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Page 29 of Code Name: Tank (K19 Sentinel Cyber #4)

“Atticus also sent a message.” Tank pulled out his phone, scrolling to find it. “He said, ‘Tell Dragon that getting shot to solve a case is definitely overachieving, even for her. Next time, leave the dramatic heroics to the rest of us.’”

Despite my pain, I found myself laughing, which immediately made me wince. “That sounds like him.”

“He also said to tell you he’s keeping your desk organized until you get back, which apparently means he’s not touching anything and warning everyone else not to either.”

The thought of my teammates caring for me, protecting even my workspace in my absence, brought fresh tears to my eyes. “Outside of my parents, I’ve never had this before,” I whispered.

“What?”

“People who truly, genuinely care.”

“Well, you have it now. All of us. For as long as you want us.”

As if my body was finally allowing itself to relax now that I knew I was truly safe, exhaustion began pulling at me again. My eyelids grew heavy despite my desire to keep talking to Tank.

“Rest,” he murmured. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Always, darlin’. Always.”

As consciousness faded, I held tight to his hand and to the knowledge that I’d finally found what I was searching for without even knowing it—not just love, but a true partner. Someone who would fight for me, stay with me, and never let me face the darkness alone.

When I woke again, the light outside had shifted, suggesting I’d slept for several more hours. Tank was still in his chair beside me, but something had changed. His clothes were different—clean and his hair looked like he’d actually showered—and he seemed more alert, more present.

“You look better,” I managed, my voice still hoarse but stronger than before.

His smile was rueful. “Well, I had some help with that.” He reached for my hand, threading our fingers together. “Piper, I need to tell you something. When you were in surgery, when I thought...” He paused, gathering himself. “I called my dad. Told him I might lose you.”

My heart squeezed at the raw emotion in his voice.

“They caught the first flight they could get and drove up from Albany,” he continued.

“My parents, Cam, Carter, and the kids. They got here about seven hours after I called them—you were still in surgery at the time.” Tank’s thumb traced across my knuckles.

“They’ve been taking shifts, making sure I ate, forcing me to shower and change clothes.

My mom found ingredients and cooked enough food to feed the entire hospital staff. ”

“They came all this way for me?” I whispered, stunned.

“For us,” Tank corrected. “You should have seen my mom when she got here. She went directly to the charge nurse and announced that her son’s girlfriend was in surgery and she needed to know everything was being done properly.”

Despite everything, I found myself smiling. “She really did that?”

Tank chuckled. “She did. Then she proceeded to charm the entire nursing staff with her cookies and convinced them to bend about six different hospital policies.”

The image of his family caring about me, worrying about me, made my chest tight with emotion. “They’re here?”

“Yep. They rented the same camp again where they stayed at Thanksgiving.” Tank’s expression grew more serious. “Piper, they want to see you when you’re feeling up to it. But there’s no pressure. You need to focus on getting better first.”

“I want to see them,” I said. “When do the doctors think I can leave?”

“Maybe another day or two if your recovery continues at this pace. But when you’re discharged.

..” Tank hesitated. “I was hoping you’d let me take you to Cedar Point.

Let my family take care of you while you recover.

The master bedroom is on the main floor, so you wouldn’t have to deal with stairs.

My mom is already planning what she’s going to cook for you. ”

The offer was so thoughtful that it brought more tears to my eyes. “I couldn’t impose like that. Your parents and Cam’s family would have to stay upstairs?—”

“Piper,” Tank interrupted. “They volunteered. Actually, my mom insisted. She said, and I quote, ‘That girl saved our son’s heart, and now she’s family. We take care of our own.’”

I stared at him, moved by the generosity of people who barely knew me. “She really said that?”

“She did. And she meant every word.” Tank lifted our joined hands to his lips. “What do you say? Will you let us take care of you?”

The old me would have protested, would have insisted I could manage on my own. But lying here, feeling loved and protected and surrounded by care, I realized I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I wanted to be part of something bigger than myself.

“Yes,” I said. “I’d love that.”

Tank’s smile was radiant. “Good. Because based on the text I just received, they’re all waiting in the family lounge down the hall. Turns out the homemade cookies she brings each time open a lot of doors around here.”

“They’re here now?” My pulse quickened with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

“Would you like to see them? I can tell them to come back later if you’re not feeling up to it.”

I thought about Tank’s family—the warmth they’d shown me at Thanksgiving and the way they’d welcomed me without question. The way they’d driven through the night because they thought I might die. These people who’d claimed me as family before I even fully claimed myself.

“I want to see them,” I said firmly. “All of them.”

Tank’s face lit up. “I’ll go get them. Fair warning, though—my mom’s going to cry, Powell’s going to want to tell you about every level he’s beaten on his video games since Thanksgiving, and Sophie’s going to insist on showing you all the drawings she made for you.”

“That sounds perfect,” I said and meant it.

As he stood to leave, I caught his hand. “Tank?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Thank you. For staying. For calling them. For everything.”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Thank you for surviving, Piper. For fighting to come back to me.”

“Always,” I whispered, the word a promise.

As he headed toward the door to collect his family—our family—I felt something settle deep in my chest. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t just surviving. I was finally home.

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