Page 42 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

General Half-Pint: Tyler, you are the best friend I’ve ever had in my life.

You are so warm and kind. It comes from your eyes.

I love the way you speak to me and listen to me.

I don’t think a man has ever really listened to me before like you do.

Maybe Ezekiel. You make me smile every day, even on bad days.

You battle snow with me. You make my heart feel lighter.

Free. I am so happy when I’m with you. Thank you for being the friend you are to me.

I can’t say this to your face because of my brash, but I want you to know I care about you very much.

I hope I make you happy too sometimes like you make me.

I hope I am the same friend to you that you have been to me.

I hope you take this text to your heart, my soldier, and know that you have changed my life in many good ways.

I’m so fucking in love with you. I’m trying so hard not to drop my wrench right now, fly to wherever you are and confess how much while trying to keep my shit together in front of the clowns surrounding me.

I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me before we last parted.

I want you so fucking much, but I’ll be as patient as you need me to be.

I promise ... but please look at me that way again.

Even if you don’t, I’ll wait for you for a dozen more seasons just for the chance.

Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Delete. Hold.

General ... I’m blown away. That text was fucking perfect. How did you do that?

General Half-Pint: She asked me to text you for her. She really wanted to convey it right. Hi Tyler, I’m Michele.

Oh, hi.

General Half-Pint: Sorry, didn’t mean to make this awkward, but you should see the look on this woman’s face.

She talked about you for a good ten minutes before asking me to text you for her.

I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but if you have a brother, send him to the ABC liquor store off Main.

I’m giving her the phone back now. Just thought you should know. Please don’t hurt her.

Never, and thanks.

General Half-Pint: Soldier is me delpine again I hope not embarses you qusetion mark

Fuck no. God no. Not embarrassed at all. That meant so much to me. But General, I’ll take your words any day. Your words mean just as much. Even if they aren’t perfectly typed, they are perfect to me. Okay?

General Half-Pint: Oui Is so much tex makee my brian exploed but I want you knw feel frmy my hart

We can’t have your beautiful brain exploding, now can we? And your soldier got your heartfelt message loud and clear. Can I come over?

General Half-Pint: I go t go work soo n sad face

Well, I just really wanted to come over to say my own heartfelt words to you.

But I’ll just text you that I feel the same.

You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, too, General.

You make me happier than you’ll ever know.

But shhh don’t tell anyone, or feelings will get hurt. Sean is a crybaby, so shhhh ;)

General Half-Pint: non, no tell sean non be brash bitc h make cry wha ha ha

Ha ha! I like brash bitch very much. Please don’t ever change, Delphine. ;)

General Half-Pint: Imbecile

Ah, yep, there’s my girl. ;)

* * *

General Half-Pint: You so cath so mush fish today soilder WoWWWWW

But you cooked them. ;)

General Half-Pint: IT tasted so bad shitttt do not lie assh-iole I saw you gaggle

Hey, hey, let’s not be too brash. It was edible-ish.

General Half-Pint: Bullshiittng I threw up got throw all ovoer toliet

Ok, I’ll be honest. I threw up, too. For like an hour. Maybe we shouldn’t eat fish from the pond anymore.

General Half-Pint: Non agree not eat poson fish but we fish agan soon quest mrak

Very soon. I’ll pick you up early. Night General Half-Pint.

General Half-Pint: Nigth solider of my heart. Maybe see yuo in dream

I have no idea how to fucking take these messages anymore, and I’m losing my fucking mind.

Please ask your God to put me out of my misery.

I’m leaving soon, and I know I might need to let the idea of us go, but I can’t.

Especially when you say things like this and look at me the way you’re starting to.

I know I can’t risk losing you to hasten our season, either.

I’m going blind with the need to touch you, to kiss the wrinkle between your brows away and bite the lip you hold when you concentrate.

To grab your shaking hand and press my lips to it until it’s shaking in a way that feels good.

God, how I want to make you shake in a way that feels good.

“But I can’t. I’ll lose you, baby,” I blow out through a breath of frustration.

“So I’ll keep deleting these confessions, but fuck how I’m tempted to let one slip through.

To hit the send button and see how it lands.

But you’re worth waiting for, General. You’re worth this hellacious ache. You’re worth it.”

Hitting the combination of back and delete buttons I’ve alternated for months, I compose a text that borders the truth, but I know won’t endanger us.

This soldier of your heart wants to see you in his dreams, too, General. ;)

“Why does it have to be in our dreams, baby?” I rasp, gently sweeping my thumb over her words on the screen before flipping the phone to pass it over the slick Marine Corps sticker attached to the back of it.

A sticker my recruiter gifted me on my last visit to his office. Rotating my phone in my hand, I weigh the view of her text against the sight of the sticker, the act mirroring the crux of what’s happening inside me. What was originally the plan is starting to feel more and more like a choice.

It was my first face-to-face with Preston—a birthday gift from Tobias months ago—that amped my long-term vision and is now keeping me torn. I want both the woman and the career, but I can’t put off enlisting much longer.

Stilling the phone back on the screen side, I scroll all the way back up, getting lost in months of texting. Even with the feelings our back and forth evokes, the sinking suspicion that started weeks into our exchanges begins to blanket me.

Not an hour later, I close one of Mom’s books, worrying my lip painfully in indecision as the gnawing continues.

The apprehension remains as I step into a scalding shower and stroke out some much-needed release.

Palming the tile, I pump the top of my cock as I choke out her name to one of a hundred visions of her, too easily summoned.

This one fresh, ingrained just days ago.

The vision of her crystal, sitting on the dock in a pale blue sundress, one of the straps resting at the top of her arm, leaving her shoulder bare.

Her olive skin ripe for my bite and soothing.

Her mischievous silver stare slowly lifting to mine as her lush lips followed.

When the gnawing continues as I towel off and dress, it becomes more and more apparent that I won’t get a second of sleep until I finally accept defeat and that I’ve gone as far as I can on my own.

Decision made, I grab my phone from the bed, the stinging ball lodged in my throat, increasing the burn as I exit my bedroom in search of my mom. Knowing that if I’m right about my suspicions, it will fucking annihilate me.

Searching the house, I bypass Dad, who’s fast asleep in his recliner, as Mom busies herself in the kitchen, packing his lunch for tomorrow. As of late, Dad’s been helping Uncle Gray at the farm to ease himself back into the workforce.

An effort that hasn’t gone unnoticed but remains unacknowledged by me.

He’s only inside mere months of decent behavior outside of the hellish years he put us through.

While my heart wants to forgive him—especially after witnessing his spiral in the garage—my memory refuses to allow it as I dodge his every attempt to bridge the gap between us. Even attempts at small talk.

Easily pushing thoughts of Dad away as my heart rattles in my chest, I tilt my head in a silent prompt when Mom spots me approaching the kitchen.

Her light expression immediately morphs into one of maternal concern as she nods before silently following me into the garage.

Once inside, she stares up at me, her eyes creasing with worry.

“Shit, Son, you’re scaring the hell out of me. What’s wrong?”

“Mom,” I croak, the fissure in my heart widening as her eyes do in alarm.

“Normally, I’d tap into my patience here,” she says, raking my expression, “but I’m terrified, so spit it out.”

“I need your help,” I whisper, hearing the mournful timbre in my voice.

“Anything,” she says, “anything. Talk to me.”

“If I do, not a breath of this conversation is to make it an inch outside of the garage or to anyone else, and I mean anyone . Not ever.”

“You have my word, please,” she assures, the concern in her voice increasing tenfold. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“This isn’t about me,” I assure her, choking on the ache in my chest as my eyes start to burn, “this is about the woman I’m in love with.”