Page 56 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

“Please don’t leave like this,” he sobs, dropping his wallet at his feet before covering his eyes with his fists. His face twists in devastation and I crack wide open at the sight of it, my eyes spilling over as I give him all I can—my truth.

“I can’t live under this roof with you any longer with the way I feel about you, but if you truly want my forgiveness,” I relay before he slowly lowers his fists and searches my face, eyes earnest. “Love and treat her the way she deserves.” I swallow as I harden my stare.

“But if you can’t love her like that anymore, if you’re no longer capable, let her fucking go. ”

He nods, drops his gaze, and steps back in defeat, openly crying as I grip the strap at my shoulder, letting out a pain-fueled exhale.

Turning, I take a few steps toward the door and force myself to stop at the threshold, knowing I won’t be able to live with myself if I leave without saying it. “I love you too, Dad.”

A harsh breath leaves him, his muffled cries following me as I stalk out of my room.

I feel his eyes on my back as I slip out the front door and softly close it behind me.

And with that act, I free myself from the slow suffocation of living under the same roof as the man who almost destroyed me.

Heart seizing with every step, I’m reminded I’ve made another home inside the woman I love and begin the march toward my future.

* * *

Minutes later, I’m stuffing my duffle into my truck, still parked curbside at Delphine’s, feeling Dom’s weighted gaze on me from where he sits on the porch in the lone rusted spring chair. His question sounds from over the rail as I make my way to the porch to see him rolling a joint.

“Going somewhere?” he asks.

“Not yet, but it looks like you’re about to,” I joke as he seals it closed.

“What’s with the duffle?” he asks.

“It’s a story for another time. I don’t really want to get into it.” He stands as I palm the handle of the storm door. “Let’s just say I won’t be heading home for the holidays any year soon—if ever.”

His eyes snap to my profile before I pass through the door, and he trails me into the kitchen. His prodding gaze remains unrelenting as I pour each of us a cup of freshly brewed coffee and hand his over.

“It was a long time coming, Dom,” I finally say after taking a sip. “Sorry to ask already, but I’m going to need my cut from last night to hole up somewhere temporarily until I’m off to march.”

“You can stay here,” he offers without missing a beat.

“Nah,” I say, “thanks, but I’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll have it tonight, but brother, if you—”

“I’m good, man, swear,” I say, ending the Q & A. Feeling his inner struggle just after, in one of his rare efforts to mute himself, I divert. “I got your text, but how did it go?”

“Exactly like you mapped it,” he says, finding a grin, “and it feels fucking good.” He runs a hand down his face. “But fuck, I’m wiped.”

“You haven’t slept yet?” I ask, knowing the answer while trying to convince him I don’t. He expected me here until he came home, so my truck parked at the curb doesn’t require explanation. My alibi sadly aided by the baggage I brought with me and my new predicament.

“I’ve been covering up our tracks for a few hours.”

“And?” I ask.

“We’re golden,” he says, refilling his coffee before thinking better of it. “Fuck, I’m too drained to even attempt this day without sleep.”

“I think I’m going to go for a quick run,” I say, far too restless to stay idle as I ditch my coffee cup and head toward the sliding glass door. Dom follows me out back, sparking up his joint as he scans our surroundings, which are slowly starting to tint and brighten with the sunrise.

“I’m going to smoke this, log on for a few, and then crash,” he relays as I jump the fence. “Wake me up when he gets here.”

No question who he is as I grin over at him. “You knew he was coming?”

His smirk turns into a full smile. “I know a lot, but I pick and choose when I want to let anyone else in on it.” He gives me a pointed look.

“You got something particular in mind you want to disclose?” I ask, point-blank.

“Not at the moment, you ?” he counters.

“Nothing in particular, except that you’re a dick,” I supply, stretching my hamstrings.

“Old news. You should probably rest up, too. I’m thinking that French bastard is going to keep us busy.”

“You’re French too, you know,” I say, starting my run as his reply follows me.

“Prove it,” he calls to my back.

Racing with the sun as it lights the day, I manage to reach my mileage goal despite my exhaustion.

I’m cooling down when Dom’s bleeding speakers reach me as I hit the driveway.

The volume becoming obnoxiously louder with every step I take toward the house.

Once inside, I glance down the hallway to see his door is closed.

Though I can’t help but think he’s purposely doing it to torture his only roommate.

Shortly after, said roommate appears looking pissed and doesn’t even glance my way after stalking down the hall.

It’s the sight of the pint in the pocket of her robe that has dread seeping into me.

Batting all ill feelings away—knowing Dom’s early morning serenade is most likely the reason for her current mood—I trail her into the kitchen as she pours her coffee.

“He’s such a dick. Whether you refuse to spar with him or not, you have the divine right to raise hell to anyone blasting fucking music at seven in the damned morning.”

She doesn’t so much as acknowledge me as she tightens her robe. Dread courses through me at the sight of the gesture as I trace her every movement. After dispersing her ritual powdered pain reliever on her tongue, she uncharacteristically washes it down with vodka.

“Hey,” I whisper, “you don’t drink in the mornings and have nothing to feel guilty for. Come on, don’t start today this way. Talk to me.”

As if in contempt, she unscrews her bottle and takes an overly numbing sip, not bothering to spare me a glance before I rip it away.

She doesn’t react at all when some of the liquor spills between us before she turns and pours some coffee.

Snatching the bottle from the counter where I just deposited it, she free-pours it in.

“Damn it, stop numbing and talk to me.”

When she refuses to look at me, my patience starts to wear thin.

“All right, fuck, so if you’re going to try to do this, you’re going to look me in the eye and fucking do it sober .”

Nostrils flaring, she finally lifts her eyes to mine. Void, vacant, no emotion to be found. By the glazed look, it seems she’s already well over a few drinks in.

Fuck.

Hold steady, Jennings—first battle of many.

Her words come out low and laced with ire. “You insult me so gravely last night and have the nerve to behave as if you are insulted?”

“What?” I furrow my brows.

Coffee in one hand, she opens the junk drawer next to her and pulls out a piece of paper before thrusting it toward me. I take it to see that it’s an invoice for the ceiling repair. I sink where I stand as the guilt for my assumption resurfaces.

“I’m—”

“He forgot to leave the invoice after patching my ceiling. I was already in my robe, ready to take a bath, when he knocked.” It’s then that dread covers me as her glare turns accusatory.

“But what do you assume when you see a man in my driveway? You assumed I fucked a repair man just to prove a point to you?”

“Delphine, I’m sorry, I am. I—”

“I give you my trust and friendship, and you drew that conclusion so easily with your jealous fucking love.”

“Jesus.” I palm the counter, ducking to keep her eyes when she lowers them. “I thought we were okay.”

“You thought wrong, Soldier. Did you once offer a real apology?”

“No.” I palm the back of my neck. “But I’ll beg for your forgiveness now. I was in a really bad state last night. A fucked headspace before I got here. I had just run into my dad’s mistress—”

“Sounds familiar.” She tilts her head.

“Don’t,” I snap in warning. “Don’t compare me to him.”

“Why not? This is a pattern I know very well. That is how it started with Alain. First, it was a declaration of devotion to win my heart and trust. Of how he loved me. That his dreams were my own. It was a living dream until he started to get in his moods.” She opens the drawer next to her.

“He was in a bad place mentally, too, when he slammed my hand in this drawer for palming Ormand’s shoulder when he made me laugh. ”

“Fuck,” I whisper, taking a step toward her, reading just how volatile the situation is as she holds up a damning palm to stop me, lifting her chin while eyeing the table feet away. “He raped me after, on that table we play Battle on every night. Many times out of jealousy.”

“Jesus Christ,” I utter, my whole being tensing with the pain her admission causes as she casually sips her coffee.

“Do you know why I stay in this fucking house of horrors? Why I don’t fix the roof, scrub the floors, or make any effort to paint the walls blue to make it more like a true home? Because it’s not a home for me but a reminder that love is a fucking liar , a reminder to never believe that lie again.”

“Delphine, please.” I take another step forward, the need to surround her eating my insides.

“You ask me if I ever feel beautiful. Oui, Tyler, when my best friend purposely chooses to spend his free time with me. When he reaches for me in any way other than physical. When he listens, when he takes my words for value without fucking me with his eyes. But you ruined that friendship with your demand for more. So, you are right. There is no going back. Our friendship is over.”

“Please don’t do this. We can work this out. I didn’t mean any of it. We were just okay—at least I thought we were, what the fuck happened?”

“Men have been looking at me the way you are since I was a fucking child. This fucking face, this body, whatever men see, I have paid for it every day since I was a fucking baby. Matis saw it. The way they looked at me.”