1. Novel

  2. Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

  3. Severed Heart: Chapter 31
Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

Severed Heart: Chapter 31

I RELIVE EVERY HEAVENLY second of the last few hours with Delphine as I shower and pull on my briefs. Every one of those moments blissful in recollection. Our physical coupling so incredibly natural from the onslaught. The feel of her bare, a first for me, was utter fucking perfection. The discussion of protection unnecessary since I chauffeured her to her OB one afternoon before we went fishing to get her birth control shot. An appointment she said she hasn’t missed since she was a teenager.
The conversation even less pressing for now as my chest thuds steadily at the fact I’m the only one. Not her first, but with the solidified ambition to be her last. Heart alight that our season has finally come, I’m towel drying my hair when I exit my bathroom, stopping short when I see my dad waiting for me.
Perched at the end of my bed, he stares at me expectantly as the anger I tempered last night threatens to rush me. Instead of entertaining it—or him—I continue dressing around the elephant in my room as if he’s not there. Getting back to Delphine and sorting us out is the only thing I’m concerning myself with today. That and a celebration with my brothers—my true family. Especially with Tobias due to pop up at the house anytime this morning.
Tension grows thick as I pull on my jeans, certain my dad’s about to spill some bullshit about Grace. Excuses that, at this point, I don’t give enough of a fuck about to hear, though he surprises me when he finally speaks. “Your recruiter came by last night,” he grinds out. “Says you’ve been visiting him for over a year.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” I quip absently, pulling down a T-shirt and grabbing my sneakers, “you’ve been busy, right?”
“I haven’t fucking slept, Tyler.” I look over to see his eyes are red-rimmed, and his hair is thoroughly picked through. “When were you planning on telling me?”
The rage I managed to suppress since I left that gas station last night starts to filter back in with his demanding delivery and confrontational tone.
“Tyler, when were you going to tell me?” he presses.
Walking over to my nightstand, I feel the weight of his expectant stare on me as I plug my cell in to charge before pocketing my wallet and keys.
“I deserve an answer,” he growls as I make my way toward my bedroom door, and he grips my forearm to stop me from passing him.
“Tyler, damn it. Talk to me.”
Ripping my arm from his grip, my chest bounces with my sardonic laugh as the anger slams into me full force. “You really want to force this, huh, to have a discussion about my future?”
His features twist in confusion at the amount of hostility coming from me. I cross my arms inches from his face, which turns indignant as he bites out his words. “I get that you’re pissed at me, but you need to right your tone and your posture, Son. I raised you better than that.”
“Let’s be honest, my mother raised me, and your fucking demand for respect at this point is laughable, Carter.”
His face reddens. “I’ve had just about enough of you treating me like I’m fucking beneath you. I know I’ve made some mistakes—”
“Mistakes,” I scoff at his audacity. “All right, Dad, I’ll grant you your demanded father-son chat to talk about my future, but before we do, how about you answer a question for me first?”
He nods, his anxious eyes weighing my every move.
“So, I had a little run-in with your mistress last night.”
His expression immediately screws up into one of guilt as he emits a low, “I ended that a long time ago.”
“Yeah, good on you. But what was news to me is that her husband owns a gas station I frequent, and she sings in the choir at First Baptist. Things I’m sure you know, but what really surprised me was the toddler on her hip.”
“Like I said, I ended that a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t answer my question. That toddler has our eyes, Dad. Looks a lot like he could be fathered by a Jennings.”
“What?” His reddening face immediately starts to lose color.
“That’s what you couldn’t forgive Mom for, right? That’s her only unforgivable sin toward you. So, did you even the score? Is Zach yours? Sure looks like he could be yours.”
“Of course fucking not. Jesus Christ, Son, no.” He scrubs his face with his palm. “Is that what you think of me?”
“I don’t know, Carter.” I bend, palms on my knees, as I look him right in the eyes. “But wouldn’t you agree that the nature of this fucking conversation alone and the fact that these are the questions your only son is asking you disqualifies you from parenting him or having any current say in his life or future?”
“The hell?” he grits out. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah, I absolutely fucking do. I meant it a long time ago. I’m done, been done.” I glance around my childhood bedroom as resignation sets in. “And I think it’s past time I start living that decision.”
Stalking over to my closet, I grab a duffle and begin packing it.
“What?” Dad stands as I start to stuff what I can into the bag. “What the fuck does that mean? What the hell are you doing? Tyler, stop.”
“I’m leaving, exiting stage left because I’m done playing part of the doting, loyal, loving son in the fucking farce you and Mom are still calling a family. This ceased to be my home a long time ago.”
“Stop,” he snaps in a harsh whisper. “Tyler, I’m doing all I can to make things right.” He grips the bag in protest. “Talk to me, Son. Don’t do this.” He glances out of my open door to the closed door across the hall, where Mom still sleeps. Eyes filling with trepidation, he looks back at me. “She’ll never forgive me.”
“Guess it doesn’t matter that I won’t either.”
“Of course it fucking matters. I’m trying,” he releases in exasperation, keeping his hand on my packed bag. We enter a brief fucking idiotic tug of war before I release it, and he stumbles back with the bag at his chest.
“Jesus, fucking keep it,” I drawl with an ironic shake of my head. “I no longer want or need shit from you, and I can’t handle another second of the liability that comes with being your son.” I glare over at him. “Do you have any idea what it felt like looking at that kid and thinking that he might be . . .” The admission burns me, and I allow that burn to lace my resignation. “So yeah, I mean it. I’m fucking done with you.”
“Tyler,” he utters, tears shining in his eyes. “I swear to God, that’s not the truth.”
“Maybe, but here’s my truth. I can’t forgive you, Dad. I’ve tried so hard. But every time I start to, something like this happens, reminding me of how far you went and selfishly dragged us down with you.” Biting my lip, I dart my eyes outside my open door at the family photo hanging between our bedrooms and turn back to him, giving him brutal honesty. “You brought her here,” I whisper for my mother’s sake, “into our home—”
“Son—” he starts, voice strangled as he drops the bag.
“I heard you fucking her,” I admit hoarsely. “I heard you destroying our family. You didn’t protect me from that, and it’s probably the one and only time I’ve ever needed your protection in the years you weren’t here. Until you became the one I needed protection from.”
His eyes spill over as he lowers them. “I’m so—”
“Even if I can forgive that, you didn’t protect her. Purposely insisting you drive the fucking truck that day and endangering her life.”
He slowly lifts his shame-filled eyes back to mine.
“It’s true then . . .” I bite my lip and nod, “I suspected it, but you just confirmed it because I know you. I spent most of my life trying to become your replica, but I’ve spent the last year undoing that. I think I can forgive the way you tortured us day in and day out with your bullshit because of your pain. I can forgive you for a lot, but what I can’t make peace with or forgive you for is that you almost took my mother away when you already took my father . . . so for that, I’m leaving. And for that, you’re going to let me go.”
We stand for long seconds on opposite sides of his mistakes, the ache between us unbearable, before he finally bends and zips the duffle. Lifting it, he offers the handle to me as silent tears start to pour from his eyes.
“Okay, S-Son,” he croaks, “you take it and whatever else you n-need.” His whisper is guttural as I slowly lift my hand and take the duffle. “Do you n-need money?” His voice shakes as he scrambles to pull out his wallet before pinching the entirety of the stack of bills inside—the sight of his desperation gutting me.
“No, Dad, stop.” I grimace as the pain lancing through me becomes harder to manage. “You don’t get to make me feel guilty for this,” I declare to us both.
“I k-know.” His features pinch. “But I-I’ll b-be here.” He falters, his face crumbling as his voice continually cracks on every word. “I-if you decide that you can try to forgive me.” He swallows, his tears flowing with his apologies. “I’m sorry,” he expels. “I’m so sorry. I love you, and no matter what, y-you’re my son, and I’m s-sorry.” He falters again, and I watch the visible shatter in him as his worry for me surfaces.
“P-please be safe,” he begs, “p-please c-call us, ca-call your mother,” he bargains, his fear painfully evident. The sting in my throat increases, leaving me unable to do anything but nod as my eyes start to burn. Though I can feel the break I’m causing in the man standing feet away, I can’t heal my own, let alone his. It’s too deep. The finality of what’s happening shatters something inside. Something buried. As I stare at my father, I realize it’s most likely what hope I had remaining.
“Just tell Mom I’ll call her later,” I manage as I take a step for the door.
“Please don’t leave like this,” he sobs, dropping his wallet at his feet before covering his eyes with his fists. His face twists in devastation and I crack wide open at the sight of it, my eyes spilling over as I give him all I can—my truth.
“I can’t live under this roof with you any longer with the way I feel about you, but if you truly want my forgiveness,” I relay before he slowly lowers his fists and searches my face, eyes earnest. “Love and treat her the way she deserves.” I swallow as I harden my stare. “But if you can’t love her like that anymore, if you’re no longer capable, let her fucking go.”
He nods, drops his gaze, and steps back in defeat, openly crying as I grip the strap at my shoulder, letting out a pain-fueled exhale.
Turning, I take a few steps toward the door and force myself to stop at the threshold, knowing I won’t be able to live with myself if I leave without saying it. “I love you too, Dad.”
A harsh breath leaves him, his muffled cries following me as I stalk out of my room. I feel his eyes on my back as I slip out the front door and softly close it behind me. And with that act, I free myself from the slow suffocation of living under the same roof as the man who almost destroyed me. Heart seizing with every step, I’m reminded I’ve made another home inside the woman I love and begin the march toward my future.
* * *
Minutes later, I’m stuffing my duffle into my truck, still parked curbside at Delphine’s, feeling Dom’s weighted gaze on me from where he sits on the porch in the lone rusted spring chair. His question sounds from over the rail as I make my way to the porch to see him rolling a joint.
“Going somewhere?” he asks.
“Not yet, but it looks like you’re about to,” I joke as he seals it closed.
“What’s with the duffle?” he asks.
“It’s a story for another time. I don’t really want to get into it.” He stands as I palm the handle of the storm door. “Let’s just say I won’t be heading home for the holidays any year soon—if ever.”
His eyes snap to my profile before I pass through the door, and he trails me into the kitchen. His prodding gaze remains unrelenting as I pour each of us a cup of freshly brewed coffee and hand his over.
“It was a long time coming, Dom,” I finally say after taking a sip. “Sorry to ask already, but I’m going to need my cut from last night to hole up somewhere temporarily until I’m off to march.”
“You can stay here,” he offers without missing a beat.
“Nah,” I say, “thanks, but I’ll figure it out.”
“You’ll have it tonight, but brother, if you—”
“I’m good, man, swear,” I say, ending the Q & A. Feeling his inner struggle just after, in one of his rare efforts to mute himself, I divert. “I got your text, but how did it go?”
“Exactly like you mapped it,” he says, finding a grin, “and it feels fucking good.” He runs a hand down his face. “But fuck, I’m wiped.”
“You haven’t slept yet?” I ask, knowing the answer while trying to convince him I don’t. He expected me here until he came home, so my truck parked at the curb doesn’t require explanation. My alibi sadly aided by the baggage I brought with me and my new predicament.
“I’ve been covering up our tracks for a few hours.”
“And?” I ask.
“We’re golden,” he says, refilling his coffee before thinking better of it. “Fuck, I’m too drained to even attempt this day without sleep.”
“I think I’m going to go for a quick run,” I say, far too restless to stay idle as I ditch my coffee cup and head toward the sliding glass door. Dom follows me out back, sparking up his joint as he scans our surroundings, which are slowly starting to tint and brighten with the sunrise.
“I’m going to smoke this, log on for a few, and then crash,” he relays as I jump the fence. “Wake me up when he gets here.”
No question who he is as I grin over at him. “You knew he was coming?”
His smirk turns into a full smile. “I know a lot, but I pick and choose when I want to let anyone else in on it.” He gives me a pointed look.
“You got something particular in mind you want to disclose?” I ask, point-blank.
“Not at the moment, you?” he counters.
“Nothing in particular, except that you’re a dick,” I supply, stretching my hamstrings.
“Old news. You should probably rest up, too. I’m thinking that French bastard is going to keep us busy.”
“You’re French too, you know,” I say, starting my run as his reply follows me.
“Prove it,” he calls to my back.
Racing with the sun as it lights the day, I manage to reach my mileage goal despite my exhaustion. I’m cooling down when Dom’s bleeding speakers reach me as I hit the driveway. The volume becoming obnoxiously louder with every step I take toward the house. Once inside, I glance down the hallway to see his door is closed. Though I can’t help but think he’s purposely doing it to torture his only roommate.
Shortly after, said roommate appears looking pissed and doesn’t even glance my way after stalking down the hall. It’s the sight of the pint in the pocket of her robe that has dread seeping into me. Batting all ill feelings away—knowing Dom’s early morning serenade is most likely the reason for her current mood—I trail her into the kitchen as she pours her coffee.
“He’s such a dick. Whether you refuse to spar with him or not, you have the divine right to raise hell to anyone blasting fucking music at seven in the damned morning.”
She doesn’t so much as acknowledge me as she tightens her robe. Dread courses through me at the sight of the gesture as I trace her every movement. After dispersing her ritual powdered pain reliever on her tongue, she uncharacteristically washes it down with vodka.
“Hey,” I whisper, “you don’t drink in the mornings and have nothing to feel guilty for. Come on, don’t start today this way. Talk to me.”
As if in contempt, she unscrews her bottle and takes an overly numbing sip, not bothering to spare me a glance before I rip it away. She doesn’t react at all when some of the liquor spills between us before she turns and pours some coffee. Snatching the bottle from the counter where I just deposited it, she free-pours it in.
“Damn it, stop numbing and talk to me.”
When she refuses to look at me, my patience starts to wear thin.
“All right, fuck, so if you’re going to try to do this, you’re going to look me in the eye and fucking do it sober.”
Nostrils flaring, she finally lifts her eyes to mine. Void, vacant, no emotion to be found. By the glazed look, it seems she’s already well over a few drinks in.
Fuck.
Hold steady, Jennings—first battle of many.
Her words come out low and laced with ire. “You insult me so gravely last night and have the nerve to behave as if you are insulted?”
“What?” I furrow my brows.
Coffee in one hand, she opens the junk drawer next to her and pulls out a piece of paper before thrusting it toward me. I take it to see that it’s an invoice for the ceiling repair. I sink where I stand as the guilt for my assumption resurfaces.
“I’m—”
“He forgot to leave the invoice after patching my ceiling. I was already in my robe, ready to take a bath, when he knocked.” It’s then that dread covers me as her glare turns accusatory. “But what do you assume when you see a man in my driveway? You assumed I fucked a repair man just to prove a point to you?”
“Delphine, I’m sorry, I am. I—”
“I give you my trust and friendship, and you drew that conclusion so easily with your jealous fucking love.”
“Jesus.” I palm the counter, ducking to keep her eyes when she lowers them. “I thought we were okay.”
“You thought wrong, Soldier. Did you once offer a real apology?”
“No.” I palm the back of my neck. “But I’ll beg for your forgiveness now. I was in a really bad state last night. A fucked headspace before I got here. I had just run into my dad’s mistress—”
“Sounds familiar.” She tilts her head.
“Don’t,” I snap in warning. “Don’t compare me to him.”
“Why not? This is a pattern I know very well. That is how it started with Alain. First, it was a declaration of devotion to win my heart and trust. Of how he loved me. That his dreams were my own. It was a living dream until he started to get in his moods.” She opens the drawer next to her. “He was in a bad place mentally, too, when he slammed my hand in this drawer for palming Ormand’s shoulder when he made me laugh.”
“Fuck,” I whisper, taking a step toward her, reading just how volatile the situation is as she holds up a damning palm to stop me, lifting her chin while eyeing the table feet away. “He raped me after, on that table we play Battle on every night. Many times out of jealousy.”
“Jesus Christ,” I utter, my whole being tensing with the pain her admission causes as she casually sips her coffee.
“Do you know why I stay in this fucking house of horrors? Why I don’t fix the roof, scrub the floors, or make any effort to paint the walls blue to make it more like a true home? Because it’s not a home for me but a reminder that love is a fucking liar, a reminder to never believe that lie again.”
“Delphine, please.” I take another step forward, the need to surround her eating my insides.
“You ask me if I ever feel beautiful. Oui, Tyler, when my best friend purposely chooses to spend his free time with me. When he reaches for me in any way other than physical. When he listens, when he takes my words for value without fucking me with his eyes. But you ruined that friendship with your demand for more. So, you are right. There is no going back. Our friendship is over.”
“Please don’t do this. We can work this out. I didn’t mean any of it. We were just okay—at least I thought we were, what the fuck happened?”
“Men have been looking at me the way you are since I was a fucking child. This fucking face, this body, whatever men see, I have paid for it every day since I was a fucking baby. Matis saw it. The way they looked at me.”
I prepare myself for whatever is coming as dread fills me head to toe. She glances out of the window, speaking as if we’re chatting about the weather, even as she drops bombs.
“So, my own papa decided that my virtue—that my worth—was worth a spoon of heroin.”
“Jesus Christ,” I utter, cupping my jaw.
“My consolation is that they killed him for not getting to collect his bet.” She points to herself. “I’m a bad bet, Soldier.”
Both rage and devastation war within me as I step forward, and she steps back twice as far.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
“I can still hear Matis’s pathetic fucking cries as his old army friend ripped me from my papa’s arms to save me from being his sacrifice. I can hear love the fucking liar begging me, so clearly, to forgive him,” she whispers, holding up her shaking hand. “Reaching for me in the snow.”
Her eyes mist, and I visibly see her getting lost in that day as she speaks again, her next whisper barely audible. “Open your eyes, little flower. Please don’t break my heart.”
“Baby, please,” I croak, my insides bottoming out. “Please listen to me, I swear I didn’t mean anything I said in anger. I swear to God. I was in a really bad place. Fuck, I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth.” The need to pull her to me becomes unbearable as her eyes flash briefly with vulnerability.
She’s in there, Jennings. Hold steady.
“That doesn’t change the fact you believe me capable of using a tactic so callous to give you an answer instead of simply speaking one. So, I will make it simple for you. I don’t want your jealous fucking love, Tyler. I don’t want any man’s love for that very reason.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” she delivers with metal eyes in an emotionless tone. “It’s a ridiculous dream you have.”
“You know I would never hurt you.”
“Do I? Just after that insult, did you not use words to try and hurt me in ways you discovered during our friendship? Preying on my weaknesses?”
“I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” I whisper. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
She approaches and stops just next to me, staring down at the counter, her delivery slightly less icy. “I believe that you believe the words you spoke to me about your affection, but those are your words, your desires, not mine.”
That blow strikes hard, despite how well I was prepped for it and whatever else she decides to deliver.
“We were okay when I left. What happened? Where did your mind go?”
It’s when she slowly lifts her resolute gaze up to mine that I know I underestimated just how not okay we were when I left.
“What happened? You happened.” She shakes her head in refusal. “Or maybe I remembered that I come with a high price, Soldier, and you have the look in your eyes of a buyer.”
“Fine.” I swallow. “You don’t think I was already ready to pay for Matis and Alain? Think again. You couldn’t be more fucking wrong. I’ll pay any price you ask because you’re worth it for me.”
“Any price,” she repeats with a sharp nod.
I swallow, knowing I just fucked up.
“Then I ask for a promise.”
“No.”
“Oui. Forget your foolish idea of us. Treat me as if this never happened.”
“Never. Delphine. Never, it’s far too fucking late for that,” I snap. My hackles rise as her darkness begins to fill the room, and her silver eyes dare me to look inside. I face it—her—head-on.
“Then love has made a liar of you already,” she scoffs. “Have you even considered what I want?”
“You want me. You want us. This is bullshit, and I’m not buying it.”
“Fool,” she condemns me. “What I truly want is for you to promise me you will take that look in your eyes, never to bring it back to this house or me. If last night did not satisfy the rest of your curiosity, then your imagination will have to do. It will never happen again.”
“Don’t do this,” I grit out. “You weren’t drunk.”
“I am drunk every night. I do things I regret every day. You are my regret today.”
“You’re lying.”
“Love is the fucking liar, Soldier, and the sooner you learn that, the better soldier you will be.” She swallows, and I can feel her hesitation before she speaks and levels me with her gaze. “Love is lying to you right now. Telling you things are so simple between us, but they are not. The truth you don’t want to hear is that you are an eighteen-year-old boy.”
“You already love me,” I grit out. “Soldier of your heart, your words,” I remind her.
“I love my nephews with what heart remains, and they are all I have left. I won’t be the disgusting aunt who ruined their childhood and humiliated them by fucking their friends. I won’t be the laughingstock of this town who looks so desperate she has to fuck a teenage boy. Go. Do not come back to this house until that look is gone. Go, soldier. This is the last order I will give you.”
“I’m not your—”
“Ah, so then you are not my soldier?” she fires next, crossing her arms. “Your words to me. ‘Your soldier, loyally and faithfully yours’ was another lie?”
I slam my palm on the counter. “This is a truly fucking genius twist, but I’m not that simple-minded, Delphine. You’re being predictable. That’s not the way I fucking meant those words, and you know it.”
“It is the only way those words will ever mean anything to me. Promise me it never happened.”
“Don’t do this.” I bite my lip as I realize just how much power she has over me. How much power I gave her.
She sighs again, snatching the vodka from the counter and unscrewing the cap as I brace myself for the worst.
“Take your crush and go. It’s not welcome here, and if you cannot be adult enough to leave it at home, do not come back.”
“You done?” I ask as her eyes flare.
“You’re right, I’ve been a horrible . . . aunt,” she exhales through swollen lips. Lips I spent hours kissing. Lips which kissed me back just as frenzied, just as tenderly. Lips that are currently spewing lies, anything to distance us.
“I didn’t mean it—”
“As strained as it may be,” she continues, “the relationship I have with my nephews now is far different than years ago. I won’t risk that progress for this little affair you have in your head. I’ve brought enough shame to myself, to my family, to Celine’s memory.”
“Liar, you fucking liar,” I snap. “You were there,” I say, resentment clear as I lower my voice, “in every sense of the word. You felt it. You kissed me back. You pulled me closer. That was you, Delphine. You can’t fucking fake that.”
“It’s a delusion, Tyler. What you want to believe about us is not the truth for me. If you love me as you say you do,” she interjects, her insistent ice eyes steel resolve, “make the promise I am asking for. Forget this ever happened. Treat it—treat me—as if it never did, or my nephews will read the heartbreak on you and have something else to hate me for. They are all I have left.”
“They don’t even fucking see you—” I bite my tongue, knowing I’m playing into her if I strike back with any more insult. Staring back at her, I raise my sword once more.
“I just spent the last two years of my life showering you with every bit of the love I have, proving how kind love can be.”
“And I let you fuck me for it. Do you feel compensated enough”—she tilts her head menacingly—“or entitled to more?”
I gape at her. That blow far too hard-hitting. Unable to swallow, I find myself unable to react, to say a single fucking word in response. To back up any promise I made to her or myself. Instead of fighting, I feel every goddamn word she’s spoken to my core. In truth, she is showing up for battle. For two men. Men that aren’t me but might very well take what residence she has left in her heart.
I knew an excuse was coming, and I knew it would be good, but this . . . I expected to be able to barter with myself and make allowances, to duel with her on anything. But it’s the severity of her dismissal and the fact that I’m guilty of everything she’s accused me of that has me gridlocked.
The way I acted last night, bursting in in a jealous rage, insulting her, and then touching her before pressing her for more physically. It sinks in then that I might have let the wants of my heart rule my head far too much. That I might have misjudged and taken one hellacious overstep assuming she felt the same way. Thinking back, she’s never once said a single word in agreement with me—of a future between us. The words of love and devotion, of a future, were all mine. My heart starts a freefall as I gaze back at her, unable to absorb the blow.
“If I ever made you feel like that,” I rasp out as tears I couldn’t hold if my fucking life depended on it streak my face, “like you owed me, then I have failed you.” I swallow in defeat.
It’s then I see a tiny sliver of remorse snaking through her ice-coated eyes. For the briefest of moments, I glimpse the woman I fell in love with, even as her next words decimate me.
“You didn’t force me, Soldier, and I won’t allow you to think that, but it was a mistake. So I’m asking you now, please, Tyler, never look at me the way you are now again. Push this idea out of your mind and forget it happened. I’m a drunk—”
“Stop,” I wheeze as my heart finally hits the asphalt, the shatter reaching every corner of me, far too many pieces to ever be put back right.
She’s made her decision, and it isn’t me.
A car door sounds, and our eyes snap toward the door and then back to each other as the clock ticks out.
“Promise me, Tyler. If you truly love me as you say you do, promise me you will never come back to this house with that look in your eyes for me.” Her eyes implore mine, desperation seeping from her every pore. “Please, Soldier, promise me.”
“It never happened,” I hear myself say while wishing wholeheartedly it was the truth. Not if this is the payoff of giving so much of yourself to another human being. Of loving them to the point their wants overshadow your own—of loving another more than yourself. Ripping my eyes away, within my next breath, I’m closing the sliding door just as Tobias enters through the front. I catch their muffled greetings before I jump the fence and start at a dead run. As my feet start to pound the asphalt, I feel the silence in my chest pumping while my mind tries to temper the implosion happening throughout the rest of me, forcing my thinking into a one-eighty. Into thinking I don’t need a single thing that I thought I couldn’t live without mere seconds ago—my mind’s way of protecting me as I embrace the lifeline.
Delphine once told me the true genius of a strategist lies within the surprise, and hers was far too damning and honest to be completely contrived.
She chose Tobias and Dom when I never even knew I had that competition, that there would be a choice to make between us. I’m not her decision and will never be. My legs fuel me as the roar in my chest intensifies, a lot of that ache feeling like betrayal and broken faith.
The same faith and trust I had in my father. It’s then I realize I foolishly fused it and projected it all into Delphine. I had given her all I had left, and she destroyed me in the same heartless goddamned way. Made me her world like my father had for a time, just to discard as easily.
Cast out.
Not enough.
For either of them.
A mistake. A mistake. A mistake. The word alone holds more power than almost any other she spoke, and it’s no mystery why. I’ve been paying for mistakes dearly for years, ironically so few of them my own.
Agony races on my heels, threatening to catch up as I pound the asphalt, my empty heartbeat pulsing in my ears. Even as it happens, I begin to shed the weight of their mistakes, brick by brick. A wall made up of the load I’ve been carrying for people who’ve never shown up to do the same for me, for too fucking long.
Weight created by their selfishness and missteps. My every attempt to help them with their burdens thwarted or overlooked. So, as I shed their collective sins, their burdens, I materialize a wall between myself and their fucking decisions, becoming lighter with every step.
Resigned to let their burdens be their own. To let them lie in their beds, weighed down as they battle their own fucking demons, haunts, and the consequences of their missteps.
Faults I can’t camouflage or fix, and I am losing all desire to with every step that distances me from them, growing lighter and lighter as I go.
As I shed the final brick on one side and lay it on the other, I press through the pain, intent on becoming the man I envisioned—my mission the same.
My mission the only thing within my sights. The only thing that matters.
Now, a homeless soldier, but a soldier just the same.
A soldier with a purpose.
Just after I fix my sight, a mental clarity kicks in before a tunnel envelops me, surrounding my view until I’m hyper-focused. Racing toward a pinprick I can so clearly see. It’s then I reach the precipice I’ve been close to reaching for months and finally press past it, finding my freedom with the slow sweep of my eyes.
BLINK. BLACK.
An hour later, I’m a Marine.
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