Tank.
Just ordering a Guinness from Ciara, voice low and rough and unmistakable.
Something jolts in my chest.Not fear.Something else.Something I don't want to examine too closely.
I glance down the bar.He's in the same seat as yesterday.Leather jacket, dark eyes, that careful stillness he carries like armor.
Not looking at me.Not approaching.Just...there.
My chest tightens.
I should be angry.Should tell him to leave.Should make it clear I don't need him watching over me like some fucking guard dog.
But I can't.
Because part of me, a part I hate admitting exists, feels safer knowing he's here.
And that terrifies me more than Declan does.
I deliberately stay at the far end of the bar and serve customers on the opposite side, avoiding even glancing in his direction.
But I feel him.Every second.That weight of attention.That quiet, steady presence.
It doesn't feel invasive.It doesn't feel like surveillance.
It feels like protection.
And I don't know what to do with that.
The afternoon drags on.I keep busy.Keep moving.Anything to avoid thinking about Tank sitting there or Declan out there somewhere or the crushing fear that's been living under my skin for days.
But around three, my hands start shaking so badly I nearly drop a pint glass.
It slips, tips, and I catch it at the last second.But the movement's jerky.Obvious.
I glance up without meaning to.
Tank's halfway out of his seat, body tense, eyes locked on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
He's scared.
Not for himself.For me.
I can see it written all over his face; the concern, the protectiveness, the barely controlled instinct to cross the bar and demand to know what's wrong.
Our eyes hold for a long moment.Too long.Long enough for me to see past the careful control to the fear underneath.
He cares.Really cares.More than he should for someone he barely knows.
And that realization cracks something open in my chest, something I've been trying to keep sealed shut.
I look away first.I set the glass down with shaking hands and force myself to keep moving.
But I feel him watching.Feel that weight of concern following me for the rest of my shift.
And I hate how much I want it.How much I need it.
How much I'm terrified of letting myself lean into it.
