"Is that why you're not afraid of me?" Tank asks suddenly. "Because you grew up around military men?"
The question catches me off guard with its directness. "I never said I wasn't afraid of you."
"You didn't have to." His eyes, dark and perceptive, hold mine. "Most people get nervous around men like me. You stood your ground from the first moment. Why?"
I consider deflecting, giving a superficial answer, but something about the night and the heights and the man beside me pulls the truth from me instead.
"After my dad died, my mom remarried quickly. Too quickly." I watch the lights of the fair spin below us, focusing on them rather than the memories. "My stepfather was... not a good man. Military on the outside, but none of the honor or discipline my father had. Just the violence and the need for control."
Tank's body tenses beside me, but he remains silent, waiting.
"He wasn't physically abusive, not exactly. But he was... cruel. Psychologically. Especially after my mom got sick." The words feel strange in my mouth, truths I rarely speak aloud. "I learned pretty quickly how to read dangerous men—when to stand firmand when to retreat, when to speak and when to stay silent. It's a survival skill."
His hand covers mine where it rests on the safety bar, warm and unexpectedly gentle. "I'm sorry that happened to you."
"It was a long time ago." I turn my hand beneath his, a silent acknowledgment. "But to answer your question, I'm not afraid of you because I can tell the difference between men who use their strength to control and men who use it to protect."
The Ferris wheel carries us to the pinnacle again, and this time when it pauses, I feel suspended in more ways than one. Between earth and sky, between stranger and something more, between caution and trust.
"And which am I?" Tank asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through our connected hands.
"You're a protector," I say without hesitation. "The way you are with Lilly, the way you held back with those boys even though you could have done real damage. You have control over your power. That's rare."
"Most people only see the patches and the tattoos. They make assumptions."
"Most people are idiots," I respond, drawing a genuine laugh from him.
"So a drill sergeant's daughter becomes a librarian in Sweetheart County," Tank muses as our gondola moves again. "How did that happen?"
It's my turn to laugh. "You think that's a strange trajectory? I came here for college. Sweetheart U has a good literature program. Planned to stay one semester. That was eight years ago."
"What made you stay?"
I tilt my head, considering. "At first it was Lilly. We clicked immediately, became inseparable. Then I got the job at the library, and I discovered I loved it—helping people find the right book, running the children's reading program, organizing the local history archives."
"And now?" he asks, unexpectedly perceptive. "What keeps you here now?"
The question hits closer to home than I'd like. I stare out at the twinkling lights of the small town spread beneath us.
"Habit, maybe," I admit. "Comfort. The devil you know." I turn back to him. "I've been thinking about leaving, actually. Before all this Dylan drama started. There's a position at a university library up north that I've been eyeing."
"But you stayed for Lilly."
I nod. "I couldn't leave her alone with this. Not when no one else was taking it seriously."
His eyes soften, and I see in them a recognition, of loyalty, of putting others before yourself. It's a quality we share, apparently.
"The Iron & Blood MC is lucky to have you," I say, changing the subject. "What exactly do you do there?"
A corner of his mouth lifts. "You asking about club business?"
"I'm asking about you," I clarify. "There's a difference."
He stares at me for a few seconds, seeming to weigh how much to share. "Officially, I help run security for the club's legitimate businesses—a garage, a few bars. Unofficially..."
"You're an enforcer," I finish for him, putting the pieces together. "The ones they send when there's trouble."
He doesn't confirm or deny, but his silence is answer enough.
