Alpha Mate at the Gas Station

Chapter 24: young baby

“What do you mean by that, Dom?” I asked, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be. “I thought after what I said yesterday you’d understand that I don’t want to depend on anyone anymore.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he lifted one finger between us—a silent wait—and turned away. Not dismissive. Not angry. Just… certain.

I stayed where I was, finishing the motions of breakfast on autopilot. Eggs on the pan. Plates on the counter. My hands moved, but my chest felt hollow, braced for something I didn’t like.

When he came back, it was with papers.

He flipped through them calmly, too calmly, then slid them onto the kitchen island. His finger came down on a single line, deliberate.

I leaned forward despite myself.

The contract.

The roommate agreement.

My stomach dropped.

Dominic stepped away again to grab the juice, as if this was nothing more than a casual reminder, and while he poured, I read.

And read.

And felt the air leave my lungs.

1.03 Roommates are to take care of one another in case of loss of employment, loss of property, and personal information destruction, with no time limit.

My fingers curled against the edge of the counter.

I stared at that sentence like it had teeth.

Like it had been waiting for this exact moment to bare them.

I had signed it.

I had agreed to this.

I looked up at the ceiling, silently cursing myself, wishing it would crack open and swallow me whole. Or at least give me some kind of answer—some exit I hadn’t seen.

Dominic sat across from me, completely at ease, sipping his apple juice.

When I looked back at him, I caught the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.

Not cruel.

Not mocking.

Proud.

Like he’d just won something without ever raising his voice.

Like this clause—this quiet, buried sentence—had been his safety net all along.

A week.

It had only taken a week for my independence to unravel into fine print.

And the worst part?

He hadn’t forced me.

I had signed myself into this.

Luckily for me. The rest of the day, things softened.

Dominic didn’t push.

Didn’t corner me with questions or expectations.

Didn’t bring up contracts, jobs, or my future like it was something that needed to be fixed immediately.

We took it easy—almost carefully.

We talked about small things. Ordinary things. Things that didn’t carry weight or consequences. What foods he hated. Why I hated mornings. How the gas station smelled like burnt coffee no matter how often the machines were cleaned. Silly stories. Half-finished thoughts.

It felt like a pause button had finally been pressed.

A small break from the chaos that had swallowed my life for almost a week straight.

At work, we moved like we’d been doing it together for years. Without planning it, without speaking much, we fell into a rhythm. I handled customers with easy confidence; he handled the rest. We covered each other without asking.

The money still wasn’t enough.

I knew that.

He knew that.

But I couldn’t bring myself to fight him over it—not when I could see that he was trying. Really trying. Not to control me. Not to trap me. Just… to show up.

Yesterday, he’d worked up the courage to ask me out again.

And I’d panicked.

I hadn’t said he was too much for me.

I hadn’t said he scared me in the way good things always did.

I’d just said, I’ll think about it.

Which was the closest thing to honesty I could manage without running.

Until today.

By the time we pulled into the grocery store parking lot, the house was running low on food. Low on basics. Low on everything except tension we were both pretending not to feel.

Walking beside him through the automatic doors, grabbing a cart, I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest.

Not certainty.

Not trust.

But the quiet, dangerous thought that maybe—just maybe—this didn’t have to fall apart right away.

And that terrified me more than anything else ever had.

I had just reached the pastry aisle when I heard my name.

“Thumper?”

My stomach dropped before I even turned.

It was an old neighbor—one of those people who always knew too much and cared too little about how their words landed. The kind who smiled while sharpening knives behind their teeth.

Before I could move away, he stepped closer. Too close.

“Haven’t seen you around in a while,” he said, eyeing me like I was a curiosity instead of a person. “How’ve you been? You look… calmer. More at peace, even.”

I forced a smile that felt like it might crack my face in half.

Dominic had just walked off to grab potatoes.

Of course he had.

I tightened my grip on the cart, grounding myself, keeping my voice soft—polite. Safe.

“I’ve been better since the divorce,” I said carefully. “It’s been nice seeing you after so long, but I really have to go.”

I started to turn away, relief already blooming at the thought of escape.

Then he spoke again.

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to detonate my world. “I was surprised when I met the new young pregnant woman living with your husband. But now it makes sense—you two ended things.”

The words didn’t land all at once.

They fell piece by piece.

New.

Young.

Pregnant.

My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.

“I hope you keep living in peace, Thumper,” he added, already stepping away. “Bye.”

I didn’t respond.

I couldn’t.

I stood there, frozen, staring at rows of pastries I could no longer see, my hands trembling on the cart handle as the truth seeped in like poison.

He’d moved on.

Not just moved on—replaced me.

And not quietly. Not slowly.

He was having a baby.

With her.

The same woman who had screamed at me.

Who had humiliated me at my job.

Who had looked at me like I was disposable.

My chest tightened painfully, grief and disbelief tangling until I couldn’t tell which one hurt more.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay upright.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

But the thought wouldn’t let go.

My ex-husband—who had called me worthless, accused me of using him, locked me out of our home—was building a new life.

And I was standing in a grocery store aisle, trying not to break apart over a cart full of things that suddenly felt meaningless.

I didn’t know how I was going to tell Dominic.

Or if I even could.

All I could think about after that was tomorrow.

About the chance—small, fragile, almost terrifying—that something might finally change.

That maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end of the road for me.

I hadn’t told Dominic everything. Not the details. Just the bare bones of it—an appointment, an opportunity, something I needed to do on my own. He hadn’t been happy when I mentioned it, not angry, but tense in that way he got when he felt shut out but didn’t want to push.

He’d asked why I needed the day off.

I told him it was important.

That should’ve been enough.

The truth was, I’d already asked our boss for tomorrow off before I lost my nerve. My hands had been shaking when I did it, my voice too soft, like I was apologizing just for existing. After that, I’d called the receptionist again, hoping—praying—that I could come in after the bus picked me up.

I didn’t want to owe anyone anything.

Not rides. Not favors. Not kindness with strings.

But she hadn’t even hesitated.

“Oh no,” she’d said calmly, professionally. “That won’t be necessary. A driver will pick you up directly from your estate.”

A driver.

Not a bus.

Not a cab.

A limo.

The word alone had made my stomach twist.

My estate.

I’d almost laughed at that part. The place I shared with Dominic didn’t feel like an estate—it felt like borrowed ground, like something temporary I was standing on while waiting for the floor to give out beneath me.

When I’d told Dominic that part, his jaw had tightened almost imperceptibly. His eyes had darkened—not with anger, but with something closer to concern. Suspicion, maybe. Or fear that someone else was stepping into a space he hadn’t been invited into.

“You didn’t tell me it was… that kind of meeting,” he’d said quietly.

I hadn’t known how to respond.

Because I didn’t know what kind of meeting it was either.

All I knew was that tomorrow held the possibility of a different life—one where I wasn’t someone’s leftover, someone’s before, someone’s mistake.

And that scared me more than staying exactly where I was.

I was terrified that if this went wrong—if I went wrong—there wouldn’t be anything left of me to try again.

So I stayed quiet.

Held onto the thought of my mystery man like a fragile thread.

And hoped—desperately—that when tomorrow came, it wouldn’t unravel everything I was barely holding together.