The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate Chapter 8

Three years.

That was after I stopped picking his calls. Even with all I had done, pushing him away, cutting him off, disappearing without explanation, they thought of me and kept my place for me. They waited for me.

The realization hits me like a truck. I press my hand to my chest, feeling like I can't breathe. My wolf whimpers softly, overwhelmed by the love surrounding us.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks. I try to wipe them away, but more keep coming. They never stopped believing in me. Even when I stopped believing in myself.

The phone is still pressed to my ear, Orion's voice coming through clearly.

"Athena? Are you there?" His voice is warm, familiar, like coming home after a long journey. "Ath? Baby, are you okay?"

That stupid nickname. I used to roll my eyes every time he said it. Now it makes me cry harder. The way he says it, soft and protective, like I'm still his little sister who needs looking after.

"I'm... I'm okay," I manage, but my voice cracks on the words.

"Are you sure?" He knows me too well. Can hear the lie in my broken voice. "You don't sound okay."

I take a shaky breath. "Orion?"

"Yes, love?" The endearment flows so naturally. Like the past five years never happened. Like I never broke his heart by cutting him out of my life.

"Thank you." The words tumble out before I can stop them.

Silence stretches between us. I can practically feel his surprise through the phone.

"Thank you for not leaving me. Thank you for always being there whenever I needed you. Thank you for..." My voice breaks completely. "Thank you for keeping my place."

"Ath... Ath... Stop! Okay?" His voice gets that gentle but firm tone he used when we were kids and I was spiraling. "You're my baby sister. You'll always be. And I'll always be here for you. No matter what."

I sob into the phone, ugly and raw. He waits. He always waits.

"You know I love you," he continues. "The both of us... Me and you. I think I should include Tristan too....... we're who we have left. I know I'm married, but I'll always, I repeat, always be here for you. You understand?"

He pauses, waiting for me to respond like he always does. To be sure I got the message.

"Yes, I do. And I love you too."

"That's my girl." I can hear the smile in his voice. "Make sure you're okay. Take care of yourself. Tristan is there. And I trust he'll take good care of you. You know he cares about you, right?"

Something in his tone makes my stomach flutter. There's weight behind those words, meaning I'm not ready to unpack.

I catch myself, and remind me that's not what he meant. All three has been for years, though the both of them are closer. They'd always treated me as their little sister, and I'd always been, until that night.

I pushed the thoughts away. I've already done enough damage, I shouldn't add more. Tristan is like a brother to me, that's all he'll ever be.

"Yes, I know. I'm you guys' younger sister. I know." I say the words that I've been running away from.

He pauses. A long pause that stretches until I start to worry we've lost connection.

"Yes, you are," he finally says, and I can hear something unspoken in his voice, but I don't know what.

"Talk to you later. I love you." The line goes dead before I can respond.

I stare at the phone, laughing through my tears. He always does that. Always hangs up before I can say goodbye, like he's afraid I'll disappear if the conversation ends properly.

He hasn't changed one bit. God, I miss him so much it hurts.

I wipe my face and look around my office, really look at it this time. The computer is new, top of the line. The files are organized exactly how I would have done it. Someone has been maintaining this space with love, keeping it ready for my return.

I pull up the first spreadsheet. Numbers have always made sense to me. Unlike people, they don't lie or leave or hurt you. They just are.

The afternoon passes in a blur of calculations and reports. I lose myself in the work, finding comfort in the familiar rhythm of data entry and analysis.

My fingers move across the keyboard with muscle memory, and for the first time in years, I feel capable. Competent. Like the person I used to be is still somewhere inside me, waiting to emerge.

There's something therapeutic about making order from chaos, about taking scattered information and turning it into something coherent and useful. Each completed task feels like a small victory against the darkness that's been consuming me.

My phone buzzes with a text from Tristan: *How's the first day back going?*

I stare at the message for a long moment before typing back: *Good. Really good.*

His response comes quickly: *Proud of you.*

Three simple words that make my chest warm. When was the last time someone said they were proud of me? When was the last time I did something worth being proud of?

I did. When I rejected him in a humiliating way. But that was past now. This is my future. This is where I belong, where I've always belong.

Before I know it, the sun is setting outside my window. My stomach growls, reminding me I forgot to eat lunch.

*We're healing,* my wolf observes. *We're remembering who we used to be.*

I check my phone. Three texts from Tristan.

*Ready to head home when you are.*

*No rush. Take your time.*

*I'll be in bay 3 if you need me.*

Simple. Direct. No pressure. I type back: *Ready now.*

The ride home is easier. My hands don't shake as much when I wrap them around Tristan's waist. I don't flinch when he leans into turns. My wolf purrs contentedly, enjoying the wind and the speed and the feeling of going somewhere together.

Small victories, but victories nonetheless.

*Progress,* my wolf says with satisfaction. *Slow but steady.*

At home, I head straight to the kitchen. Cooking helps quiet my mind. I pull out ingredients for pasta, something simple but filling.

"I'm not eating," Tristan says from the doorway.

I glance up at him. He looks tired, shadows under his eyes like he hasn't been sleeping well. "You should eat something."

"I'm fine." He's already backing away, putting distance between us. "I'll be... I'll be out for a while."

"Okay." I don't push. I learned not to push with Daxon. But this feels different. This feels like he's protecting me from something, not controlling me.

I eat alone, listening to the sounds of the house settling around me. At ten o'clock sharp, I hear his motorcycle start up. He pulls out of the driveway, and I'm alone with my thoughts.

*Maybe he's meeting her,* my wolf suggests. *The woman in the pictures.*

Maybe. Maybe it's not time to introduce us yet.

I try to sleep, but my mind won't quiet. Every creak of the house makes me tense. Every shadow outside my window makes my heart race.

At five in the morning, I hear the motorcycle return. His footsteps are careful, quiet, trying not to wake me, like he did before. Sweet man, not knowing I never really sleep anymore.

Five days since I returned. Four days since I started work. And things are... better. Not good, not healed, but better. I can eat without my stomach churning. I can work without breaking down. I can sit in a room with Tristan without wanting to run.

Small victories.

But Tristan still refuses to eat with me. Still leaves every night at ten and returns at five. The pattern is consistent, mysterious, and it makes me wonder what he's hiding.

Today follows the same routine. Work, silence, efficiency. I'm getting good at my job again, remembering skills I thought I'd lost. The numbers make sense. The schedules fall into place. For ten hours a day, I feel useful.

On the ride home, Tristan pulls into a small convenience store. "I need to grab something," he says, parking the bike.

"I'll come with you." The words surprise me. A week ago, I would have stayed outside, afraid of crowds and strangers. Now I'm choosing to go in.

The store is quiet, fluorescent lights humming overhead. Tristan heads toward the back, looking for whatever he needs. I wander the aisles, thinking maybe I'll find some tea. Something to help me sleep.

I'm reaching for a box of chips when I hear the name that send chills down my spine.

"Dixon."

My blood turns to ice. Every muscle in my body locks up. The pack of chips slips from my fingers and hits the floor with a dull thud.

No. No, no, no. This can't be happening.

*Run,* my wolf snarls. *Run now.*

But I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't think beyond the terror flooding my system.