Chapter 4. I Don’t Want to Be Alone

Athena

He pulls out of the parking spot slowly, giving me time to adjust. The motorcycle purrs beneath us like a contented beast, and I can’t help but think how fitting that is. Everything about Tristan has always reminded me of something wild, something barely contained. Even now, after five years apart, I can feel that familiar energy radiating from him.

‘He smells like home,’ my wolf whispers in the back of my mind, her voice a low rumble of longing. ‘Like pine forests and summer storms.’

‘No,’ I tell her firmly.

‘We can’t think like that. Not anymore.’

But as we merge onto the highway, the bike picks up speed, and I have no choice but to hold on tighter. My arms circle his waist, and my wolf practically purrs at the contact.

She’s been so quiet these past three years, retreating deep inside me where Daxon’s fists couldn’t reach her. But now, with Tristan’s familiar scent filling my lungs and his warmth seeping through his leather jacket, she’s stirring to life again.

The world rushes past us in blurs of light and shadow. The motorcycle is loud, powerful, alive beneath us. So different from the suffocating silence of the house I’ve finally escaped.

I can feel every vibration through my body, every turn as we lean into the curves of the road. The sensation is intoxicating, liberating in a way I’d forgotten was possible.

I try not to think about how close I am to him. How my chest is pressed against his back, how I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, how my wolf is practically singing with joy at being near our friend, someone close to family, again.

I try not to think about how this would have felt five years ago, when touching him was natural, when being close to him felt like peace, when I thought maybe, just maybe—friendship could become something more.

Now it feels dangerous. Not because of him, but because of me. Because I’m broken in ways I don’t know how to explain. Because I’ve forgotten how to be touched without violence. Because every instinct in my body is screaming at me to run, while my wolf is begging me to stay.

‘He would never hurt us,’ she insists, her voice stronger now. ‘You know this. You’ve always known this.’

But that’s exactly the problem. I trusted once before. I trusted Daxon with everything, my heart, my body, my wolf. And he used that trust to nearly destroy us both. To take the only thing that would have brought me happiness.

I wasn’t given the opportunity to hold my pup, because of that same trust.

I force myself to stay still. Force myself to breathe. Force myself to hold on, even as my hands shake against Tristan’s stomach. The city lights blur past us as we navigate through traffic. New York at night is beautiful from the back of a motorcycle, all neon and possibility. For a moment, I can almost forget the last three years. Almost pretend I’m just a woman on a bike with a man who once loved her.

‘Who still loves her,’ my wolf adds hopefully.

‘Stop,’ I warn her. ‘Just stop.’

‘As a friend,’ she added.

I wanted to respond, but then we hit a pothole, and I instinctively tighten my grip around his waist, and the movement sends a jolt of panic through me. My body remembers being grabbed, being held down, being hurt. My breath catches in my throat, and suddenly I’m not on a motorcycle anymore. I’m back in that house, back in that bedroom, back under Daxon’s heavy hands as he…

‘Breathe,’ my wolf commands, her voice cutting through the spiral of panic. ‘You’re not there. You’re with Tristan. You’re safe.’

Tristan must feel my tension because he slows down, his hand coming to rest briefly on mine where it’s pressed against his stomach. The gesture is gentle, reassuring, and it breaks something inside me. His touch doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t take. It simply… comforts.

I used to trust him completely. Used to feel safe in his arms. Used to believe that love was supposed to feel like coming home. Back when we were just Tristan, Orion and Athena, two matured wolves with their little wolf sister, learning what it meant to find their pack, their place in the world.

Now I don’t know how to trust anyone. Especially not the man who I once wished to be more than a friend, before he abandoned me when I needed him most.

‘That’s not fair,’ my wolf chides. ‘You pushed him, and Orion away. Then you chose Daxon over them.’

My wolf was right, I was hurting. Too young to think straight, I let my emotions get the best of me.

‘Because I was young and stupid,’ I snap back. ‘Because I thought I needed to heal without them.’

Then when I met Daxon, I thought his alpha strength meant safety.

Now I know better. Now I know that true strength isn’t about dominance or control. It’s about the gentle way Tristan slows his bike when he feels me tense. It’s about the way he came for me tonight without question, without judgment, without asking for anything in return.

The ride feels like it takes forever and no time at all. Too soon, we’re pulling into a driveway I don’t recognize.

A medium-sized house with a neat lawn and a porch light that casts everything in warm yellow light. It looks… domestic. Settled. Like a place where someone has built a life.

‘Where someone has built a life without us,’ my wolf observes, and I can hear the sadness in her voice.

He kills the engine, and suddenly the world is quiet except for the sound of our breathing and the tick of the cooling bike. Even the city sounds seem muffled here, as if this little house exists in its own peaceful bubble.

“Where are we?” I ask, pulling off the helmet. My hair is a mess, static from the helmet making it stick up at odd angles. I probably look like I’ve been through a tornado, which isn’t far from the truth.

“My place,” he says, swinging his leg over the bike with fluid grace. Everything about Tristan has always been graceful, even before his wolf fully emerged. “I figured you might not want to go to Orion’s right away. Since he’s not there.”

He’s right. I don’t want to be alone in my brother’s empty house, surrounded by memories of the life I used to have. But I also don’t know if I can handle being here, in Tristan’s space, surrounded by evidence of the life he’s built without me.

“I can take you somewhere else if you want,” he says, reading my hesitation with the same uncanny ability he’s always had. “Hotel, or…”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intended. “No, this is… this is fine.”

I look at the house more carefully, and something doesn’t sit right. It looks like a house chosen by a woman. The flower boxes under the windows, the coordinated outdoor furniture, the way the garden is arranged with careful attention to color and season.

It’s a simple place, and I’m shocked. How come he’s staying at a place like this? It’s arranged and neat. Tristan is neat, but I know he doesn’t like these settings. The way his house is set up feels foreign to the Tristan I remember.

‘Things change,’ my wolf says softly. ‘People change. We changed.’

But it’s just proof that we’re no longer the same people we were five years ago. I don’t know how Orion would be. Has he changed a lot? He has two kids now, but I’ve never met either of them. Two little cubs I’ve never held, never scented, never been there to help raise.

They’ve all moved on without me. They found their ground and are doing well for themselves. I feel like I’m no longer needed around here. But what did I expect? For five years I’ve stayed away. Out of reach. Out of sight, they say, is out of mind. But I’m not angry, because I caused it.

‘You survived,’ my wolf reminds me. ‘That’s what matters.’

As I enter his living room, I see pictures all around. My heart stops when I notice a particular photo on the mantle, a woman about thirty-two years old in a picture with Tristan. They look… so in love and happy.