The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate Chapter 36

"We'll be visiting our parents first," he said, his voice carrying that same gentle authority I remembered from when he'd coax me down from trees I was too scared to climb down from alone. "I told them I was bringing you to see them tonight."

He grinned, and suddenly he looked like a mischievous teenager again. "I may have mentioned to your mom that I knew she'd missed you terribly, so I was being the good son and bringing you home to her."

I hit his chest playfully, the solid warmth of him beneath my palm sending an unwelcome flutter through my stomach. "You're terrible. She probably thinks you're showing off."

"Maybe I am," he said, but his smile was soft now, touched with something that looked like fondness.

We walked deeper into the cemetery, our footsteps muffled by dew-damp grass. The headstones rose around us like sleeping sentinels, some worn smooth by decades of weather, others still sharp-edged and new. Everything smelled of earth and night-blooming jasmine, of memory and permanence.

When we reached the familiar plot, my breath caught in my throat. Four headstones stood in a neat row, side by side like they were still protecting each other even in death. Mom, Dad, Tristan's mother Laura, and his father Adam. Together, just as they'd chosen to be in life.

I sank down in the grass between my parents' graves, the cool earth soaking through my jeans as I pressed my palms flat against the ground above them.

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," I whispered, my voice barely audible in the stillness. "I'm sorry it took me so long to come see you. I'm sorry I wasn't here when Orion needed me most, when everything fell apart and you weren't here to hold us together anymore."

The words poured out of me like water through a broken dam, five years of guilt and regret and desperate longing finally finding their voice.

I told them about London, about the mistakes I'd made, about the woman I'd become and the woman I was trying to find my way back to being.

When I was finished with my parents, I shifted over to kneel beside Tristan's mother's grave. Laura Hayes had been like a second mother to me, the woman who bandaged my scraped knees when Mom was busy, who taught me how to braid my hair and how to throw a proper punch when the boys at school got too pushy.

"Aunt Laura," I said, my voice thick with tears, "I'm sorry I failed you. You told me I was the glue that would keep Tristan and Orion strong, that even though they were already strong, I would make them even stronger together. I ran away instead. I let you down."

I moved to Adam's grave next, remembering his booming laugh and the way he used to swing me around until I was dizzy and breathless with giggles.

"Uncle Adam, I'm sorry for being so childish, for running when things got hard instead of staying to fight. I promise I'll never fail you again. I promise I'll try to be the person you all believed I could become."

The tears came freely now, and I didn't try to stop them. This was what I'd needed, this conversation with the people who'd shaped me, this admission of guilt and plea for forgiveness. This was how healing began.

Tristan stood quietly a few feet away, giving me space but staying close enough that I could feel his presence like a warm anchor in the darkness.

When I was finally empty of words, I stood and moved to the center of the four graves, placing myself at the heart of my family.

"Dad, Mom, Aunt Laura, Uncle Adam," I said, my voice stronger now, steadier. "I promise to get myself back. I promise you that I won't let any man break me again, won't waste tears on someone who doesn't deserve them.

Tristan and Orion have been more than you could have imagined, they've been everything you raised them to be. I know you're proud of them wherever you are. And I'm going to make you proud of me too."

Tristan moved closer then, his arms coming around me from behind, solid and warm and infinitely comforting.

"Sweetheart," he murmured against my hair, "they are proud of you. We all are."

I turned in his embrace and held him tight, letting the last of my self-pity tears fall against his chest.

I knew this wasn't the first time I'd made promises like this, but something felt different now. Final. Like I was truly ready to let go of the guilt that had been poisoning me from the inside out.

I would never again let anyone steal my joy. This was my life, and I was going to take charge of it.

When I'd finally cried myself empty, when the last tremor had left my shoulders, Tristan held me until my breathing steadied. Only then did he gently pull back and nod toward another part of the cemetery.

"Are you ready?" he asked softly.

I followed his gaze and saw another headstone, smaller and newer than the others, standing alone beneath a young maple tree. My heart clenched as I realized what, who, was waiting there.

Jess.

We walked over together, our footsteps seeming too loud in the reverent silence. The headstone was simple but elegant, rose granite polished to a mirror shine.

Fresh flowers lay at its base, white roses and baby's breath that couldn't have been there more than a day or two.

Tristan moved closer to the grave first, his movements careful and deliberate, like he was approaching something sacred and fragile.

"Baby," he said, his voice breaking on the endearment, "I want you to meet my... sister, Athena."

The word 'sister' came out strained, like it physically hurt him to say it.

I watched as pain flickered across his features, raw and unguarded in a way that made my chest ache. He looked like his world was crumbling all over again, like this was the first time he was truly accepting that she was gone.

It made me wonder if he'd actually been avoiding this place, if tonight was as much about his healing as it was about mine.

"You've always wanted to meet her," he continued, and I looked up in surprise. She'd known about me. Of course she had, she'd been his mate, his partner in every way that mattered.

They'd shared everything, including stories about the girl who'd been like a sister to him since childhood.

While I'd known nothing about her. The familiar guilt started to rise, but I pushed it down firmly. I'd made a promise to our parents, and I was going to keep it.

"I know you'd love to hear from her," Tristan said, looking at me with eyes that held a desperate kind of hope, "so I'll let her talk to you."

What could I possibly say to this woman? How do you address the grave of someone who'd been everything you'd once dreamed of being?

*Hey, it's me. The girl who was once madly in love with your mate, who still can't control her feelings around him even though he'll never be mine.*

The thought made me feel sick, but Tristan was waiting, and I could see how much this meant to him.

I cleared my throat and stepped closer to the headstone, running my fingers over the cool granite.

"Hi, Jess," I said, my voice steadier than I'd expected. "It's me, Athena. You probably know all about me already, I'm sure Tristan talked about me every day. He's never been able to go more than five minutes without bragging about something I've done."

Tristan's laugh was watery but genuine, and the sound gave me courage to continue.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come see you. Tristan's been so greedy, keeping your memory all to himself. He wanted to hoard all your perfection instead of sharing."

His smile became more real then, less painful and more fond.

"I'm still shocked that someone as perfect as you ended up with someone like him," I continued, glancing at Tristan with mock severity. "But I'm so glad you came into his life. Thank you for loving him the way he deserved to be loved."

I reached out and took his hand, squeezing gently. "I promise I'll make sure he doesn't destroy himself grieving for you. I'll try my best to make sure he keeps smiling, because I know that's what you'd want. Keep resting, love."

Tristan's lips moved silently, and I read "thank you" in the shape of them. I mouthed "you're welcome" back and stepped away to give him privacy for whatever he needed to say.

I watched him from a distance as he knelt beside the grave, his shoulders bowed with the weight of everything he was carrying.

His lips moved in what looked like a long, complicated conversation, and I found myself wondering what promises he was making, what guilt he was confessing, what love he was declaring to the woman who would never answer him again.

When he finally stood and walked back to me, his eyes were red-rimmed but somehow lighter, like he'd set down a burden he'd been carrying too long.

"Ready to go?" I asked gently.

He nodded and took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine as we walked back toward his motorcycle.

When we reached the bike, he handed me the spare helmet, but instead of putting on his own, he stood there looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"We still have one more stop," he said.