1. Novel

  2. Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

  3. Severed Heart: Chapter 43
Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

Severed Heart: Chapter 43

THE BIRDS SING their morning songs through the open windows as I unbox the last pillow, adding it to the set on the couch before glancing around the house with pride. Not only have I pried open my wallet recently, but I’ve also spent a fortune decorating. Never in my dreams did I think of myself as a decorator of any sort. But as I look around at the furnishings that Charlie—Barrett’s girlfriend—helped me to carefully choose, I can’t help but feel excited. Even with her four-year-old son, Elijah, constantly attached to her hip, we set the house up in record time.
Just five weeks in, and it’s done. The house itself and the view it provides from every single room is one I could only summon in my wildest dreams. A view that has had me smiling every day since Tyler and I had camped on the front lawn the night he gifted it to me. I had awoken the next morning living in my future, and the view of the land was only outdone by my soldier’s breathtaking smile. It was all I could do to keep from confessing my feelings for him as the sun rose. Instead, I tasked myself to make this a real home for us both with every imaginable comfort.
The house—built at the bottom of a valley—gives spectacular views of the surrounding hills and much of the orchard. Though it is small, and the bedrooms are tiny, it suits us perfectly, housing Tyler and me very comfortably.
The kitchen Tyler designed is a dream for me. It mirrors one of the nineteen-fifties, with the fridge and stove reminiscent of the era, both colored light blue. The dark aqua couch I chose and tan chairs are perfect with the designer pops of red throw pillows and other décor, keeping the look old-fashioned with modern comfort. My bedroom—which is the largest of the three—Tyler painted a dark navy blue. With it, I chose gold and solid white accents.
For our beds, I chose only the finest linens so that we feel like we are sleeping on clouds every night. It’s only in these recent weeks that I’ve felt the dire need to combine our clouds. At night, I stare into the open door across the hall and into his bedroom, where he sleeps in nothing but black boxer briefs—many nights atop his sheets. On those nights, I ache for him, tossing and turning while trying so hard not to remember the looks he gave me the night he fucked me to within an inch of my life. Continually gazing at my gorgeous soldier in hopes that just once, he would open his eyes and that those eyes would host the long-lost fire they once held for me.
It’s when Tyler’s tractor nears and cuts abruptly that I thrum with anticipation, rushing to open the cabinet I recently lined with red pinstriped paper to grab him a glass. Setting it on the counter, a light breeze streams in through the kitchen window, the fleeting summer heat intermixed with a hint of autumn, which is fast approaching, flitting over my face.
Seconds later, my soldier appears on the porch through the storm door, shirtless and covered in a sheen of sweat, dressed in nothing but his light camouflage pants and Marine boots. When the door opens, his dog tags catch a glint of sun as he greets me with the pop of his dimple. I can’t help but feel the flush of desire that follows as I drink in every drop of his skin, which has darkened from his long days in the sun and efforts to cultivate the grounds surrounding the property. A feat he’s worked at tirelessly when not running endless errands for Ezekiel. Ezekiel who now seems to be purposefully running Tyler into the ground as punishment. One I have been closed-lipped about so far.
Though it pains me that the punishment time for Dom and Sean starts today, Ezekiel’s hurt and anger are evident in his adamance to carry it out. Like Tyler, I’ve resigned myself to let them resolve this on their own without interference. Instead, I spend my time repairing myself and pouring my efforts into my new life so I can be capable of helping my nephews if needed at some point in the future.
Tyler stalks in as I pour his favorite drink—heavily sweetened iced tea—and thrust it toward him as he meets me in the kitchen.
“It looks fucking awesome in here, General,” he says, scouring the living room and kitchen as he takes the glass.
“Thank you. I think I am close to done,” I say, hands on my hips. “Not much to do, now.”
“Plenty to do.” He winks before drinking his tea in long gulps. I fill his glass again as I soak him in from head to foot. “I think I might have tackled a majority of the grass—”
“Soldier, will you want to fuck girls here in this house?” I blurt the question that has been heavy on my mind in the weeks since we moved in.
Tyler’s mouth parts slightly before he lets out a long whistle, staring at the ice in his tea. “Well, this is not a conversation I thought we’d be having at eight in the morning.” He shakes his head. “Leave it to you, General Brash.”
“It’s a fair question.” I shrug, not feeling any part of the gesture as dread settles low in my belly. “You are man.” I swallow. “A very good-looking man, who must want to have . . .” I wave my hand so that he gets my insinuation.
“Have what?” He quirks a brow in challenge.
“Oh, stop, Soldier . . . pussy,” I deliver bluntly, which earns me the wicked curl of his mouth. He takes another long drink before he runs his tongue along his bottom lip, and my eyes follow.
“What’s got you thinking about my need for pussy, Delphine?”
“I am curious. Can’t I be curious?” I lie. “You are living here. I expect you will want to bring girls here at some point. Should we do a rule or something?”
“I’m pretty boring these days.” He again grins into his glass before sipping it. “And considering I just escaped a fucking frat house that included a built-in soundtrack of a porno for months, I’m not really into the freaky roommate thing or becoming one just yet. So, should we establish a rule for if you want to go out hunting some dick?” His words carry an edge that’s hard to identify. “I guess if you get lucky . . . make sure to leave a sock on the door,” he chuckles.
“For?”
He frowns. “It’s a sign to let your roommate know you’re getting laid.”
“This is the truth?” I frown. “A sock on the door. Why not just say it?”
“It’s a covert signal.” He winks. “Ever heard the saying ‘sock it to me’?”
“You’re fucking with me,” I snap. “I’m trying to have a serious discussion.”
“About pussy?” He laughs again. “And no, I’m not fucking with you.” He holds up a palm in defense. “I’m serious. It’s a thing.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “I will look for a sock on your door and then know.” I swallow. “You’re getting laid.”
“Well, rest easy, I’m a gentleman. I don’t really talk about this stuff nor display it for others to know.”
“Okay.” I palm the counter briefly for strength as I speak, keeping my eyes down. “But maybe, if you want to fuck a girl, just tell me.” I blow out a harsh breath.
“I’ll be sure to let you know,” he drawls as he sips his glass beside me. I turn to see him lowering his eyes, shaking his head with a smile, his gorgeous, curled lashes flitting along his gorgeous fucking cheeks as his gorgeous fucking smirk mocks me.
Even as I want to slap him for being so smug, it’s the gnawing damned lust that fills me. Though my frustration and desire grow as I come further and further back into myself, I take a step over and wrap my arms around him. His arms flare out in surprise as I grip him tightly to me, my cheek warming on his sun-tinted skin.
“Whoa, General,” he whispers, setting his glass down on the counter before hugging me back, “that was one hell of a sneak attack.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just. You’ve changed my life. This house, this dream.” I fight the stupid tears I frequently have to battle, mostly these days of gratitude rather than any other emotion. “You’re an incredible man, Tyler.”
Pulling back, I press a lingering kiss over his skin where his heart lies and feel him tense as I mourn the fact that once it was mine. I might have some place inside but may never get the place I once had back, even as my heart begs me to try to reclaim that place now. Maybe this part of my dream will go unrealized. In trying to accept it, I brave a look up and see the friendship, the love, but no sign of desire before I pull away and drop my eyes.
“I have to go,” I tell him. “I have an appointment.”
He nods, seeming confused by my behavior, but I’m starting to suspect more and more that it’s contrived. I’ve been giving him lingering looks, suggestions with my eyes, everything I can think of to ask him for that look back. Gestures I’m coming to believe he’s purposefully ignoring because he no longer reciprocates the desire. His cock salute in the shower weeks ago might have just been the result of a touch of a woman—not this woman. Every day that he ignores my tells, I find myself more desperate to find the kindling to create some of the fire we once had—for any fucking sign of a spark that I might get my true dream.
A dream I wasn’t allowed to have before. To think or to speak. A dream I felt shame for having. And now that I could, if my affections were returned, I’d feel alone in it. At the same time, I wonder why my soldier would make this much effort.
Why go to all this trouble . . . for only a friend? However, I must admit to myself that this might be the case because of the man Tyler is. But I feel his love. He touches me every single day. Though, I’m finding myself more and more disappointed by only the whisper of a finger against my cheek or his reassuring palm on my back. Of the hand holding, but no more. His distance even more apparent since Tobias spoke about us weeks ago, which may be why his touches are becoming briefer.
“After I finish the grass”—Tyler interrupts my thoughts, picking his glass up from the counter—“I’m going to stop by the Apple Festival for a few minutes before I meet the movers with Dom and Sean at the townhouse to clear it out.” He shakes his head, his voice full of ache. “They’re leaving today.”
I nod. “I know. I said my goodbyes yesterday. I’m sorry, Soldier. Dom is not doing well,” I report.
“Yeah, I know,” he agrees as we share a lingering look, neither of us happy with Ezekiel’s decision.
“I need to go.” I shoulder my purse. “I will see you later.”
“See you, roomie,” he calls at my back as if in taunt as I head for the door. “Make sure to grab some socks while you’re out,” he chuckles as I shut the door hard to cut his laugh.
Because for me, it’s not funny. Not even a little. Just like our first conversation about girls wasn’t amusing, but he seemed to draw pleasure out of it. Some smug satisfaction as if he knows my true feelings, which he’s refused me to voice. It’s then I know he must have sensed, seen my desire for him by now, and can’t help but wonder if it’s punishment.
I feel punished now, thoroughly. I should be satisfied. More than satisfied with the lengths he’s taken for me to live this dream. He’s done so much for me. To demand those looks back isn’t possible. To ask for his heart back might be impossible and selfish. Walking to my sedan, I drop my purse in my seat through my open car window. Glancing back at the house, I meet Tyler’s eyes just as he pulls a ball cap down, which only sharpens his sleek features and the cut of his jaw.
Fuck. Merde. Fuck. God help me.
“Buckle up, see you in a bit.” He winks, and I damn near fan my face at the sight of him as he saunters toward his tractor.
Some woman is going to come along soon and try to claim the man I’m going blind with the need to touch, to have, to love, and the thought of it fills me with dread.
As I watch him mount the tractor, my resolve fills me to try and somehow gain a fraction of that heated look he once had for me back. To get something from him telling me I’m not completely alone in this longing or if I need to let go of the rest of my dream altogether—that reality devastating. Straightening my shoulders and determined to do everything I can to have him see me again, I get into my sedan and turn my ignition over. As he takes off on his tractor, I decide this battle is the most important I have to fight because the future I truly want very much includes having all of my soldier.
With a fucking sock forever on our bedroom door.
* * *
A loud bell jingles as I walk through the door and freeze, all eyes drifting from the women in the shop, who begin scanning me curiously.
What was I thinking?
The need to flee takes over as I hesitate at the door.
“Delphine!” Layla exclaims, poking her head through a doorway in the back of the shop.
Merde.
Even as I entertain leaving, Layla takes long strides toward me—such a beautiful girl. Tall and tan from the summer sun, she’s wearing a halter dress that hugs her curves, accentuated by the sash fastened around her Beauty Mark smock. Her long, light blonde hair cascading in beautiful waves down her shoulders. I take all of this in as she approaches.
“Ignore them,” she whispers, gently taking my elbow to usher me toward her station. “I have to admit,” she says, snapping out a plastic cape before fastening it around my neck, “I was surprised when I saw your name in the appointment calendar but in a good way.”
Her eyes command mine in the mirror as I speak, trying to fight my anxiety. “I was told this is your second shop. You must be very proud.”
“Hell yeah, I am. We opened this Main Street location a few weeks ago, and as you can see, business is booming.” I glance through the streetside glass at the foot traffic on Main Street because of the Apple Festival happening just outside of it as she speaks up. “Don’t let the traffic out there or in here scare you—or their bug eyes,” she lifts her voice to the women surrounding us. “They’ll be clucking like hens about some bullshit in no time.”
Nodding, I dart my eyes to my reflection. Noting the gray hairs as well as my complexion as Layla perches in front of the small counter at her station and crosses her arms.
“So, what are we doing today?”
“Everything,” I relay as she quirks a brow. “I want to get the gray out.”
“Okay, so definitely a color. How about a cut to make it a little healthier.”
I mull over my request as humiliation threatens. “Fuck it,” I finally spout with a shrug. “Can you help my face to not look so old?”
“Not a mincer of words. I love it,” she laughs before leaning in. “Honey, I’ve got a girl on speed dial with tiny magic needles full of youth that can not only get the wrinkles out but plump your face up a bit to take years away, and it’s practically painless.”
“Good.” I nod. “I want everything we can do but . . . still look like me.”
“I’ve got you.” She winks as she starts to stroke my hair. “No duck lips.”
“Non.” I shake my head adamantly. “Non. No lips like a duck.”
“You know, I do it.” She points to her face as I scrutinize her. “I keep it natural.”
“Oh, then, oui.” I nod enthusiastically. “Like you do. Please.”
“I’ll call her right now. She’s only a few doors down. I’m just going to run to the back and whip us up some color.”
I grip her arm lightly as she starts to walk away, and she glances down at me in concern as the words die on my tongue. She seems to sense them, her expression softening. “You want to feel and look beautiful, right? Well, look around,” she urges, and I do, very briefly. “Every woman in this salon wants the very same thing, I promise you. This is what I do, and I’m living for this with you, so will you try your best to trust me?”
I blow out a breath as the stupid fucking tears threaten, and I nod. “Oui. Yes. Please, anything you can do to help.”
“Oh, honey. This salon is full service, so I can do a lot.” She gives me an assuring wink. “I’ll be right back.”
A few hours later, I’ve been moisturized, scrubbed, and then moisturized again with a steamer to my face that looked like a vacuum. After I was waxed—around my lip and chin, brows, and what Layla called my ‘lady bits,’ I was poked several times with the magic needles. Needles that were not exactly painless but far less painful than the devil wax. A wax job that Layla swore to me could guide in a seven-forty-seven plane. We both laughed like hyenas in the back room of the salon as she explained the metaphor about my new landing strip. Though I feel like I’ve been through several battles, Layla’s gentle massage of my scalp and second moisture gloss treatment is the best consolation I could hope for.
“I know you’re a private woman, Delphine,” she whispers, as the woman in surrounding chairs do cluck very much like hens around us. “But can I ask what made you come in today?”
I mull over the reasons and give her part of the truth. “A few reasons. The first is I have not taken care of myself in a very long time,” I tell her. “I—” I falter in my delivery, and her whispers soothe me.
“A man in your past did you dirty?” she asks.
“Oui. My ex-husband, Alain. He was a very manipulative, abusive narcissist.” I use Regina’s words. “He almost killed me.”
“Jesus,” she whispers, her touch at my scalp becoming more gentle. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”
“After, I didn’t want to be beautiful. I didn’t dress to get attention. I did everything I could to keep men away. But now.” I think of Tyler, of the way he once looked at me, and my eyes water with the want to get that look back. “I-I want to.” I swallow as emotion threatens. “I’m sorry. I have been very emotional since I started therapy and stop drinking.”
“It’s okay, honey, you don’t have to talk about it,” she consoles me.
“Non, I’ve been quiet for so many years, Layla—too many years. I’m doing so many things that make me uncomfortable now,” I explain. “Therapy is very, very uncomfortable for me, but it has helped me to talk more. I want to tell you, I just need time to do it without so much emotion.”
“Well, how about I make it a little easier for you?” she offers, and I nod. “So, before Denny, I dated this asshole I thought was the one. He was gorgeous and brilliant, and I really loved him. He had it rough when he was young, like most of us. He really wanted to be a better man, but he lost the battle with his demons and started treating me like shit. He got into drugs, I caught him cheating, it was a total shit show, and I put up with it for far too long.” She runs the water close to my scalp as my shoulders relax, her touch tender. “He left scars both visible and invisible,” she continues, pausing her fingers as if lost in her memories. “But then Denny came along and kind of loved me back to health. He swears I did the same for him. We’re a little co-dependent. You know what that means?”
I nod.
“Well.” Her magical fingers continue to massage my scalp. “They say it’s not healthy in a relationship, but—”
“You look very, very healthy, Layla.”
“Exactly.” she smiles. “I’m thriving and happier than I’ve ever been. And though my fiancé is a moody asshole most days, he treats me like gold. He’s fiercely protective of me, ridiculously jealous, and at times, it drives me crazy. But after what I went through, it makes me feel safe that he’s possessive. So, frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass that we need each other so much.”
“Rat’s ass,” I laugh, and she grins. “I like that.” I bite my lip. “So . . . how do you know Denny won’t hurt you the same?”
“I don’t,” she answers easily. “I don’t know.” She pauses, staring down at me where my head remains in the shampoo bowl. “We don’t get to know, Delphine. We just have to trust ourselves to know better, and that’s the scary part. But it’s been a long time, and I’ve forgiven the younger me for putting up with those hard years of abuse. The younger Layla just wanted to be loved.”
“This is what I try to do every day in therapy. Forgive younger Delphine.”
“This is a very good step in helping to do that—taking care of her again emotionally and physically. I’m glad you’re doing it. But if I may say.” She leans down, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think you already know that Tyler is the very best of men, and you’re as safe as you can get.”
My eyes bulge at her admission.
“Sorry, honey, but I’m a mother hen, and I make it a point to be aware of every bird’s personal business, whether they like it or not. I’m just as protective of them as they are of me. But I didn’t get this information from anyone inked. I saw you two together one day years back. You were at a snow cone stand. I had just pulled into the parking lot when I spotted you both in line. I saw the way he looked at you when you turned your head. I had known Tyler for years already and had never seen that look. So, I kept watching,” she admits sheepishly. “Not long after, I saw the way you looked back at him. I could see so clearly that you two were in love.”
She shrugs as I wince that we were so obvious.
“Unfortunately, it’s one of the costs of living in such a small town, but it was the sight of you two that really made a lasting impression on me. You especially. You looked so beautiful and happy. I even remember you were wearing a light blue sundress with tiny straps.”
My eyes water at her admission. “I do not look like that, like her anymore.” I blow out a long breath. “For so long, I never wanted to be the beautiful woman people told me I was. Ironic now. All I want is to look a little like her again. So”—I wince, shaking my head and palming my face—“I’m an imbecile.”
“No, honey, you’re not,” she whispers, gently pulling my hand away. “You want it back, for yourself and maybe from him?” she prompts.
I nod, my neck heating. “Very much.”
She gives me a wink. “You’re nowhere near as far gone as you think you are. Keep coming to me, put a little more weight on between visits, and I promise that you will see the difference. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agree, hope lighting in my chest.
She scans my face. “But you and I both know Tyler doesn’t love with his eyes, Delphine.”
“Oui. I know.”
Stopping the water, Layla draws a towel from the cabinet behind the sink above me, wiping her hands dry before taking a few steps to stand in front of me. Shielding me with her body from prying eyes, she grips both my hands.
“You’re still very beautiful, Delphine. It will take a few weeks to show the full effect, but I can tell already it’s kicking in a bit.” Her smile grows as her eyes light up. “After we’re done here, we’re going to walk down to Retro Stitch, a little dress shop my friend Tessa owns. She owes me for her last color, and so we’re going to find you another blue dress. Then you and I are going to get a pedicure—together—because I could use a little tender loving care myself.
“That’s too much,” I say. “Too much effort—”
“Honey, it’s not enough. Girls like you and me owe it to ourselves to take our power back in any way we deem necessary. That’s what you’re doing today. Like I said, I live for stuff like this, so let’s go a little crazy together. Make a day of it? I promise it will be just as much for me as it is for you.”
I nod, feeling self-conscious about my emotions as my tears fall.
“I’m going to take these tears as a good sign,” she says, brushing them from beneath my eyes before pulling me to stand and guiding me back to her station.
“Yes, they are the very good kind.” I sniff and smile as I take the seat.
“I’m so excited.” She gives me a wink as my own excitement builds, and I admit as much.
“You are making me very excited, too,” I tell her.
“Good, then it’s a date,” she continues, cradling my dripping hair with a towel and gently pressing it to my head to soak up the water before pulling it away. As she does this, I gape at my reflection as her eyes light.
“Mon Dieu,” My God, I say, disbelieving of the differences of the slight effect of the facial, wax, and hair color.
“Told you,” she boasts proudly. “The miracle of modern cosmetology, and we’re nowhere near done,” she assures as she starts brushing out my newly black hair. A mischievous glint twinkles in her eyes as she lowers her head next to mine in the mirror, her chin an inch above my shoulder. “Oh, to be a fly on the wall when he sees you tonight.”
Report chapter Comments
Tip: You can use left, right, A and D keyboard keys to browse between chapters.