Tank: Devil's Rose MC #6

Chapter 17: Hazel Martinez

But then with Jack, that was a whole different person. I wasn't afraid of him or anything but that protectiveness is just another layer to him. He cares a lot about the people he likes. I was expecting something to happen. 

When Jack walked in and was giving me those creepy vibes and giving me a weird look, I knew that Tank would see right through that man. I just had no idea that Tank would make him piss his pants. I would have paid to see that. I do think Jack deserves it. 

He was being so fucking weird. I also think Tank likes to be able to scare people and have no repercussions. He is patient and selfless but he also has a darker side to him. He's part of a motorcycle club called the Devil's Rose. 

Now, I don't know the interworkings of MCs, but I have a feeling that it's not all sunshine and rainbows. I've seen Alpha with his hands covered in blood that's not his own, and I've also seen Whiskey with what I know is a literal smoking gun. I'm not one hundred percent oblivious to their lifestyle. It's rare people are here.

I'm not scared of that other side of him. There's nothing to be afraid of. He does what he does to protect people. He does what he does against people who hurt those who are innocent. He does what he does to stop the suffering and pain of others. 

I think that's more admirable than most who do nothing. I think with that, he also feels that he needs to make up for the shitty things he's done in the past. He hasn't told me, but I know how to read between the lines. 

He has a guilt in him that leads him into putting himself in harm's way for those who deserve it, possibly getting in lots of trouble with the law for those who deserve it. We all have things to heal from. In some ways, the MC is the way he started to heal and has continued to.

That can be both a beautiful and dangerous thing.

I don't want his guilt to take him too far.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just thinking."

"About what?"

"Life and how backward it can be."

"Ew, don't think about it. I try not to."

Wouldn't that be a part of the problem?

"Why don't I take you home?"

"Tank, so forward."

He blushes, profusely trying to cover up what that sounded like. I lay a hand on his shoulder and reassure him I was only teasing. He's so cute.

"I could go for some leftovers right about now."

"Are you inviting me inside?"

"Maybe."

"My goodness, pumpkin. I told you that I wanted to take this slow."

"Oh, shut up."

We say thank you to the dance teacher before making our way back to his motorcycle. The ride back to my apartment building is about twenty minutes, but it's enough time for me to feel the chill in the air. That's another thing I don't get. 

If he rides a motorcycle in the wintertime, what does he do when it gets extremely cold out? I'm not entirely sure if it snows in Westmoor because I haven't been here long enough to see it, but it's still fucking cold out. At least to me. I don't know if I could survive just riding a motorcycle. He has to drive a car at some point, right?

When getting off, I use his shoulder per usual, but I take it slow this time. I'm kind of nervous about him seeing my apartment. It's very me. It looks like I shoved all the energy and vulnerability in me into one space. 

Everything has a calming effect. It's all plain and minimalistic and yet chaotic at the same time. There are a lot of minimalist paintings on the wall and blankets everywhere, so a lot is happening in a space where nothing is happening. That doesn't make any sense at all.

He lays a hand on my back, leaning down to my ear from behind me.

"I don't have to go in if you don't want me to, pumpkin."

"I know. I just-no one besides me has seen it. And it's my space, and it's weird and it's not for everyone you know? So it's like I want you to go in there, but I also don't want you to judge me for my design choices cause it's the best space for me. But I can get embarrassed about it because it's a vulnerable space for me. Shit, I was just rambling. I'm just nervous."

Tank turns me around, brushing his fingers through the loose strands of my hair that hang over my shoulder.

"I'm not going to judge you or your space. It's your apartment. Decorate it how you want. I'm thankful that you trust me in your space. If you want me to leave or not even go in, I'll go."

I nod my head, taking his hand in mine, and leading him into the building. He stands behind me protectively as we wait for the elevator, one of his hands resting on my upper hip. I lean my back against the front of him, displaying some affection but not enough to make anyone else uncomfortable. 

Unless they are super against PDA and can't even stand the sight of handholding, then maybe they will be uncomfortable. I'm not super into PDA either. I guess I don't mind it with Tank because it doesn't feel forced, and he doesn't make it weird, but even this is a little awkward for me. I would say that I'll still getting used to someone wanting to be seen with me.

The elevator door dings open, and we wait for a moment, letting the other tenants get off. We find ourselves stepping into an elevator alone, no one else following behind us. Maybe they are worried we are going to Fifty Shades Darker them. 

I wish I could reassure you that it wouldn't happen and that we aren't at that point in our relationship yet without it sounding fucking crazy. We stand on opposite ends of the elevator, sneaking glances at each other across the empty space. 

His chest heaves, his fists clenching, his jawline tight. Is he trying to make this harder for me? Is he trying to give me a heart attack? It seriously feels that way.

Thankfully, the elevator door opens on the fifth floor before I collapse onto the ground, my sigh of relief leaving my throat. I hear a brief chuckle exit Tank's mouth but he doesn't acknowledge anything. I unlock my apartment door and let it swing open. 

I kick off my shoes at the entrance and dash into my bedroom, not wanting to see his initial reaction. When I come back into the main part of my apartment where my kitchen and living room are located, I see him staring in awe at the various black and white paintings on my walls. 

Along with the plants hanging from shelves that also stack books. He moves around the rest of my space, opening the refrigerator and nodding when he sees that it's full of food and becomes extremely excited when he sees my collection of Marvel merchandise. 

I wouldn't say I'm a megafan of Marvel, I've never gone to ComicCon or anything like that (not that I have enough money to), but I've invested a lot of time and money into other areas of the MCU franchise. I just love it. It makes me happy.

And sometimes sad, really really sad.

"I love your apartment, pumpkin."

"You do?"

"It's perfect. It represents you so well. I love it a lot."

"Are you hungry?" I ask, needing to change to subject.

"I could eat. I mean, if you're gonna eat."

It'll distract me from my anxiety. I know he's not judging me. Logically, I know he's not judging my apartment. I trust this man more than anyone I've ever known. I truly know that he isn't judging anything about me based on my apartment that's clean and perfectly fine. 

There's absolutely nothing wrong with my apartment. I know these things. And even if he didn't like all my design choices, it doesn't matter. However, my brain is exploding with the idea that my apartment isn't good enough and because it represents me as a person, it means I'm not good enough and therefore, he's never going to want to speak to me again. 

Why my brain is telling me that, I don't know. My brain is a complete fucking liar, but I can't stop thinking that he's never going to want to talk to me again because of something as ridiculous as my apartment which he already said he loved. My brain is so weird.