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?
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.
Were 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.
Ill 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.”
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Chapter 11
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.
46
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.
“Daxon.”
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.
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Chapter 11
Run, my wolf snarls. Run now.
But I can’t move. Can’t breathe, Can’t think beyond the terror flooding my system.
Comments
Tanya Gordon
I want Tristan’s POV after all this time.
7 days ago
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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.
