"That's bullshit."
"I know. I know it is. But knowing something and unlearning it are different things." I reached for him, and when he didn't pull away, I took his hand in mine. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I should have told Hawk. Instead I hid it under my mattress like it would disappear if I ignored it long enough."
Tank was quiet for a long moment. I could see him processing—the hurt, the understanding, the war between the two. His jaw worked, muscle jumping beneath the skin.
"You burned it." The words came out measured. "This morning."
"Yes."
"Without telling anyone what it said."
"I'm telling you now."
"After the fact." He pulled his hand free, ran it through his hair in a gesture of frustration I'd seen a dozen times before. "Tyler, what if something had happened? What if Cross had made his move while you were keeping this secret? We wouldn't have known what we were dealing with. We wouldn't have been prepared."
"I know."
"Do you?" He turned to face me fully, and his expression was fierce—not angry, exactly, but intense in a way that made my chest tight. "This isn't just about you anymore. Whatever's between us—whatever we're figuring out—it means your problems are my problems. Your secrets put both of us at risk."
The words landed hard. He was right. I'd been so focused on protecting everyone else, on not being a burden, that I'd made myself a liability instead.
"You're right. I fucked up. I should have trusted you, and I didn't, and I'm sorry."
Tank studied me for a long moment. Then something in his expression softened—not forgiveness, exactly, but something close to it. Understanding, maybe. Recognition.
"Cross really did a number on you." His voice had gone quiet, the anger draining into something gentler.
"Yeah. He did."
"Then we're going to have to work on that." He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his warmth again. "No more secrets. Not about this, not about anything that could get you killed. You feel like you need to handle something alone, you come to me first. Deal?"
"Deal."
"I mean it, Tyler. I can't protect you if I don't know what I'm protecting you from."
"I know." I met his eyes, let him see the sincerity there. "No more secrets. I promise."
He held my gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly—not gone, but banked. Something to deal with later, when there was time.
"Okay. Now tell me everything. What was in the photograph, what the date means, what you think Cross is planning. All of it."
So I told him. Everything—the photograph, the date, the message. The three years with Cross, the slow realization that something was wrong, the desperate escape via the Chen assignment. The fear that had followed me here, the conviction that Cross would never let me go.
I told him things I'd never told anyone. How Cross had started so charming, so attentive, making me feel like the center of his universe. How the control had crept in gradually—first suggestions, then expectations, then demands. How he'd isolated me from friends and family until he was the only voice I trusted, the only opinion that mattered.
I told him about the night I'd finally understood what Cross really was. A case gone wrong, evidence that should have been destroyed, and Cross's cold eyes when he realized I knew. The threat wrapped in a smile:You're mine, Tyler. You've always been mine. And if you ever try to leave, I'll make sure you have nothing left to go to.
I told him about the Chen assignment—how I'd volunteered for the most dangerous undercover job I could find, how I'd spent eight months pretending to be someone else just to escape the man who was supposed to be my partner. How I'd thought, stupidly, that putting myself in the crosshairs of a trafficking ring was safer than staying with Cross.
And Tank listened. Didn't interrupt, didn't judge, didn't flinch away from the ugly parts. Just listened, his hands steady on my waist, his eyes never leaving my face. When I described the worst of it—the manipulation, the gaslighting, the way Cross had made me doubt my own perceptions—Tank's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away.
When I finished, the morning had gone from gray to gold, and the clubhouse was starting to stir around us. My throat was raw from talking, and I felt hollowed out—empty in a way that was somehow cleaner than the fullness of secrets I'd been carrying.
"Okay. Here's what we're going to do."
I blinked at him. "What?"
"We're going to tell Hawk. All of it—the envelope, the deadline, whatever you think Cross is planning. And then we're going to figure out what the hell ishappening tomorrow and make sure you're not anywhere near it."
