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  2. Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

  3. Severed Heart: Chapter 40
Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

Severed Heart: Chapter 40

BLINK.
Stalking toward the pin Russell sent, it’s the location adjacent to it that has dread coursing through me as I hasten my steps. I’m already on edge about the fact that Dom picked Delphine up tonight from one of the last of the treatments she has left. That and how Delphine’s body might respond so soon after detox. Some of my anxiety stems from the fact that the start of Delphine’s therapy has been rough on her. My mom came through in a major way for us both, giving me a hug before delivering a light tongue-lashing about visiting home, which I now deem Carter’s house. Just after, she’d postured up like the professional she is.
Though technically, having my mother treat her might be a conflict of interest, I meant what I told Delphine. Regina Jennings is the only one I trust with her. And seeing as how they’ve never met before that day and that we’re not currently romantically involved, Mom is confident she can treat her objectively.
Not only did Regina Jennings take the edge off what I thought would be an awkward introduction to Delphine, but within half an hour, Mom made it to where Delphine felt comfortable enough to send me packing so they could begin their first session.
Therapy has seemed a good start, despite the rough days that have followed. I’ve spent every night of them with her, sleeping across the hall in Dom’s bed, tossing and turning right along with her. Before tonight, some of my anxiety has been from second-guessing if I did the right thing getting her to sort through the trauma that she’s already relived for two fucking decades. But Mom assures me Delphine needs new coping mechanisms along with some much-needed altered perception of thinking about what was done to her. In believing the same, I’m trusting that Mom truly knows best.
Anxious to get back to Delphine but growing even more so as I draw closer to the pin, I switch my focus, stalking toward the shadow standing next to the tree. Dread fills me as I approach and glimpse Russell’s expression and the fact that we’re tucked away in the woods across the street from Peter’s house.
“Tell me right fucking now that he’s okay,” I demand, my soft spot for Peter evident amongst our birds since I recruited him from that jail cell. More obvious now as I scan his pitch-black house with my heart in my throat.
“Physically, yeah, mentally, not good,” Russell says, scanning the house with me.
“What happened?”
“His dad has been coming around the last few weeks. Apparently, one of Peter’s cousins jacked his jaws about how well he was doing and about buying the house and his mom a car. So, of course, out of the fucking gutter comes dear old, drug-addicted Dad, who’s been stalking Peter and his mom collectively ever since. He started by harassing his mom for money at the gas station she works at and claiming rights to see Annabelle. Since then, he’s gotten more aggressive and has been pounding on their door during late hours, demanding money.”
“The fuck?” I grit out. “Why didn’t he come to us?”
“I think he didn’t want to weigh us down with all the shit we have going on. He didn’t even tell me,” he exhales heavily. “He probably assumed his dad would crawl back into the hole he came out of when he got nothing from his threats. But tonight, he fucking busted in the door.”
I don’t need Russell to put a voice to it, knowing precisely what happened next. “Please tell me Annabelle wasn’t here.”
“No, thank God, she’s still with the babysitter, and his mom is working the night shift at the gas station.”
“Were the neighbors home?” With Peter’s house sitting at the end of the last street inside the small subdivision, and the woods we’re standing in facing the front of his house, his only nearby neighbors are to his right.
“Not at the time. They pulled in ten minutes ago.”
“All right, no one was called, no blue lights?”
“No. We’ve already made sure a call wasn’t put in to anyone. It’s likely no one heard it. It was storming pretty hard earlier tonight, which was probably our saving grace.” Russell’s expression dims, his hesitancy earning him an impatient glare from me.
“Stop with the fucking suspense-filled pauses,” I snap. “Lay it all out, now.”
“Sorry, man. It’s just that his dad was rushing him, so it ended up being a point-blank shot that took him down, and it’s extremely fucking messy in that house. I pinged you here to keep traffic to a minimum until we figure out a plan.”
“You made the right call.” I palm his back, and he nods.
“We can access the house by the alley,” he relays.
I scan the quiet street—a street Peter has gone to great lengths to get to from the dilapidated trailer he lived in with a hole the size of a bowling ball in the floor. A hole his father had beaten him unconscious in front of the day he bailed on them. The amount of pride in Peter’s eyes the day he bought his house is one of the reasons I recruited him. A milestone and home that is now and forever tainted by a memory that can’t and won’t be erased. Anxious to get to him, I turn to Russell. “Where is he?”
“Inside,” he sighs, “we tried, man, but he can’t stop staring at him. He’s refusing to leave his side.”
“Fuck.” I palm my neck. “Get Denny out here to clean up, and tell him to bring his strongest mix,” I order. Layla’s fiancé is our most trusted—and now our go-to—when it comes to precisely this type of situation. An expertise of Denny’s that I discovered on a very hard night that I happened to be in town for years back.
“I did. He’s already on his way,” Russell replies, the fear in his tone for Peter amping my own. I press the side button on my G-SHOCK to give me the dimly lit time and keep our cover.
“How long until Mom’s shift ends?”
“Midnight.”
I nod. “Four hours. Plenty of time to make it happen if all birds are on deck. Round up our most discreet, most capable, and delegate. Renovate floor to ceiling and take it out of our piggy bank. I don’t care how it’s done, but get it done. I’ll get him out of there and coach him through how to handle this as we pick up Annabelle.”
“Done.” Russell takes off like a shot armed with our strategy. Minutes later, I step through the back door via the alley. The streetlight adjacent to the backyard streams through the thick kitchen blinds, lighting Peter up in divided, measured shadows where he sits feet away from his father’s lifeless body. The house utterly and eerily silent.
“Give me the room,” I order Jeremy, who’s standing in the kitchen next to the counter, arms crossed, his expression riddled with concern. A heartbeat later, and with one last lingering glance, Jeremy wordlessly slips through the back door as I carefully bypass the pool of coagulating blood before crouching down and palming Peter’s shoulder. Even in the dim light, I can see how pale he is, his expression haunted.
“Look at me, brother,” I whisper, hating the lasting effect this will have on him and knowing the nature of this expression all too well—his first kill. Peter’s tear-filled eyes float over to mine, the agony there unmistakable. It’s then that my instincts about him are confirmed. It’s my job to know the limits of each of our Ravens, and though I had done my best to keep Peter closer to my wing—to shield him from this part of it—I could never truly save him from this fate. Even so, this isn’t in any way an ideal introduction. Peter’s part in our club is that of a criminal mastermind in helping Dom with recon and the planning and execution of heists, not human waste disposal. With that in mind, I keep my gaze steady, my voice just as level. “Look at me, Peter.”
It takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus.
“Tyler,” he croaks, “I’m so sorry, I, am I . . . a-am I out?”
“Keep your eyes on me and hear me. You had no choice. Even if you got him out tonight, he was never going to leave you alone. The first time you gave in and gave him a taste, he would have escalated it. You protected yourself and your family from a threat that was not going to go away. Rest easy. I won’t let you go down for this.”
“Maybe I should,” he croaks, “I killed my own dad.” He swallows as a tear glides along his jaw. “Who does that?”
“A son and brother who will do anything to protect their family. We’ll get through this. I swear to you, brother. We’ll do it together. Let’s go.”
* * *
Two hours later—confident we’ve camouflaged Peter’s secret—I walk through Delphine’s door, bundled wildflowers twined together atop a pizza I picked up before Russell’s ping. Unease sneaks in when I don’t feel Delphine anywhere close by. Though her car is in the driveway, she doesn’t answer when I call her name. On edge, I walk into the kitchen and glance around. Setting the pizza and flowers on the table, I freeze when I see a small, familiar, empty brown bag on the counter.
Fuck.
Defeat tries to snake its way in, but I bat it away. I knew there was a chance she’d have a setback during her initial battle and curse the fact that the club keeps me from being a more constant sober companion. But I’m not giving up, and I’m sure as fuck not letting her slip be the last of our war. It’s then I detect the low music playing just outside the sliding glass door. Walking to it, I spot her sitting at the table, her back to me as she runs the end of an unlit cigarette along an ashtray. Leaving the porch light off gives me little view of her, though her slumped posture screams defeat.
Staving off the disappointment so she can’t see it, I accept the temporary setback as just that, a setback and nothing more. Sliding open the door, I stalk toward her, knowing she senses me there even as the soft music and screaming cicadas mute some of my approach.
“It’s okay, General. It was just a bad day,” I whisper, running a palm down her back, “just tell me how much you’ve had.”
She drops her chin and instantly starts to cry as I kneel at her side, eyeing the pint sitting in the middle of the table, unable to see the level.
“Hey, hey, it’s one day, General,” I relay in a soothing tone. “We armor up and start again tomorrow.”
She turns and grips my hand before slowly pulling it to her lips and pressing a reverent kiss to it while lifting her silver eyes to mine. “You would forgive me so . . . too, easily, Soldier. My God, I do not deserve you”—she lowers her eyes—“and I never have.”
“Not true,” I whisper as she releases my hand and begins to clear her face of tears, seeming annoyed by them.
“It is true, Soldier. It’s so true,” she sniffs. “I want no lies between us. Not ever again. I will never lie to you again, Tyler.”
“Glad to hear it,” I say, brushing the last tear from her cheek. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened,” I coax gently as I eye the bottle again, cursing the fact that it might be empty.
“When Dom picked me up from my treatment, I asked him to take me to a sunset, and I made my confession, my apology after all these years, as Regina suggested.”
“And it didn’t go well?” Fire starts to lace my veins at the thought Dom might have triggered her.
“No,” she sniffs. “Well, yes, it went very well. He took me to the most beautiful place for a sunset and told me the most wonderful story. He seemed to accept my apology. Until we got home, and I confessed how I had wronged Cecelia in the past. It is my greatest evil, Tyler. One that I want to confess to you,” she exhales and turns her face toward the moonless sky. “I think he will forgive me with time. He was just outraged because he is just . . . in love. He’s so very in love with her, Tyler. I have so much happiness for him for that.”
“Okay.” My shoulders inch down slightly. “So what has you so upset?”
“It’s happiness, its sadness, it’s regret, so much regret. Regret for you,” she says. “For so many things, and I feel it, Tyler. All of it,” she whispers between us. “I feel,” she shakes her head. “Remember when you told me to stop numbing and let it all come?” She croaks, “it has come.”
I nod in understanding, scooping her into a firm hold against me and walking her through the door. Just as I start to close it, she begins to wiggle out of my hold, and I release her in confusion.
“No, Tyler, no.” She doubles back and snatches the bottle from the table as dread fills me. “This fucking shit,” she hisses as she sweeps past me, grabbing my hand in the process.
“It was just a slip-up,” I assure her, on her heels as she stalks us over to the sink. It’s then she cracks the bottle, and I gape at her in realization.
“No one slips up for twenty fucking years, Tyler,” she says, uncapping it, and without hesitation, begins pouring it into the sink. My heart explodes into rhythm as she looks over at me, her gray eyes resolute.
“No more fucking excuses. No more hiding behind this house, my past, or myself. I choose me,” she declares, “I choose my nephews—though it may be too late—and I choose you.” The liquid continues to pour from the bottle as she watches it with wrath before looking over to me.
“I choose our precious friendship that I have missed every fucking day because it matters far more than numbing any discomfort, but this,” she presses her palm to her chest where her heart lies. “This is,” she shakes her head. “It’s full of so much feeling I have numbed for so long, Tyler. So many regrets for my decisions and actions. It’s all coming at once. But I am thankful to finally say it. To speak of what Alain did to me. That motherfucker,” she hisses before blowing out a breath. “As much as I hate speaking it to Regina, it’s time. It’s time because I choose now to live.” She tosses the drained bottle into the sink with finality as she moves to stand in front of me and grips my hands.
“I have many regrets, but this is the decision I will never regret and make again and again for me. Because I want my future, Tyler, and I want you in it so much. I’m fucking done with the drink,” she declares. “Done.”
Explosions detonate in my chest as every fiber of my being lights at her confession, and I pull her to me, clutching her as tightly as I can without hurting her. “I’m so proud of you, General.”
She cries for a few seconds before her muffled voice fills my ears. “Do you believe,” she asks, pulling away to look up at me, “that I can still be redeemed?”
“You already are,” I assure her, wiping her tears. “For yourself, that’s most important.”
“I don’t want to hide anymore,” she relays low.
“You can’t, not from me.”
“Tyler,” she croaks, and I see it then—the fear, the emotions crashing into her, the weight she’s holding, and the levee threatening to break. She palms my face, her eyes glistening with fresh tears.
“So much to say to you, Soldier, but I want you to know I understand why you didn’t text me or come back.”
I frown at her words but let her speak, her chest shuddering as her tears start to flow rapidly. “I understand why you were angry with me. You bravely let me see all of you, and I gave you so little. I d-do not blame you for deciding to stay away. But I am ready to confess to you now. All that I can.” She pulls me to her and grips me tightly. “I want to tell you of my past.”
“I’m right here.” Feeling the bloodletting happening inside her, along with her fear, my chest stretches as I utter the only words I know she needs to hear. “I’m here, Delphine, and I’m listening.”
She leads me to the table where we’ve spent years mutely sharing our pain before finally putting a voice to what her pain consists of and where it stemmed from. Starting at the beginning with what she remembers of her mother, and of her fondest memories with Matis. Ending with her first-hand account of that fateful day in the snow. Recounting the night she met Alain, and the ‘favors’ she did for him at only twelve and thirteen years old. Of flying to America alone to become his child bride, sole supporter, and ultimately, his victim. Exhausting herself with all that she can recall. Relaying fondly some of her most beloved memories with her chosen sister, Celine. Whose loss fueled her spiral and the retribution-filled act she committed against Diane and Roman by way of Cecelia. An act she deems her darkest and most damning by putting a loaded gun in Cecelia’s crib.
I sit, utterly in awe, devastated by the events of her life as she lays herself bare for me, begging me not to think the worst of her as she unveils her demons. As she does this, another storm rolls in, and we weather it as it rages, both outside the house and within her.
Near dawn and exhausted, while simultaneously renewed, we share cold cheese pizza while playing a game of Battle. Our eyes meeting and holding continuously as we flash each other grins between moves.
Just as the sun starts to light the sky, we walk out of the backdoor to greet another day. Hand in hand on the small patio, the feel of this dawn, this day, is distinctly different. In knowing one of her biggest battles has been fought and won. That sentiment shared but unspoken as I glance over her, just as she looks over to me, the sun lighting both our faces as she speaks.
“Thank you for coming back, soldier of my heart,” she whispers, full of emotion, lighting me up before turning back to scan the morning sky. “I’m so thankful you came home.”
“I am too,” I whisper, unable to rip my eyes away, realizing how far she’s come already in such a short time. Only ten days sober, I realize she’s already kicked open the door to her own cage.
My fighter, my survivor, my general, and the love of my fucking life.
In awe of her for the first time in years, her first enormous feat reminds me of why I fell for her in the first place. Her ability to appreciate the beauty of a world that has done nothing but hurt her. The battered heart which steadily beats inside her chest despite the horrific scars made by those who abused it. For her boundless love of the simplest pleasures despite her complicated existence. Maybe I forced her the day I stormed in less than two weeks ago, demanding she fight for herself. Declaring a war she should have, but it’s evident now that she’s taking over. Especially as she grips my hand tightly, her head continually lifting to the sun as its beam strengthens on her face. As if it’s fueling her.
As we reach the orchard later that morning, both exhausted from lack of sleep and the emotional toll, I feel her resilience taking hold. Glancing over as she scans the grounds, a smile budding on her lips, it’s then that a certainty starts to settle into me. The certainty that someday, in the future, when the right moment presents itself, she’s going to spread her wings and take flight.
And I’m going to be the one to watch her do it.
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