Page 132 of Severed Heart

“Don’t take this on yourself,” he orders adamantly, his blood-coated lips lifting, his whispers becoming forced and less audible. “I know you have a crush on me.”

“Fuck, and I tried so hard to hide it,” I reply, as a burn starts to take hold in place of the sting.

“Every man . . .” he struggles, “in this fucking bird knows you just saved them. Whether they thank you or not.” Feeling their eyes on me, I shake my head as Armstrong grips my hand harder, commanding my attention. “I’m glad it’s you with me,” he whispers as the hellfire sets in.

“Me too,” I reply, the selfish urge to blink out the moment coming on strong, but I bat it away because he deserves my presence, and I need to feel it.

“... See you, brother,” he utters brokenly, his arms seizing involuntarily for a few seconds at his sides before his body relaxes. I keep my grip tight as the sun invades the chopper’s interior, lighting up his face.

“See you,” I utter, gripping his hand harder just as he releases mine.

Chapter Thirty-Four

TYLER

SUMMER 2012

Fourth of July

Triple Falls, North Carolina

BLINK.

Bone-deep exhaustion keeps every step heavy as a scream ascends into the sky at my back, the pop and sizzle following shortly after. Keeping my eyes on my boots, I push through every step until I get to the familiar crack in the cement. Gripping my dog tags, I run them back and forth along the ridges of the metal chain. With a shuddered exhale, I will my boots to turn, surprised when my body obeys.

Eyes and throat dry, the night’s heat relentlessly batters me as another shriek rips across the sky above, the sound ricochetingthroughmy entirety, threatening to transport me to a different place and time. Places and times that my whole being has been desperately seeking refuge from for months. The collection of hellacious days fueling the notion that the cement I’m taking residence on might give me that refuge, that long-lost sense of belonging—of home.

With the gradual lift of my head, my hungry eyes take in the bungalow-style house I spent years of my youth treating as such a sanctuary. The potted plants on the porch are a welcome sight, though now hanging limply outside the terracotta housing them. The roof is still missing the same shingles, the dwelling forever in a perpetual state of disrepair. Delphine’s reasoning for that echoes back to me through space and time—from the morning I left.

Space and time that seem so fucking vast now, playing barrier. Though, for the most part, the view looks the same, stoking some of the low-lit hope in my chest even as it refuses to fuel so much as a whisper towards the flame.

“Please,” I grit out. “Please,” I beg, unsure of what or whom I’m bargaining with.

The sight of her ancient sedan in the driveway promises an added spark of familiarity, a flash of the memory of the first day I drove it. Our matching smiles across the cabin and the wonder in her expression the first time I took her to the orchard.

Swallowing the memory and pain that recollection stirs, I finally shift my gaze to the large four-squared windowpane that gives an uninterrupted view into her living room. The view provided from where I linger in the shadows is similar to what it was for so many consecutive nights in my last lifetime.

She’s there. In the same chair. Still there, and against all odds, now within reach—never seeming anything close to that in my mind. Even with my consistent trips back to Triple Falls, she was always a world away, a lifetime away. This street, this house, remaining foreign soil to me, crossed off the map. Abandoned in head and heart, and yet, it still exists. Behind her sedan sits Dom’s Camaro, another barrier created by both of us, by her order and my promise. One I’ve maintained to this day. One that keeps me idle now and peering through her window. The only light in the living room is provided by the TV, outlining what little view I have of her in dull color.

Sweat gathers at my temple as I watch her sip from her glass as old hurts start to seep in.

Six years.

For six fucking years, I’ve been absent from this spot, at least to the naked eye. From a distance, nothing at all seems to have changed. The truth is that upon closer inspection, I know life has altered us both in different ways. What remains of me now feels foreign, even to me.

Is she still the same? Would she recognize me, or any part of the boy I was? Inside, I feel that boy with me, begging me not to move, breathe, or exist as the battle begins between us.

Her battles and mine differing.

Her current battle?

Life was kind enough to gift her a curveball by way ofcancer.

She was diagnosed just after I got called up to join the response team and began long stints without contact. Tobias told me of her diagnosis when I finally felt safe enough to allow myself back on the Raven radar and fully back in the know. Though relieved by her recent prognosis, she’s been deathly ill, and I haven’t seen heronceor spoken a word to her. Maybe as far as she knows, I’ve been aware the whole time she’s been battling and chose no contact, but that isn’t the whole truth. It only became the truth when I was made aware she was sick, and I still maintained my distance. I chose to stay away, until now. Even now, in seeing her so fucking close, the paved street continually stretches in front of me, my boots weighing me down as my inner battle ensues. Getting to this cement from my truck felt like wading through an unforgiving current—through the sands of time. A hellish, slow-motion descent into the battle happening in my mind. Soaking in the view I’ve been fucking frantic for, it does absolutely nothing to calm the conflict between boy and man.

This was supposed to feel different.

But as I take in the sight that I’ve been desperately telling myself I need, it brings none of the relief I thought it would—not after so much time. Eyes burning with frustration, my chest starts to scream with ancient aches as I scour the house, willing myself to cross the fucking street. It’s my limbs that refuse my order. It’s my tired, aching, depleted, battered soldier’s heart that wants inside that fucking house, even if there’s no relief in the view. The vision of her just yards away,right there, across the street, is too surreal to believe. As explosions continually sound at my back, sweat begins to pour from my temple.