Page 75 of Code Name: Tank
The cool water was heaven against my parched throat. When I’d had enough, Tank set the cup aside and smoothed my hair back from my forehead with such tenderness it made my chest ache in ways that had nothing to do with my injuries.
“You saved me,” I whispered.
His jaw tightened. “I almost lost you. When I saw you…” He stopped, his voice choked with emotion. “I’ve never been that scared in my life, Piper. Not in combat, not during the worst missions I’ve been on. Nothing compared to the thought of losing you.”
The vulnerability in his voice brought me to the tears I couldn’t cry for James. This strong, capable man who’d faced down enemies and survived countless dangers was admitting that losing me had been his greatest fear.
“But you didn’t,” I said, squeezing his hand as firmly as I could manage. “I’m here. We’re both here.”
“When you said you loved me in the helicopter,” Tank continued, his green eyes holding mine, “I thought you were saying goodbye. I thought those might be the last words we ever spoke.”
“I wasn’t saying goodbye.” The certainty in my voice surprised me. “I was telling you the truth. I do love you, Tank. More than I thought was possible.”
His breath caught. “Piper?—”
“I know I’ve been guarded. I know I’ve held back because of what happened with Flint, because trusting someone completely felt too dangerous.” I paused, gathering my strength. “But you’ve proven over and over that you’re nothing like him. You stayed when things got complicated. You fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself. You’ve never once made me feel like I was too much trouble or too broken to love.”
Tank lifted our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “You’re not broken, darlin’. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”
“I don’t feel very strong right now,” I admitted, suddenly aware of how small and fragile I felt in this hospital bed, dependent on machines and medications.
“Are you kidding me?” Tank’s voice carried a fierce conviction. “You insisted on going on that rescue mission even though you suspected it might be a trap. You trusted me to take care of you when you were bleeding and scared.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “That’s not weakness, Piper.”
Tears stung my eyes. “Hartwell. He was like a father—” Crying made everything hurt worse, but I couldn’t stop the floodgates of sadness once they opened.
Tank reached for the tissue box on the nightstand and gently wiped the tears from my cheeks. “You’re not alone, Piper. I’d never hurt or betray you. I love you, and unless you tell me to leave, I never will.”
“I would never tell you to go.”
“Good. Because I don’t think I could live without you, Piper Drago. I love your brilliant mind and your fierce independence and the way you challenge me to be better. I love that you never back down from a fight, even when you probably should.” His smile was soft and warm. “I love that you trust me enough to let me take care of you.”
“Tank,” I whispered, “I need you to know something too. What I feel for you—it’s not just because you saved my life. It’s because of who you are. Your integrity, your kindness, and the way you see the best in people even when they don’t see it in themselves.”
He was quiet for a moment, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns on my hand. “How do you feel right now? Physically, I mean. Are you in pain?”
The change of subject was so typically Tank—putting my well-being first. “Everything seems far away because of the medication. But I can feel the chest tube, and my side aches where the bullet hit.”
“The pain medication is keeping most of it at bay, but if it gets worse, you just tell me. The nurses said you can have more if you need it.”
I shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, and Tank immediately stood to adjust my pillows. “Better?” he asked before sitting back down.
“Much. Have you been sleeping in that chair this whole time?”
His guilty expression was answer enough. “The nurses offered me a gurney, but I wanted to be right here in case you woke up.”
“That’s so like you,” I said softly, my heart swelling with emotion. “Taking care of everyone else before yourself.”
“Not everyone else,” he replied simply. “Just you, Piper.”
The words wrapped around my heart. I wanted to stay in this moment forever, but practical concerns crept in. “Tank, how bad is it, really? The damage?”
“The doctors said you’ll make a full recovery. The bullet missed the major blood vessels, and your lung reinflated perfectly after surgery. You’ll have physical therapy, and you’ll need to take it easy for a few weeks, but…” He paused, his expression growing tender. “You’re going to be fine, darlin’.”
Relief flooded through me. I’d been afraid to ask about the extent of my injuries, afraid of what the answer might mean for my future.
“Will I be able to go back to work?”
“Eventually, yes. Though I’ll tell you this right now. As soon as you’re well enough, you and I are going off on our own. I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
