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  2. Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

  3. Severed Heart: Chapter 13
Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

Severed Heart: Chapter 13

“Two days EARLY,” Tyler reports, short of breath, chest heaving, sweat pouring from him as he lifts several plastic bags for my inspection. Dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and sneakers, his dark brown hair lays scattered and plastered to his crown.
“And where are my books?” I eye him speculatively while taking the haul I ordered him to bring once he was finished with his curriculum.
“Still on loan, for now, okay?” He scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth, a flicker of something passing in his brown eyes, too brief to decipher.
“Fine, you may be early, but did you shower in your clothes before coming here?”
Tyler opens his mouth just as Dom stalks into the kitchen, an empty coffee mug in hand, his inquiry the same as he scours Tyler’s disheveled appearance. “The fuck happened to you?”
“I ran to the store and back,” Tyler reports to us both before glancing at me. “Only a mile and a half, but I’m getting there.”
Dom pours his coffee, looking between us, his typical unimpressed expression encompassing his face. His obvious disdain for me much too ingrained to pose the question budding in his eyes as I dump the bags’ contents on the table and address him. “Drinking too much of that may stunt your growth,” I warn.
I glance over as he pointedly eyes the pint of vodka on the table while obnoxiously slurping his coffee.
“You have school tomorrow,” I remind him.
He poses his question to Tyler instead. “What is this?”
“You know what it is,” I retort while pulling the toy soldiers from their packaging. “I played with Ezekiel many times before he left for France.”
“Bullshit,” Dom clips out, eyeing the soldiers. “When?”
I hesitate in answering as I search my memory and can’t recall a single time Dominic was present when we played. My mind forever failing me.
“Maybe . . . it was when you were still dirtying all your clothes by hanging from the trees with Sean,” I joke.
“Your memory is lacking as usual, Tatie,” he drawls out, “I’ve never had good clothes.”
“But they do still hang from the trees,” Tyler inserts, an obvious attempt to cut the tension—a tactic Sean also often uses when Dom is in one of his moods. Moods he refuses to allow anyone to overlook, especially me.
“While this looks riveting,” Dom spouts, “I’ll leave you to it.” He turns to Tyler. “Give me a ride to the library?”
“Sorry, man, Mom’s using the van tonight,” Tyler replies, lowering his eyes, his lie detectable even as he checks his watch. “Library’s closing soon anyway—” Tyler cuts himself off, and I glance over to see it’s because of Dom’s hostile return expression.
I hold my eye roll and unpackage more soldiers as they silently communicate behind my back as if I’m dense enough not to know the library is not Dom’s true destination.
This is only confirmed when Dom opens a cabinet and grabs a box of cereal bars and a large bag of chips. I say nothing about the fact that he’s packing groceries and haven’t since Dom unleashed his wrath on me not long after Ezekiel left.
“Just because you eat the minimum piece of toast at 2 a.m. to make sure you don’t dull too much of your buzz doesn’t mean no one else in the house needs to fucking eat!”
He slammed his bedroom door in my face just after, his venom-filled “selfish bitch” carrying through the barrier before he clicked on his stereo to mute any reply I might have.
Since that night, I have not allowed the cabinets to go bare, making sure there is something for him to easily cook and eat. The hours I spent in the bath with my bottle that night were some of my worst. My biased memory refuses to allow me to forget that night or any other in which I am reminded of my failure with my nephews.
“I hate her.”
“Shh, Dom, she’ll hear you,” Tobias scolds.
“I don’t care. I hate her. I hope she dies.”
Their hushed whispers from years ago fill my ears as I watch Dom gather and pack more food. Where he brings his small bounties to or to whom remains a mystery.
“I could drive you,” I offer, just as he turns to reply to Tyler.
“All good. See you tomorrow, man.”
“It’s no trouble for me to drive you,” I call after him as he stalks toward the front door.
“Play with your little plastic soldiers, Tatie,” he scoffs, “I’d rather not have the fucking town drunk chauffeuring me.”
His insult reaches me just as he slams the storm door behind him so hard that both Tyler and I flinch.
Fury fills me as I take a step toward the front door and still myself, fighting both my will and tongue not to go after him. The same battle I’ve been in for years since his brother’s departure. It’s Ezekiel’s parting words before he left for France that continually stop me.
“Treat him well. He’s immune to you now. Things won’t change overnight, but if you remain the same, he’ll fall in line. Do this, and you will have earned my trust.”
Five long years later, I still have not managed to gain an inch of ground to stand on where Jean Dominic is concerned. That truth more evident than ever as his contemptuous parting words linger in the house.
“I never drive when I drink,” I tell Tyler, who’s staring at the ground between us, his posture tense. “That is a lie, Tyler,” I insist.
Tyler’s eyes shoot to mine in search as if he wants to believe my words as mortification heats my neck and cheeks.
“Turn on some music,” I order Tyler to divert his probing gaze as the burning increases. “Classical only.” I nod toward the radio sitting on the kitchen counter next to my canisters.
“On it,” Tyler says, walking into the kitchen as I turn back to the table full of soldiers. Humiliation continues to batter me and has me calling out another order as Tyler shuffles through a few radio stations.
“Divide each of our battalions into three hundred,” I instruct, snatching my bottle from the counter. “I will be back.”
“Will do,” he replies, keeping his eyes lowered.
“Prepare yourself, private. You are going to war,” I call over my shoulder with false bravado, racing toward my bedroom. Bracing myself against the closed door, I bite into my forearm, releasing my idle tears, the relief slight and fleeting as I muffle my cries while focusing on the pain.
After several paralyzing minutes, I decide on a quick scrub to attempt to take some of the lingering sting away.
Turning on the faucet, I set the water temperature to as hot as I can tolerate and unscrew my bottle, taking several mouthfuls of drink. With my focus fixed on the flow of water from the jagged faucet, mixed whispers traverse back to me.
“I wish she would die.”
“Selfish bitch.”
“I hate her.”
Unzipping my robe, I submerse myself into the steaming water as the images and voices collide in their punishing, perpetual blur.
The boiling water further heats my skin, sweat gathering at my temples as I run my palms over the top of the steaming surface, Matis’s words seeping into me as I begin my soak.
“Cleanliness draws God’s attention. You must keep your body free of filth to allow God to cleanse your mind and heart so he will wash you of your sins.”
Scrubbing my skin, I send up my ritual prayer as my eyes catch on a sagging patch of ceiling. I stare and stare, zeroing in on the brown tint, the same hue as the polished wood grain on Celine’s coffin.
Staring at the twin graves before me, I pull at the loose thread at the hip of my dress and wind it around my finger, stopping the flow of blood until it numbs. Wishing I had brought my bottle, the task ahead fills me with terror.
A task written in the spilled blood of Celine and Beau King—to raise their sons from boys to men.
The haze then reveals a memory of a night not long after their funeral—of an exchange that continues to plague me daily.
“I don’t want to be a mother,” I whisper to eleven-year-old Ezekiel before his firelit eyes condemn me.
“Then don’t. I’ll feed him. I’ll bathe him. I’ll walk him to school. You don’t touch him, don’t yell at him. I’ll do it all.”
And I let him.
Failing my sister.
Failing her husband.
Failing their sons.
Failing. Failing. Failing.
“Delphine,” Ormand whispers at my back just as I grip Jean Dominic and Ezekiel’s hands to start to usher them out of the cemetery. “Please don’t shut me out,” he croaks.
Stilling, I feel Ezekiel’s eyes on me as I keep mine forward, focused on the swaying line of trees ahead of us.
“Tatie, your hand is shaking,” Dominic squeaks from beneath me before Tobias shushes him, and Ormand’s plea reaches me.
“Delphine, please—”
“Go back to France, Ormand. I have nothing left to give you.”
The strangled noise he made when I cruelly dismissed him still haunts and confuses me. Confusion for the disdain and hostility I felt for him when I woke in that hospital bed.
Ormand, whom I trusted over all Alain’s men. Who was a friend and support—whose pain remains with me after I cast him out of my life, unsure of why his presence no longer held any comfort but instead repulsed me. Ormand, who waited for me in hopes of more for the entire length of my marriage, only to be exiled from my life and heart as Beau’s and Celine’s coffins lowered. The loss of him feeling like another death to mourn.
Discarding my washcloth, I sink beneath the surface of the water. The world beneath no different than the world above. Words just as muffled and the faces just as blurry as I lose time, days, and minutes as I have since I woke that night, mere months before Beau and Celine were murdered.
In need of breath, I surface just before a sharp knock jerks me to sit, reminding me I’m not alone in the house. Focusing on the knob, I jump when Tyler’s voice sounds from the other side of it.
“Delphine?” Tyler knocks again. “I’m ready for you.”
How long have I been in the bath?
Lifting my hands, my pruned fingers tell me some time has passed.
Time, which many claim is a healer, has been anything but for me. My underwater mind refusing me of all forward progress while making a goddamned fool of me.
It’s the haze that works against me, blurring my days and weeks. The haze which muddles my memories, bringing me back and to, confusing me, paralyzing me. Even as I cleanse myself over and over for God, seeking His attention, my prayers for clarity are never heard—refused. My sins too many to cleanse, to garner His attention.
“Delphine? You okay in there?”
“I need . . .”
Eyeing my bedroom doorknob from the tub, I squint to see it start to turn. Capping my bottle, I rise slowly from the water, grabbing my towel and palming it over my chest. “Tyler, do not come in!”
“I’m not . . . I-I wouldn’t.” His confusion has me blinking to realize the knob has not turned by a fraction.
Get it together, Delphine, and get rid of the boy!
Because that’s all he is, a boy. A harmless boy.
It’s my fear that sneaks its way in as I keep focused on the knob.
Boys turn into men.
“How could you leave me to raise what I despise?”
The hem of my towel soaks as it dances along the top of the water as I remain paralyzed by fear in the corner of the tub. My eyes transfixed on the cheap brass knob with the worthless lock.
“Delphine?”
“I need five minutes!”
“Sounds good,” Tyler calls back as I rip my eyes from the knob and sip the bottle until the fear starts to slither away, coiling itself back into the darkest part of my water-drenched mind—readying itself for the next time.
Unplugging the drain, I retrieve what’s left of my bottle, capping it before redressing in my robe. Tugging down my sleeves, I clear my eyes before walking out to dismiss Tyler. I cannot possibly help him and am in no position to do so. Whatever this foolish boy seeks or sees in me is delusion.
Opening my mouth to send him home, the words are muted when I see Tyler has aligned our individual armies perfectly on opposite sides of the table. The sight of it sparks a distant excitement inside me—a flicker of a simpler time.
Of a time when I was brave. Before the haze and blur. A welcome feeling in exchange for fear and confusion. It’s when I take in the expression of the wide-eyed boy, eyes patient and imploring, which seek my approval, that I falter, unable to deny him.
“This is very good,” I compliment as I lift one of the soldiers, brushing my fingers over it.
“I think I see where you’re going with this, Yoda,” he jokes enthusiastically in an effort to appease me. Kind. Always so kind.
“Do you?” I reply, hearing the lingering shake in my voice, willing the burning inside my chest to subside as the numb starts to take hold, relieving me.
“It’s a game I have played since I was very young . . . Bataille,” I whisper.
“Battle,” Tyler translates easily as he scans the soldiers. “If I would have known this is what I was prepping for, I would have cut off a few more days.”
I roll my eyes at his arrogance. “You will not be so smug when I take your army down, private.”
My threat does not deter him as he lifts one of his soldiers. “So, who taught you?”
“Matis.” I slide into the chair opposite of him.
“Matis?”
“My father,” I clarify, to which he gives me a forlorn nod. Tyler ran here tonight, and by the look of him, it seems he did not plan to come. As I scrutinize him, that truth becomes more obvious. He has not yet memorized the books but came to seek refuge from his life at home.
Stupid boy. What refuge could he possibly see in me?
In needing and seeking my own escape, I decide not to reject him.
“What?” He peers over at me, realizing how closely I’m watching him.
“Study your opponent,” I instruct. “Memorize them. In every exchange, look for tells, for lies, and most important, for weakness.”
He nods quickly—too quickly—and I’m unsure if he heeds my warning.
“So, T played this?” he asks, positioning his men, his question because of his affection and bond with Ezekiel.
“Yes, and he was very, very good.”
“Challenge accepted,” he draws out. “Did he ever beat you?”
“Never,” I relay with a grin, pushing up my sleeves so as not to knock any of my soldiers over. It’s when Tyler stills that I look up to see his gaze locked on my forearm. I follow his focus to see the angry red teeth marks and the surrounding swollen skin before quickly pulling my sleeves back down.
“Ezekiel was a very skilled,” I continue, “very wise opponent,” I manage without shake before unscrewing the cap of my bottle.
“Well, this”—his tone lifts to match mine—“right here is my task to master,” he informs me with no shortage of ambition. One I don’t dismiss easily this time.
Instead, I nod in silent confirmation, fully aware of Ezekiel’s plans.
Plans my oldest nephew is now putting into motion with Ormand’s help—the first contact I gave him when he landed in France. My intention for making that connection is to help aid Ezekiel in his quest to do what I didn’t—avenge Celine and Beau.
Another of my failures that Ezekiel took upon himself to rectify. More weight that lays heavily on my soul, but weight I’m thankful for.
“Delphine?” Tyler drawls. “Where did you go?”
“Shh,” I whisper, “know your enemy.”
I focus on my new and willing opponent as he does the same. An opponent that, in truth, is an ally, eager to take on a part of Ezekiel and Dominic’s quest. Tyler seems to catch on as he stares right back at me, raising his chin, unflinching.
It’s in Tyler’s unwavering gaze that I allow myself to think mentoring him could be another chance to do my part—to honor Celine. A chance for vengeance that the haze denied me. A chance that Dominic continues to refuse me. Maybe with true effort, Tyler will grant me the ability to right some of my wrongs. A start that I’ve attempted for years while fighting through the haze and numbing with drink.
To try.
“Let’s begin.”
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