Chapter Forty-Eight
Bianca
Alex and I sit opposite each other at the conference table in the Safe House office, where our resolve has been crumbling just as steadily as the numbers on the screens before us. She’s on her laptop, I’m on mine, both of us staring at spreadsheets that speak with a harsh clarity, slicing through our hope one row at a time. A river of red flows across the page. The fundraiser dinner — the same one I put every drop of my soul into — raised next to nothing. I see it all replay in my mind: most of the pledges that were made never came through, disappearing like ghosts, like broken promises. The guests were terrified, confused, dropping like flies once they learned about my abduction. The hard work amounted to barely more than a whisper, hounded by fear, overshadowed by my brother’s unforgiving reach.
Alex is quiet and distant, lips pressed into a tight line as she processes the loss, and the quiet stretches out endlessly, wrapping around us like a taut band ready to snap. Finally, she sighs and speaks, her voice the sound of a heart breaking. “At this rate, Bianca, we won’t make it past the end of the month.”
I sit there, frozen, the weight of her words pinning me to my chair. All the work we’ve done, all the good we’ve tried to bring to the world, crumbling to dust in our hands.
“I mean,” she continues, her voice cracking like thin ice underfoot, “we can’t even cover the bills due next week unless a miracle happens.”
Her voice falters and fades completely, overtaken by despair. I watch as her head drops into her hands, the image of strength and calm finally breaking apart. Alex is crying. I have never seen her cry before.
I want to be the strong one this time, to hold it together, to be solid enough for her to lean on, to be the rock for everyone who needs one. I reach over and rub her back, trying to comfort her, whispering that it’ll be okay. Again and again, I say it, even though I can’t bring myself to believe it.
But then something inside me just... gives out.
I shove my chair back with a loud scrape, the sound of my soul collapsing. I walk out of the office, out of the building, desperate for air before the grief inside me turns to screaming, before it consumes me entirely.
And there he is.
A refuge. A person I didn’t realize I was hoping to find.
Tank.
Standing just outside the entrance of Safe House, like he’s been waiting for me, like he knew exactly where I’d go when I couldn’t take it anymore.
Like he loves me.
He’s holding an envelope in one hand, looking at me with those sharp blue eyes that see everything, even the things I try to hide. When he sees me — crying, broken — he doesn’t say a single word. Just crosses the distance in three long strides and pulls me into his arms.
And I let him.
It’s a surrender more profound than I’ve ever allowed myself. I collapse into him, burying my face into his shoulder, letting the sobs tear through me, and I don’t hold back. I cry until my throat aches, until I have poured out the grief and terror and sheer hopelessness of the week, the month, my whole damn life.
For a few fleeting, exquisite moments, I let the world narrow to the circle of his embrace. I let myself forget the bruises on my heart, the weight on my conscience, the ghosts at my back.
I let myself be held.
Slowly, I pull away, wiping my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to piece myself back together one ragged breath at a time. And it hits me like a shock, the rawness of my voice when I finally manage to speak.
“What are you doing here?”
Tank shifts the envelope in his hand.
“I’m here because, whether or not you take me back, I believe in you. I believe in what you do. And I want to help.”
He presses the envelope into my hands, and I feel the heft, the importance and weight of what he’s giving me, before I even open it.
Then I open it.
And freeze.
It’s a check. A six-figure check. With my name on it. With Safe House listed on the memo line.
“What the hell is this?” I ask.
“My insurance payout,” he says. “The bakery. I had a damn good policy. Put everything into it — my money, my time, my blood. And when it burned down, I made sure it paid out fast.”
I gape at him. “How the fuck did you get the insurance to pay this fast? Those things take weeks, months even.”
“I went and found the agent,” he says, deadpan. “Told him I’d dismember him if he dragged his feet. I think I inspired him.”
My hands are shaking. “Tank… are you sure?”
He nods. “Yes, I’m sure. I want every cent to go to you.”
“All that money… And you’re just giving it to me?”
“No strings,” he says. “You said Safe House needed saving. I want to help save it.”
I stare at him; this man… This dangerous, stubborn, handsome man.
“You’re giving up your dream,” I whisper. “For me.”
“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.