Page 238 of Severed Heart

“Don’t judge my actions,” I snap.

“Like I have any right,” he scoffs, relenting easily—too easily, and I hate it, missing my brother as I have since the night he was forever altered. I want this fight. I’ve wanted it for years, but as it stands now, we both look and feel defeated. “But know you’ll only destroy an empty home, not the memories.”

I abandoned any life in Triple Falls years ago, including this place, but it’s always nagged at me that this house remains here, unoccupied.

“If it’s a mistake, I’ll learn from it after. Not in the mood to be preached to,” I relay. “Not today.”

“Understood,” he answers, his accent a little thicker due to the emotion emanating from him, which he’s doing nothing to hide. It dawns on me then.

“You’re finally going to her,” I state with an ironic shake of my head. It’s then I notice his dress, nothing but jeans and a T-shirt.

“I’m terrified she’ll take me back, but more terrified she won’t.”

“I hope she gives you hell,” I relay.

His eyes narrow on me. “You want me to suffer.”

“Some, but don’t forget that I washed my hands of this months ago.”

He scans the expansive farm, the hills and valleys for long seconds before he looks back to me, eyes misting. “Have you washed your hands of me, Tyler? Do you find me redeemable?”

“That’s up to you,” I dismiss.

“I miss the beginning,” he whispers, gaze and voice distant. “I would have done so many things differently.”

“I think we all would,” I relay truthfully.

“If I could go back, I would, Tyler, I would.” He looks over to me. “And not just for myself,” he relays hoarsely, with no sort of manipulative preempt in the delivery. He’s living in his mistakes, in his personal prison, and this is his first step in trying to break free. He’s finally fucking ready. That truth angers me more than it relieves me. Sensing my burgeoning disposition, he studies me carefully.

Stepping up to me, he lets me see his pain, his regret. “Answer me, brother, please. Are we salvageable? But before you do, I came to tell you that I understand you more than I ever have. I understand”—he nods toward the house—“this. The why of it all in a way I never have before. That’s not a reason for you to forgive me, but I want you to know that much.”

“So, what you’re really asking is that because I needed you, and you weren’t there, can I be the same prick to you?”

“I guess so,” he says, a tear shaking free and gliding down his cheek. “And if you can be, I would deserve it.” He shakes his head. “You know I love Cecelia, but you don’t know why. We never shared those details, and I never asked what you had with Delphine, nor do I know of any memories you harbor. I never let you share your happiness with me or fucking asked. I never knew what this”—he gestures toward the house—“was like for you.”

“Heaven,” I manage around the burn in my throat. “Only miles away, it was, felt, seemed untouchable by the club, by everyone. Even by our war. During my time with her, I knew real peace.” I lick my lips and glance away. “I knew what it was to have a family ... until it was ripped away.”

Tobias stares at the front porch for long seconds. “You gave her that same happiness, family. Something she lacked in her own life, but you know that.”

I palm my neck and nod.

“Thank you for that, Tyler. Thank you for caring for her, for loving her. For not giving up on her, for being more her family than we were.”

“Well,” I say, tightening my gloves on my hands, “thanks for stopping by on the apology tour, but—”

“Goddamnit,” he steps up to me, and I react, landing a solid blow on his chin, with nothing behind it. His head snaps right, but it doesn’t stop him as he crowds me, palming my shoulder, his eyes pleading. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Hear me, see me, and know I’m sincere. I haven’t acted like a brother to you in so long, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He pulls me to him and keeps me there, his words coming out rapid but unrehearsed. “As selfish as I’ve been, I need you just as much. Have needed you, and now I need the one I trust the most on this earth to tell me that a life other than what we’re living is possible because I can’t take this reality any longer.”

“For you,” I choke out, palming his back, “for you, you stupid son of a bitch, but not for me, and it’s all up to you.”

We break apart, and I run my glove along my jaw to wipe at the weakness lining it. I swallow again, the heaviness in the air between us lifting substantially as my anger takes a back seat. Glancing up and over, I gaze at my brother, who’s looking back at me with fresh eyes—new perspective. Who sees the man and not the boy.

“The life you get to live from here on out is entirely what you make of it once you reach her, T. There’s no quick fix. You decide. She decides, and then you decide the rest together. That’s all there is.”

He nods. “And for you?”

“I’m all booked up,” I sniff, unable to stand the sight of the house any longer. “But when it’s over, this is my future.” I gesture. “You have St. Jean de Luz, and I have this little piece of heaven to make whatever life I want after. Until then, I’m letting the earth swallow it up.”

He searches me for long minutes and sees my resolve. “When do you return to DC?”