Tank

I followed Russell to the hospital last night after I dropped him off at home. I watched him talk to Kim in front of the entrance, waited near their car until they finally brought the mother out and took her home. I then spent the whole night in front of their house, making sure he didn't back out of our deal. He was up all night, kept looking up and down the street as though he knew I was out there. But he didn't see me.

I think Kim was up all night too. At least that faint light in the bedroom she entered just before one AM was on all night.

At seven AM, I followed Russell to his office. At ten he made the public announcement that he's resigning.

At a quarter to noon my phone starts buzzing. I'm back in front of Kim's house, and it's her calling.

"You kidnapped him last night, didn't you? And then you threatened him until he agreed to resign?" she asks as soon as I pick up, though it sounds more like an accusation than a question. Did he tell her? That would mess up our deal too. But that's not what I'm getting from her voice. She's asking me something else.

"Say something, admit it," she adds.

"Come meet me, Kim," I say and her sharp intake of breath tells me she's nowhere near agreeing to that. But she can be angry with me all she wants. In person.

"Come meet me and I'll tell you everything," I add.

And I mean everything. I won't leave anything out.

"You lied to me and you deceived me," she says indignantly. "How can I trust you again?"

"I didn't lie when I told you I love you," I say. "And I'm not lying when I say I'll tell you everything. Meet me in Blossom Park by the Birdhouse in half an hour."

Then I hang up. She'll either come, or I'll have to call her again. But we're not doing this over the phone.

* * *

Kim

"I'm going to visit Benji and get the car," I announce to Russell and Mom, grabbing mom’s car keys off the kitchen counter.

Russell's face tightens. "I'll take you there later, Kim."

I just shake my head and walk away, saying, "I'll be fine," over my shoulder.

I don't know if I'll be fine after I meet Tank. I might not be. Physically I'm sure I will be, but emotionally, I might not be.

So I don't think of much while I ride the bus to Blossom Park, or while I walk through it to get to the Birdhouse, which is visited by many old ladies during the day, and many couples by night. People also often get married here in the summer and spring. This is where all my high school friends came to make out after dark, but I never did that.

I try not to think about any of that, because all those things are something I’ll never get to do with Tank either. And I thought I might. I was sure I might. But there's no stopping the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach, the painfully blissful cramps they cause, as I spot Tank by the gazebo lined with pink and white roses, which is the centerpiece of this area and the place where all those marrying couples say, "I do". That's another thing I'll never say to him, and right now it hurts.

He looks different today, edgier, more like the man I thought he was just pretending to be. I think it's his eyes, which are very dark in this light and very hard. Or maybe I'm just seeing him differently since I now know who he is, because he doesn't look all that much different than he always has. Or maybe it's the black leather cut he's wearing over his t-shirt.

He never wore that before, but it looks very worn in. It's covered in patches, one of which clearly reads Vice President. He's not just any biker. He's top level management of his motorcycle club. How could he fool me so well?

"So, when you're not volunteering with the handicapped, you're here feeding birds with the grandmas?" I ask as I reach him. "What a do-gooder you are."

His eyes only turn a shade softer as the edges of his lips curl up into a tiny smile.

"Nah, I don't feed birds," he says. "Let's take a walk."

He offers me his arm, but I don't take it. I want to, but I can't yet. Maybe I'll never be able to. I do start walking though, and he follows. Everything is in bloom this time of year. Red hyacinths, yellow narcissus, pink magnolias, and flowers of every other color line the gravel path we're walking down.

"My step-father retired today," I say, since he's not starting the conversation. "I think you forced him to. Did you?"

I stop and round on him, because I want to look into his eyes when I hear his answer.

"Is that what he told you?" he asks, his eyes even sharper than his tone.

I shake my head. "No. I put two and two together on my own. Now I want you to tell me if I'm right."

He places his arm around my shoulders and leads me to the nearest bench. And there's no fighting the flood of warmth and happiness that suffuses my entire body under his touch, because I have been yearning for his touch since I felt it last. It almost feels like I've been yearning for it forever.

"You said you'll tell me everything," I mutter as we're sitting side by side on the bench, facing each other. But I'm not sure I want to hear everything. Maybe it'd be better if he just continued to lie to me.

"You were wrong about me, Kim," he says softly. "I'm every bit the outlaw biker you thought I was only pretending to be. More so than most, I'd wager. The baddest kind of biker you can imagine. Maybe even worse than that. Yes, it was me who convinced Russell to retire. The alternative was to kill him. That’s my job. It’s been my job for years. But I didn't want to do that to your family. Because I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone."

I never expected him to admit all this. I expected more lies, more half-truths. And my thoughts are an absolute mess right now, feelings of pure joy that he did this thing for me warring with the absolute terror that I fell in love with a murderer.

"And you're just telling me this?" I ask quietly. "What if I report you?"

He shrugs. "Then I'll deal with that."

"How?" I ask wryly. "By killing me too?"

"I've been dealing with problems like that my entire adult life. My own and other peoples'," he says. "But I won't ever hurt you, Kim. Or anyone you love. I decided that and nothing's gonna change my mind."

I gasp, can't help it. He can still take my breath away, and I don't think that'll ever change. And how he said it, in that sure, calm, coldly assured way, even though I can feel all the fire of passion and love behind his words in my own chest, makes me certain he's telling the truth.

"If it makes you feel any better, the men I kill deserve it," he says. "The world is better off without them."

"And that woman? Is the world better off without her? Is her child better off?" I snap, because I'm pretty sure he was a part of that too, and I don't know which version of the world to believe anymore. My own, which has always been to do no harm, or his, which on some level does make sense.

He shrugs and gives a pensive little nod. "She wasn't supposed to die. Her coward old man hid behind her and an accident happened. But I don't know, maybe that child is better off without parents like that."

"Or maybe he'll grow up looking to take revenge on this cold, cruel world that's done this to him," I say. "Like you've clearly been doing your whole life."

His eyes widen, his whole face frozen though not in a cold way. I don't know what possessed me to say that to him, I don't know him nearly well enough to know something like that. But I think I do know it, and I think I'm right, and I think he's thinking the same thing.

"Is that what I've been doing?” he says after awhile. “Fair point, and maybe you're even right. But I've come to the end of that road. And I want you with me on whichever road lies ahead."

He pauses and looks at me very deeply, the way only he can, but I don't know what he sees in my eyes, because I don't know what's in my mind right now.

"I know you love me, and I know how I feel about you," he says quietly. "But can you still love me now that you know who I really am?"

The way he says it isn't quite a question, it's almost like he already knows what my answer is. And it makes him sad.

"Will you just let me go if I say no?" I ask. Somehow, that seems important to know. Not sure why, but it's the only question that was clear in the mess that's my mind right now.

He looks at me for a few moments, sadly, deeply, thoughtfully. Then he looks away, out over the beautifully flowering bushes all around us.

"Yeah, it won't be easy, but if that's what you really want, I'll do it." He looks back at me sharply as he says it, probably trying to see my reaction to what he told me.

I have none. My mind is too much of a mess. How can I love a criminal? How can I make my life with one?

I've spent my entire professional life exposing criminals, I've built my career on it. But I've also never felt love like I feel for him, nor had anyone love me, understand me, see me the way Tank does. I think few people ever find that kind of love, and certainly no more than once in a lifetime. Do I walk away from it on a technicality? So I can say I took the moral high ground?

He sighs and stands up. "I'll let you think about it. You know where to find me, if you want to."

He only waits for my reply or my reaction for a couple of seconds before shaking his head and striding away fast and with purpose, walking like a man who can't get away fast enough from a bad situation.

Devil's Nightmare, the back of his cut reads, the words printed black on white banners around an image of a horned human skull, adorned with roses and enveloped by black angel wings. He's letting me see which club he belongs to, and I could use that information to seriously damage him, maybe even destroy him. He's holding nothing back from me anymore.

No. That's the clearest thought in my mind and it’s loud.

I can't let him go on a technicality, I can't throw away the kind of love I've always hoped for, always yearned for. I can't even sit still on this bench, because every cell in my body is urging me to run after him, say yes, hold him and kiss him and give myself to him, the way I'll take him for myself too.

So I don't fight it anymore, I just run after him. He's already at the Birdhouse by the time I catch him, right in the middle of the place where I've never been kissed before.

"I'll try, Tank!" I call after him, since he hasn't seen me yet.

And none of what never was for me matters anymore as he catches me in his arms and kisses me in the way that makes the ground fall away from my feet, even as his kiss anchors me firmly in the present—a light and laughter, love and blissful happiness present. I've never felt more like myself than I do in his arms, nor felt as safe and loved and alive, as I do when we kiss.

For years, I've looked the other way from the atrocities I reported on, played no part, just noted the facts. For years, I’ve sat home alone, wishing for things I thought would never come. I've had plenty of practice doing that. But life is what you make it. And I want to make mine with him, with the love of my life. I can’t let him go. I can’t let him go no matter what.

"I love you too much to let you go," I admit to him later, when we're just holding each other tight by the rose-covered gazebo, birds singing all around us, the air smelling of flowers and hope.

"Good," he says and grins. "Because I love you too much to let you."

So he lied to me when he told me he'd let me go. So what?

He kisses me again, and all other knowing fades from my mind except the certainty that I am his and he is mine. This is our spot, our lot, our truth in this world, and I won’t look away from it, because I don't want it any other way.