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  2. Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

  3. Severed Heart: Chapter 19
Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

Severed Heart: Chapter 19

“SHHH,” I WHISPER, flattening my palms on the back of my bedroom door as I thrust into Kayley’s wet mouth, where she kneels beneath me.
Keeping one hand firmly planted on the door—though it’s locked—I cup her cheek, running my thumb from the excess length she can’t fit into her mouth to her stretched top lip, reveling in the obscene sight of it. Trying to ease more of it in, I earn the narrow of light blue eyes when I gag her.
Hiding my grin, I scrape my lower lip with my teeth before licking its length, an unspoken promise of a pleasurable payback.
“Relax your throat, baby, just a little more,” I coax, drinking in the sight of her on her knees, shirt open, bra unclasped, her nipples peaked as she does my bidding. A girl not so easily swayed to please but doing her best for me, which only turns me on more.
Slowing my hips, I savor the last of the rush as everything starts to draw tight, and I manage to inch in a bit further. It’s the stretch that always unravels me, tipping me over.
“Fuck beautiful, the view you’re giving me,” I grit out, picking up my pace as she deep-throats me. I’m seconds from coming when a sharp knock sounds on the other side of my bedroom door.
Kayley freezes, eyes bulging as I cup the back of her head to keep her there, refusing her withdrawal as Mom speaks up.
“Tyler, dinner will be ready in an hour . . . Kayley staying?”
Turning my head, I pitch my voice toward the other side of my room. “No, Kayley has to get home soon.”
A pause on the other side of the door has me looking back down at Kayley. Encouraging her to stay put, I stroke her chin as she glares at me with watering eyes. At the sight of them, I thrust in further, sending tears streaming down her cheeks. Satisfaction fills me at the sight of the running mascara.
You’re a fucking asshole, Jennings.
The silence stretches a little too long before Mom finally stalks off. Once in the clear, Kayley starts to pull away, and I fist her hair to stop her while uttering my warning.
“I’m going to come, with or without your help, and if I come alone, you do too. But if you’re good to me”—I pump my hips a little—“I’m going to be really fucking good to you,” I promise.
Shortly after delivering on said promise, I walk Kayley to my front door, kissing her chastely without any guarantee of a call. One she’s never required, and I don’t intend on making. She flashes me a bold grin that I share before I close the door. Only partially satiated, I’m halfway back to my room when a sharp order is emitted from the kitchen.
“In here, Son. Now.”
I walk in to see Mom rolling out pie crust, for what I know is homemade chicken pot pie—my favorite. She eyes me warily as I take the stool on the opposite side of the counter.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again when I’m in the house,” she barks, “it’s a disgusting lack of disrespect.”
“Don’t I know it,” I sigh.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It won’t happen again. We done?”
“No, we’re not done,” she says with a heavy exhale. “Next time, be a normal teenage kid and at least try to hide it, or”—her eyes drill mine—“tell me, Son, was that some blatant F U to me?”
“No, Mom, it had nothing to do with you,” and everything to do with another—you can’t have her—needed reality check.
She scrutinizes me. “How old is that girl?”
“My age,” I lie, for Kayley’s sake, and she’s not local, which is one of the main reasons I continue to hook up with her.
“Are you using—”
“Protection, seriously?” I hold up my palm. “Isn’t this a script for a father to use and way overdue?”
“He should be home any minute. Want me to take it up with him?” she threatens.
I roll my eyes at it, knowing it’s empty. “Yeah, I’m using protection. I have no plans of fathering anyone.”
Her brows rise. “Ever?”
“Not really enthusiastic about the family dynamic lately.” I pop a chopped, raw carrot into my mouth as she stills briefly at my barb before continuing to roll out her crust. We’ve been in the same silent standoff for months, only talking about the surface shit—something I find completely ironic, seeing how it’s her everyday job to get to the root of other people’s problems.
She’s become an expert at avoidance since Christmas. Though looking at her now, I scan her contemplatively. My friends forever giving me shit about how beautiful my mom is. Though their remarks repulse me, I can’t disagree. Regina Jennings is beautiful and looks younger than most of my friends’ parents, except for one whose technical title is Aunt. Though I inherited my face and build from my dad, as I study my mom, I wonder what inherited traits and other attributes I garnered from her.
“What, Son?” Mom asks without looking up.
Observant. That’s one. But a given and necessary considering her profession as a psychologist.
“Just wondering why you’re going through all this trouble to cook when you know he’s leaving for the bar soon.”
Her shoulders deflate as she brings her eyes to mine. “Maybe I’m interested in feeding my son since he’s intent on leaving me.” A pause. “You graduate in a few weeks and turn eighteen a few months after. When do you plan to enlist?”
I shrug. “Not sure. I’m thinking about prolonging enlisting until after Sean and Dom graduate next May. It all depends.”
“Really?” Her eyes light with hope. “On what?”
“A lot of things,” I tell her, a flash of silver-gray eyes flitting through my mind along with the devilish grin that lights the rest of the fire. Prolonging leaving Delphine wouldn’t be the only benefit.
By staying, I could help ensure the club is on a more solid foundation before I start my time in the Corps. We’re nowhere near ready yet, not by a long shot. Not that I don’t plan on visiting home as often as Tobias if I’m capable. It’s our task list, which is growing by the day with everyone the French bastard visits, that’s become daunting.
It’s the idea of prolonging my stint in this fucking house that has me rethinking it all. However, leaving Mom means leaving her alone to defend herself.
“I’ve already met with my recruiter,” I tell her. “I’m taking my ASVAB test after graduation and might go ahead and schedule my physical.”
She stops her rolling pin. “Tyler, seriously?”
“What?” I shrug.
“You didn’t think to discuss that with me?”
“You know I’m not changing my mind.”
“If your father finds out—”
“He’ll what, Mom? He’ll what? Like he has any say in the matter.”
“Jesus, if I would have known you were going to take off right after you turned eighteen, I wouldn’t have started you in kindergarten so early.”
“You had no choice because you were a single parent and needed help with childcare,” I tell her. “Still are.”
Her eyes roll down my face. “That’s not true.”
“Sure it’s not, by the way, your baby boy ate at the Pitt Stop after school.”
“Perfect.” She discards the dough in a messy heap before slapping her flour-coated hand on the counter and giving me a stern look.
“What is this? Why such blatant callousness toward me lately?” Her eyes water. “Do you think I don’t want things to get better? That I’m ignoring what’s happening around here?”
“I don’t know what you want anymore, Mom. You barely look at me.”
“Because I’m ashamed, Tyler,” she croaks, holding my gaze.
I drop my own eyes, hating myself a little for the tears I’m causing.
“Look at me,” she snaps, “you wanted to hurt me, so look at it and be satisfied.”
I do, and the guilt intensifies.
“Feel better?” she asks.
“No, Mom, shit.” I palm my jaw. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I repeat, barely above a whisper. “I’m just in a messed-up place lately.”
“And I don’t blame you for it, but I promise you that I’m not immune to it, and I didn’t think this needed explaining because you are worlds above average in deciphering things like this. So, I didn’t see the point in spelling it out.”
Perceptive, that’s another.
“I just don’t understand why you won’t divorce him and give yourself a second chance at a better life.”
“He is my life, as are you. The life I chose and won’t quit during hard times and time is what he needs. What may heal him and the amount is subjective. This can’t be rushed.”
“You truly believe that?”
“Yes, but do you really want me to give up on him?”
“I want you to put yourself first,” I grit out. Wishing to give some of the same brand of brutal truth to the woman who’s starting to destroy my willpower.
“When he’s spent the majority of his life putting others first? Especially us?” she counters.
“I don’t see it that way.”
“Because you don’t want to. When he wasn’t deployed and before that godforsaken career got the best of him, he was present for you. Deny it all you want, but that doesn’t make it true. That’s why this is hurting you so much.” She sighs. “I refuse to forget that and the husband he was to me. You don’t just leave someone you’ve spent half your life with because they’re going through a dark period. That’s not what you do. At least, that’s not what I’m going to do.”
She holds up a defensive palm, cutting me off. “But I also know I’m tolerating too much. I’m at the end of my rope, but I’m hanging on for him. Before his last deployment, I asked for one thing—for him to come back alive. Not to be the man I married, just to come home, and I swore to myself that I would help him through the worst of it. He fulfilled his end, and so I’m going to see my end of that deal through.”
Ignorance for want. Loyalty to a fault. This is getting fucking scary.
“He’s done nothing but cause you pain. Carter is gone, Mom,” I say for the last time, knowing this argument—like our last—is pointless.
“No, baby, he’s not. He just needs more time.”
Slamming my own palms on the counter, I shake my head. “I can’t do this.”
Temper—definitely from Dad.
“I assumed as much, and that’s why I won’t talk to you about it. You’re too angry to see the pain he’s in, let alone anything else.”
“I don’t care about the pain he’s in!” I rebuke. “I care about yours.”
Chest rising and falling, she turns and stills before pumping some soap and rinsing her hands in the sink.
“Is it true?” I ask her back, knowing that I could never pose this question face to face. “Did you stop being intimate with him . . . because he got burned?”
“How did you . . .” She turns to gape at me before wiping her hands on a towel. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is. Explain it to me.”
“That’s private.”
“No topic is off the table. Your words. That’s what you instilled in me since I was a kid.”
“Maybe, but that’s too personal and for your father and me to work out,” she bites defensively, “but do you want to know why I won’t give up?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Happy to if you stop with the tone,” she snaps and inhales deeply, shaking her head. “It’s because your father was dead set on winning me. So much so that he spent three straight years chasing me. A year of that showering me with a kind of love I didn’t think existed in anything but movies and books, and I was not an easy shell to crack. I was terrified. A gorgeous man like that, capable of getting any girl he wanted, and dead set on me? But he waited, and he was faithful to me when I wasn’t even his to be faithful to. He spent every day, for three straight years, proving his love for me until I gave in.”
“He’s not faithful anymore.”
Her eyes water. “I’m waiting for him, Tyler, for as long as it takes, and if that’s three more years, I’ll wait three more years. I’m not condoning any of his behavior, and my resentment is building, so our marriage might not make it. But you have to love the light and the dark in a human being for longevity in any relationship. All of that person, that’s what true commitment is.”
“Even if he’s cheating?”
“Tyler,” she snaps, “you don’t have to keep reminding me of your father’s infidelity, which is unusually cruel of you. And you’re missing my point. I’m in it and waiting for the best friend I have made a life and raised a son with. I’m still in this for a man I love far beyond our physical relationship, and I’m not leaving my best friend at his worst until I know he’s safe. At least from himself. Only then will I confront what’s left of our marriage. I’m not in denial, Son. I’m waiting. He needs help, but he needs to want it. It’s the only way.”
Shaking my head, I push off from the counter. “Whatever you say, Mom.”
Flouring her hands, she grabs the dough and resumes pounding it with her fist. “You know, if you don’t want honest answers to hard questions,” she spits bitterly, “don’t ask them.”
“Can I take the van?” I counter, done with the conversation.
“Fine,” she sighs in disappointment, “just be home by curfew.”
Grabbing the keys from our ancient Gone Fishin’ dish, I crack the garage door and am rounding the back of the van when the whisper reaches me, and I freeze.
“. . . I must master it as I must master my life. My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless.”
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