Chapter Nineteen
Tank
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to move in with you?” Abigail asks for the fifth time. “I can always take the house next door. It’s empty, right?”
“Abigail,” I warn.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I just want you to be certain. I’m not sure my heart can take it if I move in and you suddenly change your mind. You never know, you might get sick of me or hate my quirks.”
“You don’t have any quirks,” I lie.
She works entirely too long and sleeps entirely too little. Those are her quirks. But she loves her work… and I love her.
So as long as it isn’t taking a toll on her health, I’ll deal with it.
I glance over at her as we walk slowly across the compound toward my house. Her leg still isn’t strong enough to move quickly, but she refuses to let me carry her like she’s made of glass.
“You really think I’d get sick of you?” I ask.
She shrugs, but the movement is small.
“You did once.”
The words land heavier than she probably intended.
I stop walking, and she takes another step before realizing I’m not beside her anymore.
“Tank?”
I reach out and gently pull her against my body, wrapping my arms around her, probably too tightly, before pulling back slightly.
“Look at me,” I say quietly.
She does.
Those blue eyes still carry shadows from everything she’s been through…plus everything I put her through.
“I didn’t get sick of you,” I tell her. “I was a coward.”
Her lips part slightly.
“There’s a difference,” I continue. “One means I stopped loving you.”
My hand cups her jaw softly.
“The other means I loved you so damn much it scared the hell out of me.”
Her breath catches.
“I’m not scared anymore,” I whisper.
My thumb brushes away the tear forming in the corner of her eye.
“So stop asking if I’m sure about you moving in with me.”
She sniffles softly.
“Why?”
I lean down until my forehead rests against hers.
“Because, Abigail…”
My voice lowers.
“You’re not moving in.”
Confusion flickers across her face.
“You’re coming home.”
She smiles, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
Nothing in this world is more beautiful than the pure joy on my woman’s face when she realizes just how loved she is.
My mind throws memories at me from the past few years. Moments when I thought she looked happy. Moments when that same smile lit up her face.
But back then, her eyes never matched it.
Now?
Her eyes are bright. Clear. Locked right onto mine like they’ve finally found what they’ve been searching for.
“Home,” she whispers.
“Yeah, baby,” I whisper back. “Home.”
“I’ve dreamed of this for years,” she says softly. “I just knew, deep down in my soul, that we were meant to be together.”
I shake my head slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m the one who took years to figure it out,” I admit.
Her fingers slide into mine.
“Better late than never,” she smiles.
I squeeze her hand gently.
“You know,” I murmur, “most people would probably run in the opposite direction after everything I put you through.”
“Most people aren’t me,” she says.
“True.”
“And most men aren’t you.”
I huff out a quiet laugh.
“Baby, I’ve got a list of sins long enough to keep a preacher busy for a month.”
Her eyes soften.
“But you also have a heart big enough to carry everyone you love on it,” she says. “Even when it hurts you to do it.”
That one hits me square in the chest.
She glances toward my house, then back at me.
“So… this is really happening?”
“It is.”
“And you’re not going to wake up tomorrow and panic about it?”
“Too late for that,” I chuckle. “Already panicked about it for the past seven years.”
She laughs softly.
“Good.”
Then she leans closer, resting her head against my chest, and my arms wrap around her automatically.
“Because I’m not letting you run away from me again,” she murmurs.
I press a kiss to the top of her head.
“No more running,” I murmur against her hair. “Now come on. Let’s go home. I want to show you my cooking skills.”
“Oh, please no,” she laughs. “I’ve tasted your cooking. I’ll pass.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “But I can make a mean bowl of cereal.”
Her laughter wraps around us as we walk slowly across the compound toward my house.
Our house…with the purple door.
***
“Hey, brother, can I have a minute?”
“Sure,” Spike says. “I was wanting to talk to you anyway.”
“The prisoners?” I guess.
Maverick had Clinton and Martello shipped to us after everything settled. We’ve had them since then, getting answers to questions about their little business ventures. We still have their snipers, as well. Although none of them are in great condition, they’re all still alive.
Spike nods once. “We’ve had them for two months now. I’m sending them up to Maverick tomorrow. We beat our frustrations out on them long enough. Now it’s the Italian’s turn.”
“Brother,” I start, but Spike holds up a hand.
“I’ve already talked to Maverick. It’s done,” he says firmly. “The twins will be here in the morning to collect them. Maverick needs them alive more than we want them dead. He’s got an image to uphold as the Don, and we’re not getting in the way… or between… that.”
He pauses, watching my reaction.
“However,” he adds, “we agreed to let you keep your pet.”
My fists slowly unclench.
“Fuck,” I breathe out. “Thought I was gonna have to sneak down there and kill him before morning.”
Spike snorts.
“No way in hell are we letting the bastard who shot my baby sister have even the smallest taste of freedom,” he says. “Not even the kind that comes from being moved from one prison to another.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice.
“That one stays here.”
A slow smile spreads across my face.
“Good,” I mutter. “I really didn’t want to kill him.”
Because the man who put a bullet in Abigail will remain alive for a very long time.
“Might want to let Patch patch him up and give him a week or so to heal before you start on him again. The twins also wanted me to relay the message that their prisoner just spent his ninety-seventh day in their chambers for what they did to Abigail. They’ve taken out the trash.
” Spike smirks. “Now… what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
My reason for coming here crashes back into my head, and every thought of the prisoners disappears.
“I know I’ve been an idiot when it comes to Abigail,” I admit.
“Fact,” he nods.
Fucker.
“But you know how much I love her,” I continue. “How much I’ve always loved her.”
“I do.”
I wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans.
Spike straightens a little, and the corner of his mouth lifts.
“Out with it, brother,” he says.
“I want your blessing to ask her to marry me.”
There.
I said it.
Why the hell am I so nervous? I’ve known Spike for years. It’s not like I don’t know the man… or what kind of answer he’ll give.
Spike crosses his arms and looks straight into my eyes.
He doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t move.
He just stares.
So I stop trying to hide anything, and I let him see it all.
Every ounce of love I feel for his sister. Every bit of determination. Every drop of fear that I might somehow screw this up again.
“She’s a strong woman,” he finally says.
I nod…The strongest I know.
“But she’s soft too,” he adds.
Again, I nod. She has the softest heart…aside from Sunny…that I’ve ever met.
“She needs protection,” Spike continues, “but not to be shielded from the world.”
I want to shield her from the world, but I wouldn’t do that to her.
I say none of this.
I just stand there and wait.
“She needs stability,” he goes on. “Comfort. Support for her business.”
Her talent flashes through my mind. Those small hands creating things that leave people speechless. So much talent in such tiny fingers.
“She needs love.”
I couldn’t love her more if I tried.
Still… I say nothing.
“You don’t deserve her,” Spike says.
“I know,” I answer honestly.
“No one does,” he continues. “But I’ve known since the moment I saw that interest spark in your eyes that she’d be your downfall.”
He steps closer.
“And after her kidnapping… the first time… I saw how you helped her through the nightmares. I saw how you kept your distance so she could heal.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“And I saw how you kept that distance even after she was ready… because you’re a fucking idiot.”
All facts.
I nod.
“But,” Spike says quietly, “I also know that no one will ever love her more than you.”
His voice hardens.
“No one will protect her harder. Support her more strongly. Or cherish her the way you do.”
My chest tightens.
“So yes, brother,” he says. “You have my blessing to ask my sister to marry you.”
Relief crashes through me so hard I almost laugh.
“On one condition.”
“Name it,” I say.
“Let me pay for the wedding.”
That… is not what I was expecting.
“Not gonna happen, Spike,” I shake my head. “My woman. I provide. Besides, I’d be surprised if her paying for half the wedding isn’t one of her own stipulations with the kind of money she makes.”
“Let me pay,” he repeats.
I open my mouth to argue, but he lifts a hand and stops me.
“Our Uncle’s gone,” he says quietly. “Who the fuck knows where our dad is. I’m the one walking her down that aisle to you.”
His voice isn’t loud, but it carries a heavy weight.
“I’m the one who raised her and Samual when I was still a damn kid myself,” he continues. “I worked. I bled. I sacrificed so they could have something close to a normal life.”
He looks me dead in the eye.
“I earned that right, brother.”
My chest tightens.
“Tradition says the bride’s father pays for the wedding,” he goes on. “And I’m damn sure going to do it.”
His voice softens just a little.
“So let me pay.”
He pauses.
“Do this for me.”
I study him for a long moment.
This isn’t about money.
Not really.
This is about a man who lost his parents too young… trying to give his little sister the one thing she deserves.
A real wedding.
A real moment.
A real father walking her toward the man she loves.
I sigh and run a hand over the back of my neck.
“Alright,” I mutter.
Spike’s brow lifts.
“Alright?”