Chapter Five
The heavy bag took the punishment without complaint.
Tane drove his fist into it again, the impact shuddering up his arm and into his shoulder. Breath left him in a sharp burst. The rhythm was brutal and efficient—strike, pivot, strike—muscle memory honed over years of violence turned into control.
It wasn’t enough.
His words replayed anyway.
Half-in.
Disappear.
I won’t be left again.
The bag swung back at him and he met it head-on, knuckles burning through the tape. Pain flared bright and clean, the only thing that cut through the mess in his chest.
He’d meant to draw a line.
He hadn’t meant to carve one through Victor.
Tane twisted, drove a kick into the base of the bag, then caught it on the return with his forearm. Sweat ran down his spine, muscles tight with effort and restraint. He could still see Victor’s face when he’d said it—confusion first, then something wounded and furious and scared.
Everyone leaves eventually.
The memory made his jaw clench.
He knew that voice. He’d worn it himself once.
Tane struck again, harder this time, letting the sound echo off the concrete walls. He should have handled it better. Should have explained instead of snapping. But the moment Victor had talked about leaving—casually, like it was already decided—something old and ugly had reared up inside him.
Abandonment didn’t always look like betrayal.
Sometimes it looked like preparation.
Tane slowed, resting his forehead briefly against the bag, breath dragging in and out of his lungs. He needed to fix this. Needed to apologize properly, not with half-words or pride still tangled up in it. He ran the conversation through his head, over and over, trying to find the way in.
Tell him you were scared.
Tell him you meant what you said about standing with him.
Tell him he matters.
Movement at the door made him still.
Tane straightened and turned just as Victor stepped into the room.
Victor’s eyes were bright, almost wild, face flushed as if he’d been moving fast. Determination sat on him like armor that hadn’t quite settled yet.
For a split second, Tane forgot how to breathe.
He saw everything all at once—the strength in Victor’s stance, the tension in his shoulders, the way he looked like a man who’d made a decision and was braced for the consequences. Heat curled low in Tane’s gut, sharp and undeniable.
And beneath it, fear.
Because he could see it too—the life they might build if Victor stayed. Work done side by side. Plans argued over and refined. Fights taken together. Quiet nights like this turning into something steady and real.
And he could see the other future just as clearly.
An empty space where Victor should have been.
All the rehearsed words vanished.
“I’m sorry,” Tane said.
“I’m sorry,” Victor said at the same time.
Any other night, Tane might have laughed.
Tonight, the sound stuck in his chest.
He took a step forward, hands lifting instinctively. “I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he said, voice rough. “I shouldn’t have made it sound like an ultimatum.”
Victor shook his head. “I shouldn’t have talked about leaving like it was already done. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“I know,” Tane said. “But it did.”
They stood there, words tumbling out in fits and starts, both of them talking, interrupting, stopping and starting again. Anger bled into honesty. Defensiveness gave way to truth.
“I don’t want to cage you,” Tane said finally. “But I can’t do halfway. Not with my team. Not with someone I care about.”
Victor swallowed. “I don’t know how to stay without planning for when it all goes wrong.”
Tane nodded. “Then plan on how to deal when everything goes wrong but do it with me.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but not hostile.
Victor’s gaze dropped to Tane’s hands. His brow furrowed. “You’re bleeding.”
Tane tried to pull back instinctively. “It’s nothing.”
Victor caught his wrists before he could hide them. “Don’t be an idiot.”
The words were sharp, but his touch was careful.
“Come on,” Victor said. “Let’s go to the camper.”
Inside, Victor took over without discussion, but there was a nervous energy under it now, a restlessness that hadn’t been there before. He moved through the space like he was learning it and claiming it at the same time, opening drawers, checking cupboards, orienting himself.
“You shower,” he said, voice steady but not quite casual, already pulling ingredients from the fridge. “I’ll cook.”
Tane watched him for a second longer than necessary. Victor in his space—their space—felt like a line being crossed, and not in a way that made him want to pull back. In a way that made his chest tighten, sharp and hopeful.
“Okay,” Tane said, because anything else felt like too much.
The shower helped. The hot water grounded him, stripped the last of the rage from his muscles and left only the ache underneath. He leaned one hand against the wall, head bowed, letting himself breathe.
Don’t screw this up.
When he stepped out wrapped in a towel, Victor had changed the feel of the van. The lights were dimmer, warmer. Music played softly now, something instrumental and low. The windows were cracked, letting in cool night air that mixed with the smell of coconut milk, chili, and lime.
Laksa simmered on the stove, steam curling lazily upward.
“You good?” Victor asked, glancing over.
Tane nodded. “Yeah.” He hesitated, then added, “Thank you.”
Victor’s mouth curved, small but real. “You looked like you needed someone else to make the decisions for five minutes.”
“That obvious?”
“Painfully.”
Tane laughed quietly, the sound surprising him. It loosened something in his chest.
Victor’s gaze drifted back to him, slower this time, more deliberate. It traced the lines of ink across Tane’s chest, the shark breaking the surface of skin and muscle.
“Tell me about those,” Victor said. “Not now. Just ... someday.”
Tane nodded. “Someday.”
When Victor took his hands to clean them, the intimacy of it hit harder than the fight had. His fingers were gentle, sure, the way of someone used to tending wounds without drama.
“You don’t have to break yourself to make a point,” Victor said quietly.
Tane held his gaze. “Neither do you.”
They talked while Victor worked—slow, careful conversation, the kind that circled around hard things without crashing into them. Retribution. Justice. What it meant to take something back without becoming the thing you hated.
Tane told him again that Black Tide would help. Not because they owed Victor anything, but because they chose to.
Victor listened like that mattered.
Dinner was good—comforting, grounding. They ate side by side at the small table, knees brushing occasionally, each contact sending a jolt of awareness through Tane that he didn’t try to hide from himself.
They sent the intel to Dev and Bateman together, Victor explaining as he typed, Tane asking questions, refining, thinking ahead.
Afterward, they cleaned up in companionable silence. Victor washed, Tane dried. Their movements synced without effort.
It was in that quiet, domestic space that the tension shifted.
Victor stood close—too close—and didn’t move away. Tane could feel the heat of him, the solid presence at his side.
“You still angry?” Victor asked softly.
“No,” Tane said after a beat. “I’m scared.”
Victor’s breath hitched.
“Me too,” he admitted.
The honesty cracked something open between them.
Victor’s hand brushed Tane’s wrist, tentative, asking without words. Tane didn’t move away.
The kiss came slow this time—testing, careful, nothing rushed. Victor leaned in like he was bracing for impact. When their mouths met, it wasn’t explosive.
It was certain.
Tane felt it settle deep, steadying him instead of unmooring him.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against Victor’s. “Is this what you want?”
The question wasn’t about the kiss.
It was about everything.
****
The question stayed with Victor for a moment after Tane asked it.
Is this what you want?
It echoed through him as Tane’s forehead rested against his, as their breaths mingled, as the van hummed quietly around them.
Victor had lived most of his life making choices that kept him alive, not choices that made him feel.
Want had always been a luxury—dangerous, distracting, easily used against you.
This was different.
“Yes,” Victor said, and this time he didn’t need to search himself for the truth of it. “It is.”
Something shifted in Tane’s posture—not dominance asserted, not control taken, but a grounded certainty that made Victor feel steadied instead of cornered. Tane’s hands came up slowly, deliberately, thumbs brushing Victor’s jaw as if checking in without words.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Tane said.
“I know I can be intense, and I want you so fucking bad, but I want you to feel part of this journey with me, not that you have to give this to me, or feel obligated to do something. I will not hurt you for the world, ku’u aloha.
You want me to stop, and we will, just tell me. ”
Victor huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
“I won’t.” He shook Tane a little with the hands he had gripping his waist. “Because I want you just as much, kāne,” Victor loved the smile and joy that spread across Tane’s handsome face with the use of that word, that could mean sweetheart, but also husband.
“I realized tonight that I almost let my fear and my need for retribution cost me what I think I have been looking for my whole fucking life, and I will not allow that to happen. So, no, I do not want you to stop. I want to be loved and to love on you, in any order you please.”
Tane’s mouth curved, not triumphant, not smug—relieved.
He leaned in again, and this kiss was nothing like the first. It wasn’t testing or tentative.
It was confident and sure, like he knew exactly how much pressure to use, exactly how long to linger before pulling back just enough to keep Victor right there with him and drive his arousal through the roof.