Thank you for being here. For not falling apart."

I almost laughed. "I am falling apart. I'm just doing it quietly."

"You're being strong for me," she said. "For us. That's what matters."

I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'll always be strong for you. Even when I'm terrified. Especially when I'm terrified."

The afternoon dragged on. Nurses came and went, checking monitors, adjusting medication, asking questions. Dr. Morrison came back twice to examine Athena. Each time, she said the same thing—stable but serious. The abruption wasn't getting worse, but it wasn't getting better either. The contractions had slowed but not stopped completely.

Sarah arrived around dinner time, her face drawn with worry. She hugged Athena carefully, then turned to me.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

I tried to remember. Breakfast had been hours ago. "I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked." She pulled a bag from her shoulder. "I brought sandwiches. You need to eat, Tristan. You're no good to Athena if you collapse from low blood sugar."

She was right, though I had no appetite. But I forced down half a sandwich while Sarah sat with Athena, talking quietly about nothing important. Just normal conversation, a welcome distraction from the fear that hung over everything.

As night fell, the hospital quieted. The nurses dimmed the lights in our room. Sarah left reluctantly, promising to come back first thing in the morning. The chair-bed was pulled out for me, though I had no intention of sleeping.

I lay beside Athena instead, my hand on her belly between the monitors, feeling the occasional flutter of movement from our babies.

"They're active tonight," Athena murmured, half-asleep from the pain medication.

"They are," I agreed, feeling a stronger kick against my palm. "Letting us know they're okay."

"I love you," she said drowsily. "You and our babies. My whole world."

"I love you too," I whispered. "More than anything."

She drifted off to sleep, her breathing evening out. But I stayed awake, watching the monitors, listening to the heartbeats, my hand never leaving her belly.

Every beat was a gift. Every moment they stayed inside was a victory.

I sent up a prayer to the Moon Goddess. Please. Please let them be okay. Let them stay safe just a little longer. Just until they're ready.

And I stayed awake through the night, keeping vigil over my family, ready for whatever came next.

.....

The first twenty-four hours in the hospital passed in a strange blur of hyper awareness and numbing routine. Every beep of the monitors made my heart jump. Every time a nurse walked in, I braced for bad news. Every small sound Athena made had me on my feet, asking if she was okay, if she needed anything, if the pain was worse.

"Tristan, you need to sleep," Athena said for the hundredth time as dawn broke through the hospital window. "You've been awake all night."

"I'm fine," I lied, rubbing my burning eyes. The pull-out chair-bed sat unused in the corner. I'd spent the night in the actual bed with her, my hand on her belly, feeling every movement of our babies.

"You're exhausted," she said, reaching up to touch my face. "And you need to take care of yourself too."

"I will," I promised. "After you and the babies are safe."

She opened her mouth to argue, but Dr. Morrison walked in, interrupting whatever lecture Athena had prepared.

"Good morning," Dr. Morrison said, but her expression was serious as she studied the monitor strips. "How are you feeling, Athena?"

"Okay, I think. The pain isn't as bad."

"That's the medication working." Dr. Morrison pulled up the ultrasound machine. "But I need to check on the abruption again. See if it's stayed stable."

I held Athena's hand as Dr. Morrison squirted the cold gel on her belly and began the scan. The room fell silent except for the whooshing sounds of the babies' heartbeats through the ultrasound.

Dr. Morrison's face was impossible to read as she moved the probe around, taking measurements, checking different angles. The silence stretched on forever.

"Doctor?" I finally asked when I couldn't take it anymore.

She sighed. "The abruption has progressed. Not dramatically, but it's bigger than yesterday."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. "What does that mean?"

"It means we can't wait any longer." Dr. Morrison set down the probe and turned to face us directly. "I'm recommending we deliver the babies today. This morning, actually. Within the next few hours."