Page 33 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

D ELPHINE

T YLER KNOCKS BEFORE bursting through the storm door, and I jump back in surprise as he stalks toward me—a light dancing in his eyes as he issues his order. “Get dressed, General.”

“I am dressed,” I utter, tightening my robe, not budging an inch.

“Then change, and before you ask, it’s a surprise,” he says. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”

I eye the pint on the counter, and his own eyes follow. “Bring it. Just stick it in your purse.”

I shake my head. “I don’t like not knowing where I go.”

“Trust me on this. You’ll like it. A lot. Wear something simple. Jeans and a T-shirt is fine, but bring a sweater in case it gets cold.”

“Why would I be cold?” I stall as he stares over at me. It’s then I notice he is dressed well, and his hair is neatly combed.

“No more questions, and I know you don’t have to work tonight”—his demanding tone rips my eyes from his styled hair—“so stop trying to come up with excuses.”

“We can finish our battle,” I propose, nodding toward our table of soldiers in play.

“Not tonight,” he insists, his expression resigned.

“Fine,” I sigh, “but if—”

“If you don’t like it, we’ll leave,” he finishes, “I promise.”

Forty-five minutes later, Tyler and I glance around the parking lot as hordes of people exit their cars to enter the Asheville shopping mall. I turn to him where he sits in my driver’s seat.

“This is terrible surprise, Soldier. You still don’t know your opponent well. I am not enthusiastic to shop. Take me home.”

He laughs as he pulls out his wallet before lifting two papers from it and thrusting them toward me. “Still want to go home?”

I push his wrist away, and his expression pinches in remorse now that he’s aware of my issue with reading and writing.

“Shit, sorry”—he lifts his voice—“these right here are tickets to Revenge of the Sith,” he boasts, “Star Wars—”

“EPISODE THREE! TYLER!” I clap excitedly as he cracks his door open with a dimple-filled smile.

“Still want to go home?”

I shake my head.

“Then come on, little Yoda,” he urges, getting out and rounding the car to meet me at my door before lifting his elbow. I stare down at it as he extends his offered arm further toward me. “It could get hairy in there,” he warns.

“How could a movie be hairy?” I wrinkle my nose.

“No, the theater, hairy means busy.”

“That is just a stupid expression,” I say. “Why not just say busy? I suspect you use the worst possible metaphors just to confuse and tease me.”

“I absolutely fucking do,” he admits with a chuckle as I take his offered arm.

“Not as nice of a boy as you make yourself to be,” I harrumph.

“Oh, I can be very naughty,” he teases, “and it will be busy in there because it’s opening weekend. I don’t want to lose track of you, General Half-Pint, so don’t let go.”

“Okay.” Beaming, I tighten my hand around his bicep, unable to stop smiling even after the attendant takes our tickets and tears them, handing me the stubs.

Just after, Tyler gently ushers me to the concession counter as an anxious, sweat-covered teenager steps up, eyeing the growing line behind us with apprehension before posing his question to me.

“What will you have?”

“I don’t care,” I mutter, glancing around the crowded theater complex.

“What she meant to say is,” Tyler speaks up on my behalf, amused by my brash as he scans the brightly lit menu hovering behind the attendant.

“We’ll take a large popcorn with extra butter, layered, and two large Cokes, please,” he adds before turning to me, eyes dancing with mirth as he gently shakes his head. “You are something else.”

“What else could I be?” I shrug.

“Exactly,” he laughs as I roll my eyes at his constant poking, which I am thankful for over any pity.

Minutes later, after gathering our pile of snacks from the counter, Tyler guides me down the hall toward our designated theater.

I whip my head back and forth to take it all in while tightly gripping the huge, ridiculously expensive Cokes in my hands, being careful not to spill them—which he doesn’t miss—biting his smile away.

“What? They are so expensive.”

“Always are,” he retorts, guiding me into the dimly lit theater. Glancing around the hushed room, I follow him down the aisle between a sea of large red seats, many of them occupied.

“Do you have a preference?” Tyler asks me over his shoulder.

“For what?”

“Where do you want to sit? You an up close to the action kinda gal or”—he waggles his brows—“more into the action at the back of the house?”

“I don’t know.”

“What? The kissing tramp doesn’t know?” he pokes.

“I have never been to a movie,” I whisper my admission.

“You’re shittin’ me,” he utters without an ounce of humor in his tone as he runs gentle eyes over my face.

“Non, not shittin’ you. Which is also a terrible expression, but this is my first time, so merci beaucoup, Tyler.”

“My pleasure,” he whispers sweetly. “Follow me,” he says, cradling the popcorn in one arm, his other hand gripping several boxes of candy as he scans the aisles.

“Why such big drinks?” I ask as he leads us down a row in the middle.

“You won’t be asking after a couple handfuls of popcorn,” he says, politely navigating us past a few of those already sitting in our aisle.

As we take our seats, I inhale a mouthwatering whiff of cologne and freeze when I realize it’s wafting from the boy next to me.

He’s wearing cologne?

As he adjusts himself in his seat, and after I put the drinks into the holders— very convenient— it strikes me then just how nicely he’s dressed.

As he settles in and grabs a mouthful of popcorn from the tub now in my lap, I catch a glint of his watch.

This one shiny silver, not the typical plastic sports watch he wears.

My excitement dims with that realization as I sink into the large seat, so very comfortable , and glance around the theater, noticing many couples surround us.

A few rows down, a group of teenagers toss popcorn back and forth while talking loudly.

Unease starts to sneak in as I turn to question Tyler.

“No one else wanted to come? Not Dom or Sean?”

“They’re at the garage installing a part on Sean’s Nova. And they aren’t really into Star Wars like we are.” He shrugs. “They’ll probably wait for the DVD to come out.”

With his easy delivery of this, I try to relax.

It’s when a couple a row down begins to kiss that I realize why he mentioned the kissing tramp, and I avert my eyes as more unease settles over me.

Of course, I know that it is tradition for couples to kiss at the movies, but we are not a couple.

Tyler doesn’t want to kiss me. He is my fishin’ buddy.

I’m his mentor. Nothing more. Sensing the tension in me, the polished-up boy in the seat next to me speaks up.

“Hey.” He gently nudges my arm on the rest. “You okay? Do you want to go?”

The lights dim just as I open my mouth to speak, and the large screen bursts to life, deafening sound surrounding us. Startled, I spill some of the bucket of popcorn. Tyler chuckles as I flick some of the kernels from my jeans, my cheeks heating for looking so simple.

“I am the imbecile tonight.” I roll my eyes at him.

“No, Delphine, you’re not. You could never be that,” he whispers so sincerely that I look over at him. “I’m glad I get to share this first time with you.”

I give him a smile I know is kind. A smile I feel. “Me too.”

I am safe. Tyler is safe.

I remind myself of this as my nerves start to fray because, in truth, I do feel safe with Tyler and relay this as best as possible as I turn to him. “This was a wonderful surprise and treat, private. Thank you.”

“Welcome,” he says, leaning over for more popcorn, his inviting scent invading my senses, pulling me in slightly. Trying to push any ill feelings the sensation causes to the side, I blindly reach for my purse on the floor to retrieve my bottle.

Just a sip.

“Delphine,” Tyler whispers when I take two sips instead. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can leave. I won’t be upset.”

“No, no, I want to watch,” I insist, keeping my eyes on the screen. As the movie starts, I take one more sip and another. But even after I get lost in the movie, the unease refuses to leave me fully. By the time the movie ends, I have few sips left.

* * *

“You’re awfully quiet,” Tyler says several minutes into our drive home.

“Why is that awful?” I ask, pulling my eyes from the passing traffic.

“Another expression,” he grins, a devilish sparkle in his eyes as the air vents blow his cologne through the cabin of the car, and it again surrounds me. “You haven’t said much since we left the theater.”

“I am just thinking about the movie.”

“And?” he asks, exiting the highway to enter Triple Falls.

“So many parallels to our true world. Man’s greed and struggle for power. For one side to reign, as another fights for independence, for freedom of such strict rule. The same story for so many wars, and still we never learn.”

“Agreed.”

“It was tragic,” I say. “Anakin’s descent ... loss of himself to his darkness, to become Darth Vader. You know it will happen, but you are sad when it does. It’s painful to know what remains behind his mask, his future cross to bear.”

“It’s grim, but that’s the story.”

“Sadly, yes, the true nature of the struggle within everyone.” I turn to him as the streetlights run over his profile. “Everyone wears a mask,” I point out with a sigh.

“Think so?”

“You know this, Tyler. Don’t play ignorance.”

“I’m not. What’s my mask?” he asks.

“You know that too.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Your mask is reliable, Tyler, with the sad, soulful eyes who thinks opinions he does not dare speak. Tyler, who cares for his mother, loyal to his friends.” I unscrew my bottle and sip the last of my pint. “Tyler, who caters to his best friend’s drunk aunt.”

“Whoa,” he says, pulling to a stoplight before giving me a hard stare. “You’re no charity case. I hang with you because I fucking want to.”