The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate Chapter 41

On a normal day, we would have laughed at his joke but right now, the raw honesty in his voice cut through me like a blade. That I had to press my lips together to keep myself from crying, from making this about my own guilt when he was finally opening up about his deepest wounds.

"Jess saved me," he said simply. "She helped me see that life could be more than the darkness I was drowning in. She was there when I needed someone most. She loved me, and I..." He paused, swallowing hard. "I loved her just as much."

Something sharp lodged in my throat, making it hard to breathe. The tears I'd been fighting began building behind my eyes like storm, but I refused to let them fall. This wasn't about me. This was about honoring the woman who'd been there for him when his family couldn't be.

"After a year together, we got married."

The words hits me like wave, sending ripples of realization through me. Four years ago. He'd already found love and made a commitment while I was still in London, still trying to convince myself that what had happened between us that night meant nothing.

I pushed the selfish thoughts away. This wasn't about my timing or my feelings. This was about understanding the depth of his loss, the magnitude of what had been taken from him.

I forced myself to listen, to really hear what he was telling me about the woman who'd stood beside him when I couldn't. The woman who'd been there for him during the darkest period of his life.

"Jess didn't want children initially, so I agreed to wait. But last year, she changed her mind because she knew how much I loved kids. I would have waited forever for her to be ready, but when she decided she wanted to try..." His voice cracked slightly. "I was over the moon."

A bitter laugh escaped him, hollow and broken.

"She was seven months along when I came home from work and found her..."

His gaze drifted toward the dining room, and I followed it, understanding crashing over me like a wave. My mouth fell open as the full horror of what he was telling me sank in.

"Oh my God, Tristan." The words came out as barely a whisper.

He'd found them here. In this house. This was the reason he'd refused to spend even a minute in this place, why he leave every night.

Because that dinning room reminded him of what he'd lost. The dining room I passed through every day was where his world had ended.

The tears I'd been holding back broke free, streaming down my face as I moved instinctively toward him. I couldn't stay on my side of the couch anymore, couldn't maintain the careful distance when he was sharing something this devastating.

I crossed the space between us and wrapped my arms around him, crying for his pain, for his loss, for the cruel timing that had taken everything he loved just when happiness seemed within reach.

The timeline was hitting me now with sickening clarity. Seven months pregnant. And she'd gotten pregnant late last year. It means he'd lost them few months ago, almost exactly when I'd lost my own baby, when I'd been drowning in my own grief and thinking my pain was the worst thing imaginable.

While I'd been mourning the loss of one life, he'd been dealing with losing two – his mate and their unborn pub. While I'd been raging against the unfairness of my situation, he'd been trying to hold himself together after losing everything that mattered to him.

I sobbed against his chest, soaking his shirt with tears that came from somewhere deeper than sadness. This was grief for him, for the family he'd almost had, for the future that had been stolen in a single moment.

His arms came around me, strong and warm and infinitely comforting, holding me while I cried for losses that weren't even mine. He rubbed gentle circles on my back, making soft sounds of comfort like I was the one who needed consoling.

When my tears finally slowed, when the worst of the storm had passed, he pulled back gently to look at my face. His thumb traced across my cheek, wiping away the dampness with a tenderness that made my heart ache all over again.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you were going through your own hell," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry I pushed you toward that bastard who hurt you."

Fresh tears spilled over at his words, accompanied by hiccupping sobs that I couldn't control. He was apologizing to me when he was the one who'd suffered the unimaginable.

"I'm sorry that if I hadn't let myself... if I hadn't done what I did that night..." He couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't voice what we both knew he was thinking.

I could see the guilt written across his features as clearly as if he'd tattooed it there. He wasn't just blaming himself for not being there when Jess died. He was blaming himself for what had happened between us five years ago, for the night that had sent me running straight into Daxon's waiting arms.

It wasn't his fault. None of it was his fault. What had happened that night between us wasn't something he'd orchestrated or manipulated. I'd been the one who'd begged him to touch me, who'd initiated everything that had transpired.

But I could see in his eyes that he'd been carrying this guilt for years, convinced that he'd somehow led me astray, that his moment of weakness had set in motion all the pain that followed.

Before my rational mind could intervene, before I could think about consequences or complications or all the reasons this was a terrible idea, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his.

The moment our mouths touched, something electric shot through me, setting every nerve ending on fire.

I felt his body go completely still beneath me, every muscle tensing like he'd been struck by lightning. For a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, he didn't respond at all.