Page 87 of Tank
“For them, too,” he says, glancing toward the shelter. “But, really, when I think about it, if I can help Safe House, help the people that get hurt, that’s doing even better than running a bakery. That’s a better dream, Bianca.”
My heart snaps wide open.
The tears return — hot, uncontrollable, and holy fuck, I hate that I’m crying so much, so often — but this time, they’re not full of pain; they’re full of love. A flood of emotions rushes through me, sweeping away the grief, the doubt, the shadows that have clung to me for so long. It’s a tidal wave of pure, searing affection, and I let it crash over me, surrendering to the force of it.
I throw my arms around him again, crushing the envelope between us, holding on like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s spinning and shifting and too fast to comprehend. I let myself cling to him, to the dream he’s given new life to, to the lifeline he’s throwing me with this check, with his presence, with everything that he is.
“Tank,” I whisper, “I love you. I never stopped. And if this is what love is — sacrifice and madness and showing up when it matters — then I want it. I want you.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and I see everything in his eyes that I’ve ever wanted, ever needed, ever dreamed of: compassion, curiosity, hopeful, respectful, loving, brave. He’s searching my face, looking for something, finding everything. “You sure?” he asks, the question a gentle challenge, a tender plea. It’s the last thread of hesitation, of doubt, the one thing that still needs unraveling.
I nod, fiercely. “I want you back. All of you.”
He doesn’t wait.
He kisses me like he’s starving.
The world blurs and fades around the edges, narrowing to the intensity of his lips, the warmth of his hands, the sheer ferocity of everything that’s been unsaid, unshared, unfinished between us. It’s a kiss that demands surrender, and I give it freely, wholly, my heart splitting open and spilling out and burning brightly.
I kiss him back — fierce, smiling, safe.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Tank
The air outside Safe House smells like spring, like something soft trying to bloom through the cracked pavement, and I smile at the thought of something good happening in Boise, a city which deserves a break from the constant storm of shit that has plagued most of its existence, and will probably continue to plague its future, too. Then I shake my head — Boise brought me Bianca, and that ain’t bad. Still, despite the moment of respite, there’s a heaviness hanging over everything. Everyone’s dressed in black. Vanessa’s memorial just ended, and now people are murmuring quiet goodbyes, hugging, and heading to their cars.
Ricky’s standing off to the side, eyes raw, like he hasn’t slept in days. Probably hasn’t. He’s holding it together, but only barely. Diesel, Mayhem, and Havoc are flanking him like human walls, like they’re keeping him propped up just by being there. That’s what brothers do. I meet his eyes; he nods at me, and I nod back. He knows I’m here for him, and that I’ll be giving him a damn hug soon enough. Been giving out plenty of those lately, and it ain’t half bad.
I feel a hand slip into mine. It’s Bianca. She looks gorgeous, even with red-rimmed eyes and a weariness she hasn’t shaken.
“What’s going to happen to Ricky?” she whispers.
“We’re heading to Ironwood Falls,” I tell her. “Me and him. But we’re taking the long way.”
She tilts her head. “Long way?”
“Scenic route. He needs time. He needs air in his lungs, tires on the road, a little time to remember who he is when he’s not chasing ghosts.”
She nods like she understands. And of course she does. She’s been carrying ghosts longer than most people.
“What about you?” I say. “What happens to you now? And to Safe House?”
She pauses, thoughtful, and glances toward Alex, who’s standing a few feet away, chatting with two of the residents. Her voice is steady when she finally answers. “I’m handing over day-to-day to Alex. She’s got the heart for it. And the guts. She’s earned it.” Bianca’s eyes are on Alex, and there’s a mix of pride and sadness, like she’s watching a child she raised set off on their own.
“And you?”
“I’ll still be around for now.” She turns back to me, her grip on my hand strong, solid. “Safe House is mine — it’s part of me. But I’ve got to make space for something new. Maybe in Ironwood Falls. Maybe with you.
“Maybe?”
“Definitely. I love you, but right now, everything seems so scary and temporary.”
“I ain’t going anywhere. But if you’re looking at Ironwood Falls, does that mean you’re thinking about moving?”
“Eventually. But first, I’m thinking about visiting. Often. Maybe more.” She smiles. “Hope you like Boise, because you’re coming back with me from time to time.”
“I tolerate Boise.”
