Page 143 of Severed Heart

“Oui. I want that so much.” She nestles back into me, her head on my chest as she nods into my neck. “My f-fishin’ b-buddy, my b-best friend. I missed you s-so much.”

“I won’t let go this time. I swear this to you, I won’t fucking let go, no matter what, and I won’t leave you,” I tell her as she continually nods into my neck. “I fucking promise on all that I am, this war we fight together.”

Time be damned, disease be damned, illness be damned, I’ll defy it all and keep my promise. To make the most of every fucking second she gives me. But most importantly, make the most ofhers.

I cage her in my embrace in the silent moments we spend in her decision, guarding her from the shame and humiliation that plagues her.

Even if I never have her love in return, I have her for the time being, for as long as it takes for her to heal—maybe forus bothto heal as I speak my last truth. “We healed each other before, Delphine, and we’re going to do it again,” I vow. “We’re going to do it again.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

TYLER

UTTER. FUCKING. HELL.

It’s the only way to describe watching twenty years of alcoholism drain from Delphine before my eyes. Fists at my sides at the end of her bed, I watch as she vomits, or rather, dry heaves, hovering over the plastic tub the nurse holds at her bedside. Delphine’s hair and face are soaked in sweat, as is the sheet plastered to her body. Each of her accompanying groans relentlessly replacing hope with fear that she might not survive the night. Though I told her I would be by her side every second, I signed up for a hellacious journey of laying witness to each one. Though I was assured Delphine could handle detoxing at home with the proper medical supervision, as each agony-filled second passes, I second-guess my decision not to have hospitalized her. After another thirty minutes of watching her endure the worst of her first battle, I reach my breaking point.

“Sedate her again,” I grit out in an order to the nurse, Kerri, who’s currently fuckingknittingnow in a kitchen chair that I moved to Delphine’s bedside.

“She’s almost through the worst of it,” she offers blandly.

“She doesn’t andshouldn’t fucking have tosuffer through it all, sedate her.”

“Mr. Jennings, I’m simply—”

“I don’t give a fuck!” I roar. “Sedate her or get the fuck out!” I stalk toward Delphine’s dresser, which is now lined with medical supplies, in search. The specialized nurse—who came highly recommended for high-risk detox—finally shoots her useless ass up from her chair and grabs a ready syringe. Glaring at her, I take a knee next to Delphine’s bedside and grab her hand as she looks over to me.

“You’re not b-behaving like a s-soldier,” she challenges in an attempt to joke as I run my fingers through her soaked hair, trying to hide my worry. The only reason I’m keeping her here is because she hasn’t had a seizure—I know this because I haven’t slept in the last thirty-six hours. But it’s the third and fourth day she’s most at risk, and I’m coming apart at the idea that it could happen any time.

“Give us the room,” I order Kerri, who immediately takes her leave under my glare.

“You know, technically,” I whisper to Delphine, “I’m a Marine now. I’ve even got a fancy title.”

“What is it?” she asks, shaking so badly that I fight for breath.

“Gunnery sergeant.” I flash her a grin I don’t feel. “But I’ll always be your soldier”—I wink—“and you know that. How you doing, General?”

“I c-could use a drink,” she manages, her eyes latched to mine, her face clammy, her body soaked with sweat.

“I’m kind of with you on that. I could use one myself.” I peer back at her, curious as to when she started day drinking. The knowledge battering me that years ago, when she limited her intake, this wouldn’t have been nearly as dangerous—that and the fact that this really could kill her.

“I d-don’t want to fail you.” She shivers as I stand and bend, unlacing my boots while never dropping eye contact.

“Then don’t,” I tell her, fisting off my shirt.

“I don’t w-want to failme,” she admits in a whisper while taking a curious eyeful of the tattoo on my right pec.

“Even better,” I commend just as her face twists in discomfort, her jaw shaking involuntarily. “We’re going in together this round, General. Are you ready?”

Delphine nods, keeping her eyes locked with mine, and in seconds, I’m stripped into nothing but my boxers before I slip into bed and turn on my side. Propped on my hand, I stare down at her where she lays on her back beneath me. “I have a few more secrets to tell you,” I confess as Delphine gazes up at me, slick hair plastered to her scalp, her lips tinged blue. “Want to hear them?”

“Oui.” She nods for emphasis.

“Before your soldier left for the Marines, he gave himself two missions to see through in the sixteen days he had before he was to board his bus. The first was that he spenttwelvedays alone in the woods with the pocketknife you gave him.”

She winces at her failed effort to get closer, and I palm her hip, adjusting her so she’s as flush to me as possible.

“Better?” She nods as she gazes up at me with pride in her eyes.