Page 175 of Severed Heart

“I’m sorry, Soldier,” I whisper. “I will do as you ask.”

As he lifts his head skyward, I notice his expression is turning pained because of his need to protect me from himself and what haunts him. As I take one last lingering look at him, a strong breeze cloaks us both, and my involuntary shiver doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Come on,” he sighs, “it’s cold.” He walks over to me, palming my back to guide me forward. Feeling his restlessness, I remain mute on our walk back. When we reach the porch, he stops me when I lay a hand on the door, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me back into him. “I’m sorry, baby”—he exhales a long breath—“butyou knowwhy I asked you to leave.”

“Because you don’t want me to witness it.”

“Of course not,” he murmurs, “you’re going through enough.”

“I’m stronger than I have been intwo decades,” I declare honestly. “So no, Soldier. I will not accept that. I have not forgotten these past weeks where you have spent all your focuson me, to heal me, that you confessed your own need to heal.” I turn in his arms and gaze up at him. “So now Ineedto know. Where were you?”

“Not tonight, okay?” he replies with more tenderness in his voice.

“Oui, tonight, andright now. You get to demand my pain, to help me, and have probed to learnmy past. Should I not get the same respect, the same privilege?”

He stares back at me, unflinching. “Yes, and you will, just not tonight.”

“Give mesomething, Soldier.”

He blows out a long breath. “I was allowing myself to try and process some things in an attempt to put them into perspective.”

“And so, what? You think you are capable of what I am not without Regina’s help?”

“I didn’t say that,” he defends, “but maybe I claim that because I’ve been researching this half my life for this very purpose.”

“I’m not judging you.” I palm his chest. “But can I not be just as adamant about your health? About the dangerous placesyougo?”

“Come on, it’s cold,” he says, ushering me back to bed like I’m a child as he slips in next to me, his eyes losing the rest of their brass glaze as he gently whispers his palm over the top of my head. I grip his hand and toss it away, refusing his coaxing touch as he exhales a groan of frustration.

“Well, I got athree-for-one dealon the Frenchpains in the assin my life when I befriended Dom, didn’t I?” he coos with the pop of his dimple as I avoid his touch a second time. “Oof, baby,” he admonishes, “I’m so looking forward to ourrealfights.”

“Careful what you wish for, imbecile, and don’t make me state the obvious,” I finally bite.

“I think I will,” he says with a slight edge.

“I care for you just as much, and I will refuse you to hide what hurts you by numbing with stupid fucking jokes to deter me.”

“I flat out told you I’m trying to heal myself, Delphine. I’m not hiding that.”

“And this is how you need me, Soldier? To witness you suffer and remain silent?Non.”

“For now,yes,” he states adamantly, “but only because I’m aware of the catalog of ways to help process PTSD, including grounding techniques, cognitive interventions, exposure techniques, and psychotherapy—otherwise known astalk therapy. And since I’m hell-bent on trying to stay off meds unless it worsens, I’m going through what I can on my own by using what I know. So, without sounding like more of an asshole than I’m acting like right now, I’m only reconfirming what I know any qualified psychotherapist, psychologist, or counselor would tell me. Spending money and time to gain an education I already have would be an utter waste. I feel confident enough on my own because I am fairing and functioning enoughfor now,” he states before refusing the personal space I’ve forced between us by easily pulling me to lay beneath him. Bending, he takes my lips in a kiss so ravenous that I sink into it, glaring at his victorious smile when he pulls away. “Damn.” One side of his mouth lifts. “you’re sexy when you’re pissed.”

“Tyler—”

“When I’m ready to talk it out, you’ll bethe firstI start talking to,” he relays in a soft whisper.

“Promise me, Soldier,” I prompt, palming his jaw as his fatigue becomes more present in his eyes.

“I swear it.” He kisses my hand. “This is one of the reasons my parents used to fight, and I refuse to follow suit in that respect. But this was a minor episode. They come and go and always will. If I’m honest, they were becoming less frequent until this utter fuckingshit showof a summer, which was therapy-inducing in and of itself. But it’s the job and purpose I chose and will continue to.”

“What happened this summer?”

“Jesus, you’re a pushy little thing tonight.” His eyes shimmer with love as I give him an adamant shrug. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Non.Tell me.”

“Well ... let’s see.” He shakes his head in slight disbelief before pinning me with an arduous stare. “And this is just to name the most significant.”