Page 59 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

Chapter Thirty-Three

T YLER

B LINK .

“Jennings,” I answer my cell, rolling my neck due to the fatigue of my latest workout, one hand on the wheel as I pull to a stoplight.

“Turn around.”

“Pardon?” I ask, pulling the phone away from my ear and gaining no clue who’s calling, only the time ticking on the otherwise blank screen. The hair rises on the back of my neck as recognition kicks in on who it might be.

“You just left base,” he clips, “turn around.”

“And?”

“Meet me in the parking lot of the Waffle House. Black F-150.”

“And you are?”

“The guy you asked to speak to.”

The line goes dead as I search for and find a way to make a quick U-turn.

I have five minutes at most to cement a decision that will alter the course of my life.

In a way that only a select few have. I make my decision in less than a minute after forcing thoughts of her away from being a reason to move forward.

Shifting my mindset on what lies ahead, I scramble to dial his new burner number.

“Good to hear from you, Sergeant Jennings,” Tobias greets with pride on the second ring.

“Hey, T.” I swallow and swallow again, rare emotion clogging my throat. The reason being that this might be the last time we ever speak. He senses my struggle immediately with hesitation on the line, and I beat his inquiry to the punch. “Just want to let you know I’ll be delayed coming home.”

A short but loaded silence ensues. “By how long?”

“There’s a chance I won’t be home this Christmas or next,” I relay, wiping the summer heat from my forehead.

“Fuck,” Tobias exhales, knowing precisely what I’m telling him. We’ve discussed this possibility in detail, but I can sense his own emotion surfacing as the reality and implications set in. “Christ, brother. You don’t know how to fail, do you?”

“I made it happen.”

“And this is truly what you want?” he prompts.

A future I can’t have flits before my eyes.

Our hands clasped as we walk along rows of apple trees, talking for hours before swaying in a hammock for two.

Eyes meeting across a fire as we exchange long glances, peace in our hearts.

Making love to her in the tall mixed grasses surrounding the pond.

The two of us perched on the hillside with her nestled in my arms, watching endless sunsets as the seasons change.

I don’t want that life without her. I can’t picture it without her, and so I don’t want to fucking bother attempting to live it.

I press those illusions down, down, down, into a faraway, unreachable place until the sting starts to dissipate.

It’s over. Has to be over.

Needs to fucking be over. Especially after four long years without a word between us.

A disconnect that has starved my dream to the point that it’s already starting to fade along with what youth remains in my heart.

And as soon as I hit that parking lot, I’ll technically be over.

Voluntarily ceasing to exist for as long as I decide to.

Tyler Carter Jennings’s wants and needs will be useless. With this one move, I’ll become both a vessel of protection and revenge—for my brothers, for my father, and for my country.

“My decision is made,” I finally speak, “and I hope it makes my family proud.” The implication is clear on which family I’m referring to.

“Your family could not be more fucking proud,” Tobias declares in a pained tone, “and will be waiting anxiously for your return.”

“Where are you?” I ask, fighting the last of my starving hope.

“I’m home.”

He’s there, and possibly with her. With one last mile between me and my future, I briefly wonder if Delphine’s nearby.

If they’re sitting at her kitchen table or outside on the porch.

If she can hear my voice. If she wants to hear it.

I stall a beat before speaking precious words I don’t have enough time to thoughtfully put together.

“Tell my brothers ... my family, in the off chance I don’t make it back anytime soon,” or ever . Emotion clogs my throat as he waits patiently before I finally get them out. “That whatever happens, it was worth it for me. Okay?”

“I will. Take care, brother. Come home when you can... and Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to come home,” Tobias whispers roughly. Another pause. “We all do.”

She’s there, and maybe she’s listening, but I tamp down the idea his words were in any way specific to her.

His order isn’t hers. She made her decision, and I’m living it.

Making peace as I pull into the parking lot, I swallow down the fact that even if Tobias’s request included her, it’s not enough.

“Fuck,” he exhales, “all I can see right now is that lanky kid mowing my lawn,” he croaks hoarsely. When I let out a chuckle at that, and he doesn’t, the mutual sting increases over the line.

“Come back to us,” he finally says, “that is a fucking order.”

“Love you too, brother.”

Neither of us hangs up, holding onto the seconds we have left as they start to tick out.

I told him that if I got the call, I would have to keep my distance from the club indefinitely to ensure my new bosses don’t pick up on my extracurriculars.

This means my involvement in the club ceases entirely until I’m sure I’m not being watched outside of it.

We never told Sean or Dom that I would be seeking this invitation because of the likelihood it wouldn’t come.

But now that it’s here, the surreal reality is that in doing this, living this decision means there will be stints, some of them long, where I lose all ties and ability to protect her , protect them all.

When the line finally goes dead, I exhale a long breath. As of this moment, and for the foreseeable future, I’m completely on my own.

Here we fucking go.

* * *

FALL 2011 Syrian Border Thirteen Months Later

BLINK.

Scanning the terrain in the pitch dark with night vision, my inkling pays off the second I spot the first few of multiple, heavily armed bodies creeping in our direction. Snapping to as my adrenaline ramps up, I address everyone on the wire. “Eyes! Wake up! We’ve got company.”

Shultz and Ramirez, both from my branch along with Stuart, are the first to respond, their surprise sounding over the line.

Just as I thought and voiced, we fucked up by stopping for the night to get a few needed hours of shut-eye.

The majority won against my protests to put more distance between ourselves and the aftermath we left hours ago.

Outvoted, I positioned us on the defensive, opting to keep watch while feeling ill at ease the entire time.

It’s a fine line between trying to stay sharp while sleep-deprived, no matter how well-trained we are.

This has been our longest stint so far in the field due to difficulties in initially reaching our target, and our tanks are running dangerously low.

Armstrong, a seasoned Army Ranger, crawls over to me, reaching me in seconds, his goggles lifted as he sounds out his count. “We’ve got twenty, fuck, twenty- three coming straight for us, two with fucking RPGs in hand. Stuart!” Armstrong summons.

Positioned a half click ahead and to our right with several of our able bodies at his disposal, Stuart clips out his own count. “We’re made. We’re fucking made, my count is the same. Two clicks and closing.”

“Then it’s a fair fight,” I bark over the line, “don’t give me that defeated tone, Stuart, and don’t forget who we fucking are. You’ll just have to get your beauty rest later.”

Armstrong shoots me a blinding white grin that would be visible without night goggles.

He’s been my favorite to work with so far out of the teams built in my time with the Global Response Staff.

Stuart, whom I met days ago when we landed for this mission, is fast becoming my least. It’s clear that during his short stint here he’s realized he was better off taking security detail and escort jobs for US diplomats rather than participating in field missions.

As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead weight.

But as team leader, Stuart’s fate is in my hands, as well as the others currently unaccounted for to our left.

“Hey assholes, wake up, or are you too busy bouncing beach balls on your noses?” I bark over the line.

“Fuck you, Jennings, we’ve got the same count on both sides.” McCormick claps back, a highly decorated Navy Seal who came into the mission wheels hot a mere nine hours ago. Company I’m thankful for because he doesn’t fucking miss once he’s got a target in his crosshairs. Ever.

“What’s your position?” I ask.

“Where you put us three hours ago, dick. Two clicks and closing,” he rings out in reminder.

“By my count, that’s six sexy Seals, two romp-ready Rangers, and at least three well-endowed Marines— sorry, Stuart ,” Armstrong quips. “And I’m going to have to agree with Jennings. I happen to like our fucking odds,” he says, lifting his rifle to keep his scope on our approaching company.

“Fuck you, Armstrong. Jennings?” Stuart prompts, his panic evident.

“Clear the line,” I snap. “I’m thinking.”

“Mind speeding that up a bit?” Shultz clips before McCormick sounds up.

“We’ve got a sniper joining the party.”

“That means we did our job,” I clap back. “You have him?”

“Yep,” McCormick fires back, and I know he’s curling his finger on the trigger with his spoken threat already in his crosshairs.

“Thompson, you getting this? We’re going to need some love from above.”

“Roger,” home confirms over the line. “I’ve got your position. I need ten minutes.”

Fuck.

“Might want to make haste and do better or prepare yourself to explain the high count of body bags of America’s finest to the boss.”

“On it,” Thompson replies tersely, seemingly unaffected, though I know he’s in a panic.