I’m already dressed when I hear Tristan moving arwind quietly through the frame, trying not to wire before dawn, restless and determined. She’s been whispering plans in thy way at night, guiling and free ag
years–purpose.
We need to move, she insists. Sitting still makes us easy targets.
I know she’s right, even if the threat isn’t physical anymore. Staying in this horse all day, merceded by efterea d
happiness while I wallow in my own misery, will only make me spiral deeper into the dark place the how fighting to
I’ve chosen simple clothes–jeans that actually fit me instead of the baggy things for teen hiding in, and a soff swear tha make me look like I’m drowning in fabric. For the first time in two years, I’ve made an effort. My wolf greens a tete et the youn
Small steps, she reminds me. We’re taking small steps.
When I emerge from my room, Tristan is standing at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee, his hair still dany from the d looks up when he hears my footsteps, and I catch the flash of surprise in his eyes before he carefully masks it.
“Morning,” he says, his voice cautious. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” I smooth my hands down my jeans, suddenly nervous. I was thinking.. maybe I could come with you today? to
work?”
He sets down his coffee cup, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. He’s going to say no. He’s going to tell me its not a good idea, that I need to rest, that I’m not ready for……
“Okay,” he says simply.
I blink. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” He takes another sip of coffee, watching me over the rim. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. It’s such a small thing, but it feels monumental. Someone is letting me choose. Someone is trusting me
to know what I need.
We chose well, my wolf says about Tristan, and I have to push that thought away before it can take root.
Twenty minutes later, we’re back on his motorcycle. This time, the ride feels different. The morning air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of autumn and possibility. My wolf stretches lazily in my chest, enjoying the sensation of movement, of going somewhere with
purpose.
I still tense when we hit bumps in the road, still feel my breath catch when Tristan takes a turn too fast. But I’m getting better at breathing through it. Better at reminding myself that I’m not trapped anymore.
1/3
18:24 Fri, Jan2 ♬
Chapter 7
We pull into an industrial area I dont recognize, passing warehomes and auto shops until tristen forna into * getting to the meas my heart stop completely.
There, in bold letters across the front of a massive building, is a sign that sends my world tilting off its axis. SLAY12S AUTO REPAIR
My breath catches in my throat. My wolf goes completely still, as shocked as I am.
“They still run this?” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
Tristan kills the engine but doesn’t answer immediately. He just sits there, letting me process what I’m seeing
It’s not the same small garage I remember from my childhood. This place is huge, modern, with multiple bays and a parking lot fat of exotic cars waiting to be repaired, Mercedes, BMWs, Porsches, motorcycles that probably cost more than most people’s houses. This isn’t
just a repair shop–it’s an empire.
But the name. The name is exactly what our parents chose all those years ago, when they were young wolves with big dreams and
dirty hands, building something together in a cramped garage that smelled like motor oil and hope,
They kept it alive, my wolf breathes. They kept their memory alive.
Memories flood back without warning. Dad lifting me up so I could see inside the hood of a car, his patient voice explaining how engines work while Mom rolled her eyes and muttered about him turning me into a grease monkey. The way they’d work side by side, finishing each other’s sentences, their wolves content in each other’s presence.
The way they’d died too early, too suddenly, leaving us orphaned and lost.
“Orion and 1,” Tristan says quietly, “we couldn’t let it die with them.”
A tear escapes before I can stop it. I wipe it away quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice, but of course he does. He notices everything.
We left, my wolf says, her voice heavy with guilt. We left them to carry this burden alone.
While I was in London, trying to forget who I was, trying to pretend I didn’t have a family or a past or a legacy to honor, they were here. Building this. Growing what our parents started. Making something beautiful out of their grief.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“How could you?” There’s no judgment in his voice, just understanding. “You were surviving.”
But it doesn’t feel like enough. It feels like betrayal. Like I abandoned not just my family, but my parents‘ memory too.
We’re here now, my wolf says firmly. That’s what matters.
Tristan climbs off the bike and waits for me to do the same. My legs feel shaky, but I manage to stand. The scent of motor oil and
2/3
18:24 Fri, Jan 2 d
Chapter 7
metal hits me like a punch to the gut, so familiar it hurts.
For once in five years, I tell myself the harshest truth. I miss my parents. I miss Tristan’s parents. Life has not been the same since I
lost them. And I lost myself too in the process.
1 Comments >
Comments
C
Visitor
love this so far I am really enjoying the story line and the characters and I can not wait to see where it is going.
7 days ago
5 2
36
<SHARE
18:24 Fri, Jan 2 d
The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate
Chapter 8
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
