Tank stood outside his eighteen-wheeler at a truck stop in Virginia, the crisp night air wrapping around him as he took a long drag of his cigarette. The glowing ember flared between his fingers, the nicotine settling his nerves after hours on the road. He exhaled slowly, his sharp, light brown eyes watching the steady movement of truckers pulling in and out, men hauling cargo from one end of the country to the other.

He was en route to Maine from Georgia, hauling a Walmart shipment, the same routine he had been following since he was eighteen. Now, at twenty-two, he was already a veteran on the road. The money was solid, and the solitude didn't bother him. If anything, the open road was better than being stuck at home. He loved his family, sure, but they could be overbearing. Always asking too many questions, always up in his business.

He preferred silence. Preferred peace.

As he flicked the ashes from his cigarette, something or other, someone caught his eye.

A young Black woman was moving across the lot, dragging a suitcase behind her, a backpack snug on her shoulders, and a duffel bag slung across her body. She looked jittery, her head snapping over her shoulder every few seconds as if she expected someone to grab her. The soft glow of the streetlights illuminated her face; pretty, brown skin, youthful but weary. She was dressed simply in black leggings, a sweater, and some Nikes, but there was urgency in her steps.

Tank took another pull of his cigarette before calling out.

"What you doin' 'round here with all that luggage?"

She stopped abruptly, her eyes locking onto his. There was hesitation, then a deep breath before she spoke.

"Trying to run away."

That got his attention.

"From who?"

He had seen plenty of messy breakups on the road. Women stranded at rest stops by no-good men. Some truckers were cheaters. Some were on the down low. Drama came with the lifestyle. But something about the way she said it, the weight in her voice felt different.

"My stepfather," she admitted, adjusting the straps of her bags.

Tank frowned. "Why?"

She shifted again, as if the weight of her baggage was more than just physical. Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper.

"Because he thinks that since I'm eighteen, he can touch on me because I live in his house."

A sharp pulse of anger flared in Tank's chest. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself.

"And ya mama?"

Kayla scoffed, her disgust evident. "She looked the other way. Told me to let him since he pays all the bills."

Tank clenched his jaw, flicking his cigarette onto the pavement before crushing it under his boot. He had seen and heard a lot on the road, but that? That was some straight-up evil.

"So what you tryna do? Hide?"

Kayla glanced around nervously. "I don't know. I just gotta go. I don't have nowhere to go, but I can't stay here."

Tank studied her. He knew the kind of men that prowled truck stops. Predators. Some of them would see a girl like her and take advantage. Hell, some would promise her a ride only to leave her stranded or worse.

"You need to be careful," he said, his voice low but firm. "Most truckers prey on young women like you."

Before she could respond, a deep, gruff voice called out in the distance.

"Kayla!"

Her breath hitched. Her wide brown eyes darted toward the sound before locking onto Tank's.

"That's him," she whispered. "Help me. Please."

Tank hesitated for only a second. He didn't plan on getting involved in someone else's mess, but the fear in her eyes struck him hard.

"Get in," he ordered.

She didn't waste a second, yanking open the passenger door and ducking inside. Tank grabbed her bags, throwing them behind the driver's seat into the sleeper area before shutting the door.

Just as he was climbing back into the truck, a big, greasy-looking man came stomping toward him. Dark-skinned, fat, and fuming, the man reeked of sweat and beer.

"Hey!" the man barked. "You seen a Black girl with braids and a sweater?"

Tank leaned against the doorframe, cool as ever. He could feel Kayla trembling beside him, still crouched down.

"Nah, man," he lied smoothly. "Saw someone run toward the restrooms, though."

The man grunted, scanning the lot. "Shit. Thanks."

Tank gave him a lazy nod before shutting the door, locking it. He cranked the engine, feeling Kayla's shaky breaths beside him.

He sighed.

This was not what he had planned for the night.

As the truck rumbled to life, he pulled out of the lot, the headlights slicing through the darkness. He didn't know where this was going, but he knew one thing: he wasn't about to let her go back to that monster.

A few minutes passed before he finally spoke.

"What's ya name?"

"Kayla," she answered, finally sitting up. "And you?"

"My name's Tyler. But everybody calls me Tank."

She gave him a curious look. "Why Tank?"

Tank smirked. "Grew up with a big-ass head."

Kayla let out a soft laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit.

"So... where we going?"

"To Maine. Got a load to drop off in Bangor."

Kayla nodded. "Where's the load coming from?"

"Augusta, Georgia."

She smiled slightly. "So that's why you got that thick accent."

"Nah, baby," he grinned, flashing his pearly whites. "This accent come straight outta Mississippi. But I got kinfolk in Augusta."

She nodded, fiddling with the strings of her sweater. "Where you live?"

"On the road," he said simply. "But when I ain't drivin', I stay just outside Atlanta."

Tank looked at her before focusing on the road again, "You gotta plan?"

Kayla was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "I don't really got a plan... but I need to figure something out before we get to Maine. I got a thousand dollars saved. That's all I got."

Tank nodded, gripping the wheel. "We got two days 'fore we hit Bangor. Hopefully, I can pick up a load headin' back south, give you time to think."

She exhaled, relief evident in her voice. "Thank you. You're an angel."

"Nah," Tank smirked. "I'm just a gentleman. Besides, when Judgment Day come, at least I know I did somethin' right."

Kayla studied him. "A God-fearing man?"

"Yes indeed," he said. "You believe in the Lord?"

"Absolutely. Even if I stray from the word sometimes..."

"That's alright. God knows ya heart."

Kayla smiled, a real one this time. "I know for sure God is real. If I didn't before, I do now."

Tank nodded toward the sleeper area. "If you tired, you can lay down back there. Ain't much, but it's somethin'. If you hungry, I got a Hot Pocket. Otherwise, we stoppin' in Newark in a few hours. You can grab somethin' then."

Kayla gave him a grateful look. "Thank you, Tank."

She climbed into the back, settling onto the queen-size mattress. She peeled off her sweater and leggings, changing into a tank top and shorts before slipping beneath the sheets.

For the first time in five days, the first time since she turned eighteen, she felt safe.

No predatory stares. No unwanted touches. Just quiet.

And for that, Kayla felt indebted to Tank.

Tank eased the truck into the parking lot of a 24-hour diner just off the highway in Newark. The neon lights flickered, casting a soft glow over the row of semi-trucks parked along the edge of the lot. He shifted into park and glanced toward the back, where Kayla was still curled up on the queen-size mattress.

She looked relaxed for the first time since he picked her up, her long legs stretched out, her tank top riding up slightly as she lay on her side. She was scrolling through her phone, probably trying to figure out her next move, but when he cut the engine, she looked up at him with uncertainty in her eyes.

"We here?" she asked, her voice still groggy from resting.

"Yeah," he nodded, rubbing a hand over his beard. "Figured we'd grab something to eat before getting back on the road."

Kayla hesitated, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the mattress. "You sure it's safe? What if somebody recognizes me from Richmond?"

Tank chuckled, shaking his head. "Ain't nobody in Newark worried about what's goin' on in Richmond," he assured her. "More importantly, you grown. You eighteen, legal. You don't owe nobody an explanation for bein' here."

She bit her lip, her fingers playing with the hem of her shorts. "Still..."

Tank exhaled through his nose, understanding her fear. He had seen too many young women running from something—or someone. He knew it wasn't as easy as just up and leaving. The past had a way of trying to catch up, even when you thought you'd outrun it.

"You good," he reassured her, his tone firm but gentle. "But listen, before we go in there..." His eyes flicked down to her outfit, those little shorts barely covering anything, the thin tank top leaving her arms and shoulders bare. He leaned back against his seat, shaking his head. "You might wanna throw somethin' over that."

Kayla frowned, looking down at herself like she was just now realizing how much skin she was showing. "Why?"

Tank scoffed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Because truck stops and diners like this? Ain't always the safest for women. Especially young ones dressed like that. Men in there be lookin' for easy prey, and I ain't tryin' to have to knock nobody out over you tonight."

Kayla rolled her eyes but stood up anyway, grabbing the hoodie she had stuffed in her duffel bag. "Fine," she muttered, slipping it over her head. It was oversized, hanging down past her shorts, making her look smaller than she already was.

"Good," Tank said, eyeing her with approval before reaching for the door handle. "Let's go eat."

Kayla followed him out, sticking close as they walked toward the diner entrance. The smell of grease and coffee hit them the moment they stepped inside. The place was half-full, mostly truckers, a few late-night travelers, and a waitress who looked like she had been there since the beginning of time.

Tank led them to a booth in the corner, giving Kayla the seat against the wall so she had a clear view of the room. He slid into the opposite side, stretching his long legs out under the table.

A waitress with bright red lipstick and tired eyes walked over, smacking a piece of gum. "What can I get y'all?"

Tank didn't even look at the menu. "Steak and eggs. Black coffee."

Kayla hesitated before opening her own menu. "Um... pancakes and bacon?"

The waitress scribbled it down. "You want coffee too, sugar?"

Kayla nodded. "Yeah, please."

As the waitress walked away, Tank leaned back, his eyes studying Kayla. "You always been this paranoid?"

She sighed, picking at the edge of the menu. "I just don't wanna slip up. My stepfather ain't stupid. If he's looking for me, he might try to track my debit card, so I gotta be careful where I use it."

Tank nodded slowly. Smart girl.

"I can cover this," he offered, pulling his wallet out.

Kayla looked up sharply. "No, I got it."

"I know you do," he said, amused at her stubbornness. "But I got it this time. Save your money for when you really need it."

She studied him for a moment before nodding, letting him have this one.

As they waited for their food, she rested her elbows on the table, watching him. "Why you so nice to me?"

Tank smirked. "Who said I was nice?"

Kayla laughed softly, the sound surprising both of them. "You are," she admitted. "Most men wouldn't have stopped. They would've either ignored me or tried to take advantage."

Tank shrugged, sipping his coffee. "Ain't my style."

Their food arrived, and they ate in comfortable silence. Kayla hadn't realized how hungry she was until she took her first bite, practically inhaling her pancakes. Tank watched her with a smirk but didn't say anything, just let her eat.

Once they were done, he paid the check, and they walked back out to the truck. As Kayla climbed inside, she let out a deep breath, her shoulders finally relaxing.

"Thank you," she said, her voice softer this time.

Tank glanced at her as he started the engine. "For what?"

"For not being like the rest of them."

He let that sit for a moment before shaking his head. "Get some rest, Kayla. We got a long ride ahead."

She nodded and climbed into the back, slipping under the covers again. As Tank pulled out of the parking lot, she watched the diner fade into the distance, realizing that for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel completely alone.

And that? That was everything.