2. Tank
Tank
She doesn't let go.
The engine's dead and the street is quiet enough to hear crickets, but Ellie's still pressed against my back. She's got her arms locked around my waist like I'm the only thing keeping her from floating away, and for a second, I'm fifteen again.
I don't move either. Don't want to. I could sit out here on this bike, letting her warmth soak through my shirt until the sun comes up, and love every second of it.
But the night air's cooling fast, and I feel the goosebumps rising on her bare legs where her skirt's ridden up. She's definitely not dressed for this. She's wearing grass-stained plaid and a thin shirt and no panties because I ruined those in the clearing.
The memory of how she got that way makes my cock stir even though the rest of me is fucking exhausted. And my ribs still ache from Kade's punch.
I tap her hands twice.
Our old signal for time to go.
She makes a small sound of protest against my spine, and I laugh. At least as much as I can laugh. But she's never once made me feel like a freak for it. I've spent my whole life feeling like a horror show, but Ellie Riggs makes me feel like a person.
I swing my leg over the bike carefully, turning to help her down off it. Her legs buckle when her feet hit the pavement, and I catch her by the waist before she even starts to fall. She laughs.
I lift her into my arms, and she slips her arms around my neck without putting up a fight. The walk to the front door feels so short with her in my arms, it's cruel. Not nearly enough to savor this night I don't want to ever come to an end.
The door's unlocked like it always is. The house is dark, every light turned off, and the silence tells me what I already suspect.
The house is empty.
Jinx and Cyrus are out. Probably at the warehouse running damage control on whatever mess Kade left in his wake.
Kade probably won't be back for hours. I know my brother. When he gets like this, he just drives. Usually, he finds an empty lot or an abandoned building so he can set shit on fire and watch it turn to ash while he pretends like he's not hurting inside.
And that's exactly what this is.
It's the reason for this whole contract mess of bullshit in the first place.
He's hurt that she left and now he's hurt that she chose me over him, or at least that's how he sees it. So he's burning shit down, because that's the only way Kade knows how to fix anything.
Just like he "fixed" our rusty RV because he couldn't stand to look at it without her in it.
We all have our coping mechanisms, I guess.
After tonight, I think I have a new one.
Ellie stands in the dark kitchen with her arms wrapped around herself, and she looks smaller than she should.
The shiny metal collar around her throat gleams in the moonlight coming through the slats of the blinds in the kitchen window, and I have to look away because the sight of it makes me want to rip it off her with my bare hands.
I flip on the light above the stove, just enough to see without flooding the whole room. Still get nervous being around her in full light, even after all this time.
She watches me move around the kitchen, opening up cabinets and pulling out a mug and the tea she likes. The pink hibiscus one, because it's pink. I keep it hidden behind Cyrus's pretentious loose-leaf shit he orders from overseas, where the others wouldn't notice and give me shit for it.
I start the kettle on the stovetop. I pull out bread while the water boils, then peanut butter and the strawberry jam Jinx keeps buying even though nobody else eats it.
My hands work on autopilot as I make the sandwich. Bread out of the bag. Knife through the smooth peanut butter. I spread an even layer, corner to corner, because she used to complain about it when the coverage was uneven and some bites were just bread on bread.
I remember because I remember everything about this girl.
The jam goes on the other slice. I cut the sandwich diagonally when it's finished, just how she likes it, and I arrange it on a plate with the points facing out.
When I turn around, she's… crying.
Oh, fuck.
Ellie is standing there with tears running down her face, watching me make her a sandwich with my giant, too-clumsy hands.
Shit.
Maybe I did it wrong after all this time, or she doesn't like it cut diagonally anymore.
I set the plate down and cross the kitchen in two steps. When I reach her, my hands just hover uselessly near her face because I'm not sure if she wants to be touched or not. She solves the problem by pressing her forehead against my chest and just... staying there.
Her tears immediately soak through my shirt.
Okay, I don't think this is about the sandwich after all.
I wrap my arms around her carefully and hold her the way I've always wanted to.
The kettle finally screams and I have to resist the urge to throw it into a wall. She flinches against me, then laughs.
"Your water's ready," she mumbles into my shirt.
I don't want to let her go. But the kettle's going to wake the whole neighborhood and it sure as fuck isn't helping her nerves any. I release her with a reluctant sigh to pour the water over the tea bag in the mug.
The steam smells floral and pink, just like her.
I've made myself a cup more times than I can count and just sat at the table, breathing in that scent as much as I can through my mask without drinking a drop.
Pretending she's here with me.
I carry the mug and the plate to the living room and she follows. She sinks onto the couch, which nearly swallows her whole. I hand her the tea first and she wraps both hands around the mug, her delicate fingers overlapping on the warm ceramic.
She takes a sip and closes her eyes in bliss. All the stress seems to leave her body as she breathes out.
"You remembered," she says quietly. "My favorite tea."
I sit beside her. Not as close as I want to, in case she wants space.
Always, I sign.
She eats the sandwich in small bites, and I notice her counting without meaning to. Five chews per bite.
The OCD's worse than it used to be. The compulsions seem more rigid and more consuming.
I noticed it months ago, watching from the parking lot as she tapped her steering wheel five times before turning the ignition.
Her hands shake too and I wonder if that's anxiety, or if she's on something for it.
Someone did that to her.
Someone made it worse.
It's always been a part of her, but the counting gets worse when she's stressed, and I've seen Ellie hold up under pressure that would make most people crack. Her mom's flakiness, her deadbeat dad, even me and Kade ending up in juvie.
She's always been strong, keeping everyone else together, but that's the thing about pressure.
Eventually, even the strongest people have a breaking point.
I'm going to find out who pushed her this close to hers, and I'll kill him slowly for it.
Hell, I know CPR. Maybe I'll bring him back four times and leave him dead on the fifth, just for a sense of poetic justice.
Ellie finishes the sandwich and then sets the plate on the coffee table. The tea's half gone already. She pulls her bare feet up onto the couch, tucking them beneath her, and leans sideways until her head rests against my shoulder.
"Tank?"
I tap her arm so she knows I'm listening.
"Thank you."
Her voice is thick and groggy with exhaustion.
I reach for her hand and trace the letters into her palm because signing requires her to look at me. I don't want her to have to move.
D-O-N-T T-H-A-N-K M-E
She sniffs a laugh against my shoulder. "Too late."
Her breathing slows and eventually evens out. The mug tilts in her loosening grip, and I ease it from her fingers before it spills. She doesn't stir at all, she just sags against me. Her body goes boneless like it does when she feels safe.
Safe. With me.
How?
Everyone else in this world looks at me like I'm this huge, untouchable, unfeeling monster that breaks everything he touches. Hell, I look at me that way, on the rare occasion I can stand to look at all. Even with the mask.
Even Kade, the one person who never gave up on me, has his moments where I can tell he sees the monster. The thing that separates him from everyone else is that he accepts that monster and calls him brother.
Maybe not after today.
But Ellie sees something else. And I don't understand why or how.
I'm not dumb enough to question a miracle.
Her breathing deepens into sleep and I adjust her carefully, pulling the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over her so I don't wake her up. She makes a small sound, a happy one I think, and burrows closer to me.
I don't move.
Don't want to miss a fucking second of this.
The clock on the wall ticks through the minutes. She sleeps the same way she always did, curled up on her side with a hand tucked under her cheek. Her lips are just slightly parted. The dyed pink streaks fall into her face and I brush them back, being so fucking careful not to wake her.
My hands are built for breaking shit. Not touching Ellie's hair. That was always Jinx's job.
But Ellie doesn't pull away. She keeps breathing, steady and slow, like she trusts me completely. Even sleeping, at her most vulnerable.
I don't deserve this.
I don't deserve her warmth against my side, or her trust, and definitely not the way she looked at me in that clearing.
The things she let me do to her…
I'm a monster. And not just because of the way I look. The monstrous things I've done should disqualify me from holding anything this good, this perfect and pure.
I'm a fucking killer now.
But she chose me anyway.
First.
And I refuse to waste a moment of her in my arms when my brain is telling my heart it's never going to happen again.
Sometime past three in the morning, headlights sweep across the living room wall through the blinds and the gap in the blackout curtains.
I lift my head, like a dog ready to fight.
I know the rumble of Kade's engine anywhere, even the crunch of its tires rolling slowly up the driveway. I'm the one who tunes that damn car up after he puts it through hell.
Ellie doesn't wake as the car door shuts and the front door opens.
She's deep under, her body finally having surrendered to the need for rest. Her fingers are still balled up in my shirt, her head on my chest, somehow, migrating there in her dreams. Her nose pokes out over the blanket she's cocooned in, my arms wrapped around her, keeping her safe and warm.
I don't move to try to create distance between us.
This is what it is.
The front door opens and Kade's silhouette appears in the living room doorway, going still. Even in the dark, I can tell he's taking in what he can make out of us. Of Ellie, wrapped in a blanket, curled up against my side.
He sees the full picture.
He doesn't move. For a few seconds that seem to last forever, stands there in silence, backlit by the hall light, and I can feel his expression even if I can't see it.
The anger's still there.
It's always there with Kade, embers waiting for a lit match to spark them into a flame.
He stares at us. At her, anyway. The way she's sleeping peacefully for the first time since she walked back into our fucked up lives.
He watches and listens to her breathing, even and undisturbed, and I'm sure the fact that she's let her guard down around me feels like even more of a betrayal than what we did in that clearing.
At least, it would to me.
If I was a dickhead who couldn't see past his own hurt enough to understand this isn't something she's doing to him.
But Kade, for all his talk, has always been the least logical among us.
He's pure emotion. Chaos in human form.
For a moment, I wonder if he's going to announce himself to wake her up, and if we're going to finish what we started, right here in the living room.
Instead, Kade turns and walks down the hallway. His bedroom door closes quietly behind him, which is a worse sign than a slam would be. I'll deal with it later, but tonight…
Tonight, Ellie is in my arms.
And nothing else matters.