Alpha Mate at the Gas Station

Chapter 11: ambush and a card

Thumper POV

Listening to the two of them talk felt like being skinned alive.

Their voices were calm. Concerned. Polite.

And so painfully detached from my reality that it made my teeth ache.

They had stability. Good jobs. Families who circled them like shields. People who caught them before they ever hit the ground.

I had none of that.

Not a parent. Not a safety net. Not even a friend.

It felt like the universe had decided I wasn’t allowed even one thing to hold onto for long.

Homeless again.

Divorced—for the first time in my life.

And now waking up in a hospital bed, pretty damn sure I’d been fired for collapsing instead of being “responsible.”

Whoever said minimum wage could guarantee a studio apartment was a liar. A cruel one.

I had three jobs.

Three.

And I still ended up couchless, exhausted, and dependent on a man who didn’t even look at me the way I looked at him.

One night.

One kiss.

One moment where I let myself believe I mattered.

And then suddenly his living room was full of women who looked like they belonged on magazine covers—while I was given rules, boundaries, and polite concern, like a stray animal he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep.

I wasn’t trying to be difficult.

I was trying to survive.

Every day I woke up with one goal: don’t need anyone.

Don’t ask.

Don’t take up space.

I couldn’t find a damn bike.

I walked everywhere—miles at a time.

Hitched rides.

Accepted favors that tasted like shame.

I was so close, too. So close to buying a used bike from the charity shop on the corner. Close enough that I could almost feel the handlebars under my palms.

But today it had been a choice.

The bike… or my third job.

And I couldn’t afford to skip work. Not when I owed money in every direction. Not when every dollar felt like a countdown clock over my head.

So I worked.

And my body finally gave out.

Now here I was—being lectured by a woman I barely knew and Dominic’s mother—because Dominic had clearly asked them to talk to me.

Not because he cared.

But because I wasn’t behaving the way he wanted.

Not his fragile guest.

Not his quiet responsibility.

Not his obedient, grateful little charity case.

I’d already seen my ex-husband move on with a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a catalog. Dominic had seen it too.

What if this was the same thing?

What if Dominic had just learned how easy it was to get into my life—and didn’t like that I’d stepped back?

What if this was control dressed up as concern?

The thought made my chest tighten until it hurt to breathe.

I wasn’t property.

I wasn’t a toy.

I wasn’t something to be managed through other people.

My heart was hammering when the monitor on my arm started to scream.

The alarm shrilled through the room, sharp and invasive, and suddenly a nurse rushed in like the walls themselves had decided I was breaking apart.

Maybe I was.

The machine beside me started shrieking again, loud and sharp, like it was screaming what I didn’t have the courage to say.

The nurse rushed forward, slapped a button on the monitor, then grabbed her notepad, scribbling fast as if she already knew what she was going to write before the ink touched the page. Her jaw was tight when she finally looked up.

“You two need to leave the room,” she said firmly. No softness. No patience. “If you’re not related to her, you can’t be here.”

Dominic’s mother opened her mouth, but the nurse didn’t give her time.

“Her heart rate spiked. Her blood pressure followed. She was supposed to be discharged in thirty minutes, but that’s not happening now. She’s staying overnight, and she’ll be released either on her own or to a verified relative.”

She paused, eyes hard.

“You’re excused. If you don’t leave, I’ll return with security—or a cop—to escort you out.”

The room fell silent.

Neither woman argued. Neither tried to defend themselves.

And then, from behind the nurse, I heard Dominic’s voice.

Calm. Firm. Too confident.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “she has no other relatives willing to take her. That would be me.”

My stomach twisted.

“Please don’t fight me again, Bunny,” he added quietly. “I don’t like losing.”

Something sharp flared in my chest—anger, embarrassment, fear—all tangled together.

I didn’t want him here.

The moment he saw it on my face, truly saw it, he stepped back. No argument. No challenge. He simply left the room and closed the door behind him.

The silence afterward felt heavier.

The nurse’s shoulders relaxed as she turned back to me, her voice softening, shifting into something gentler—something human.

“You’ll be okay by tomorrow,” she said. “But I know he’s not your husband like he told the doctor.”

My breath caught.

“If he has any kind of control over you,” she continued, carefully, “I can help you. I know someone. They help women like you—for free.”

The words women like you should have offended me.

Instead, they terrified me.

And comforted me.

“Is there… a way to learn more about this person?” I asked quietly.

She smiled, small but sincere, and slipped a card into my hand before heading toward the door.

“Just in case,” she said. Then she left.

I stared down at the card.

The number on it felt familiar. Too familiar.

And no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, one thought kept circling in my mind, refusing to let go—

Dominic had called me his wife.

He knew I was freshly divorced.

He knew I was drowning in debt.

And still… he’d said it like it was already true.

If Dominic thought I was still standing here as a single woman with nothing to lose—an easy target wrapped in exhaustion and gratitude—then he was wrong.

Dead wrong.

I didn’t deserve this.

Not the assumptions.

Not the control dressed up as protection.

Not the way my life had slowly been spoken for, decided, managed—without anyone ever asking me what I wanted.

I had hit rock bottom before, and even then, I had fought my way back with my own hands.

Plenty of homeless people managed better than this.

And so could I.

I had enough saved—barely—to check myself into a cheap motel. Just long enough to breathe. Long enough to sleep without feeling watched, without feeling like I owed my existence to someone else’s kindness. It wasn’t money I wanted to use. It felt like a last resort.

But it was mine.

And that mattered.

Dominic had crossed a line the moment he decided my life for me—when he claimed me with a word I hadn’t given him permission to use.

Wife.

The word still burned.

My burner phone wasn’t here, but I would make the call soon. I would figure it out the way I always had—quietly, stubbornly, on my own.

Because this—this illusion Dominic had built in his head—was becoming a cage.

And I refused to stay inside it.

Not again.

Sleep tugged at me in slow, heavy waves, the kind that made my thoughts blur at the edges. My eyelids burned, my body sinking into the mattress like it finally believed it was allowed to rest.

Before I could drift off completely, I reached out and pressed the help button.

“Yes?” a nurse answered over the speaker.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said softly. “I’m still connected to the machines, and I don’t have my cellphone with me.”

There was no irritation in her response. No sigh.

“I’ll bring your things to you shortly.”

True to her word, she arrived within minutes, placing my belongings carefully on the side table before leaving me alone again. The room settled into a hush, broken only by the quiet hum of the machines beside me.

My hands trembled slightly as I picked up the phone.

I dialed the number from the card.

The call didn’t last long. A receptionist answered, professional and calm, her voice practiced. She scheduled the appointment without questions, without judgment. The only request she made was simple—and unsettling.

“You’ll need to arrive dressed appropriately,” she said. “This is an important meeting.”

“I understand,” I replied, even as my stomach tightened.

When the call ended, I stared at the dark screen of the phone.

Important.

The word echoed in my mind, heavy with meaning I didn’t yet understand.

I didn’t know who I was about to meet.

I didn’t know what they wanted from me.

All I knew was that something was changing—and for better or worse, I had just taken another step toward it.