Page 66 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

I stalk over, snatch the bible from her lap, and snap it closed as she keeps her gaze lowered, her voice resigned.

“You have continually insulted me from the second you walked into my door with no remorse. I had hoped to have a conversation, but I understand now that’s not possible.

Please keep our friendship in your memory, and please be well, Soldier.

I want nothing but happiness for you, always. I truly mean that.”

“I’m sure you do, General. Thanks for your blessing and send-off, but I’m an adult now and not so easily swayed or intimidated anymore.

Where I come and go remains my fucking decision.

And if I’m unapologetic, it’s because the shell you’re dwelling in is resigned to fucking kill my best friend.

So, I think it’s pretty important I don’t tap dance around that. Why are you killing her?”

“I’m taking treatment,” she whispers.

“That’s not what I fucking asked you.” I take another step, my posture as demanding as my eyes. “Answer me, Delphine.”

She licks her lips, keeping her eyes lowered. “Why can we not just keep this civil? Tell me of your life—”

“You need someone to confess to?” I cut in, refuting her diversion and tapping the leather spine of her bible to my chest. “Confess to me . Keep your relationship with Him , but He’s going to let you die if that’s His will, right?

But, you see, General, I’m going to be the man to witness it, so I deserve your fucking confessions as well. ”

A small part of her exterior cracks at my words, and her lips begin to tremble. I make peace with the fact that might be the most of what I get from her—if anything.

“It’s a pointless choice to stay here. Your faith in me is—”

“Scarce at most because you’ve lost twenty years grieving the fictional life you wanted and are still mourning while your real life might be ending with the help of your own fucking hand.”

“It’s a little early for this.”

“It’s too goddamn late!” I roar.

She doesn’t so much as flinch. Her reaction the same as if I’d whispered it to her.

She seems to have hardened herself to me.

Just another man who swore he loved her and abandoned her.

To others, she’s a junkyard dog everyone believes should be put down.

But wounded animals—especially when cornered—are their most vicious because of hurts others can’t see.

I’m so intimate with her wounds at this point—they’re my own, a part of me.

“Tell me where the guilt still is,” I demand, “and who is it for?”

She remains quiet, her gray eyes steadily boring into mine, all pretenses between us gone.

“You hate yourself, and that’s evident. Jesus Christ, Delphine. Why? For being a victim?”

“I am not a victim ,” she states emphatically.

“The fuck you aren’t,” I counter. “That’s all you’ve ever been. First, by the men who wronged you and then by your own maliciousness. I’m not sure who won in that fucking battle, but Jesus, have you tried to outdo them since I left.”

“Just leave, Tyler,” she says in a whisper. “Spare yourself this pointless argument.”

“Don’t waste your breath by repeating that again. I’m not leaving. I was cut short of finishing our argument years ago, and that’s my biggest regret in the eight years since you ripped my heart out and sent me packing with it.”

I’ve explored psychology for over half my life for several reasons—to better understand the actions and decisions of those I’m close to, as well as my opponents.

An education that has served me well and that I desperately need now as I try to decipher what’s happening inside her—why she’s made the decision to stop fighting.

Looking at her from a psychological standpoint, there’s nothing I can do for her but enable her if I want to keep things civil. Fuck that.

“What did you do, Delphine, that you can’t live with?”

“I’m tired, Tyler.”

“Neither of us is moving an inch until you fucking answer me.”

“And who are you really?” she snaps icily. “Who are you to me now?” She shrugs. “A boy I spent a few years with when you were younger to teach, to train.” She shakes her head in exasperation. “What do you think you can mean to me, Tyler, after all this time away?”

“Then why the red-rimmed eyes, Delphine? Who the fuck were you crying for when we left? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because of Cecelia’s gesture.”

“Get out.”

“Truth?” I shrug. “My reasons for being here are more selfish than anything at this point.”

It took me the anger-filled drive back here to face the fact that if I make this my sole mission and fail, it will haunt me until my fucking dying day.

That if I fail, she dies in this state, and as I stare down at her, I decide I can’t live with that any more than I can live with the failure of trying.

In loving her, I’m already haunted enough.

My head screams for me to run—that she chose her fate over and over again for close to two decades—it’s my masochistic fucking heart that still wants to be with her in any way I can. As of right now, she’s just as much of an obstacle for me in living my own life as she is for herself.

“More truth? This delusional man is the only person on earth who will grieve you long past your death. Who wants and cares about your confessions.” I hold her gaze. “The only man who’s ever truly loved you, despite the fucking mess you’ve made and continue to make of yourself.”

“I tried!” she booms in a sudden outburst, and I damn near jerk back at the sight of it. “I have tried! Many times!”

“When?” I cross my arms. “When have you fucking tried?”

“Many times, I—” She shakes her head. “I tried after Celine died, before Tobias left for France, before you . I tried when we were friends and only drank during the night. When I only drank pint. I tried many times in the years since you left, so that when—” She clamps her mouth closed.

“So that when what?”

Her eyes spill over as she shakes her head. “Oh, fuck you! Fuck you, Tyler! You know nothing. You’ve been absent for nearly a decade, and here you are, coming back with your condemnation. I don’t need your fucking judgment and—”

“No, no, you need another fucking drink!” I take the bottle and pour its contents until it floods the glass on the table, the liquid soaking the surface and trailing onto the carpet beneath. “You need to continue to live the very definition of insanity, right?”

She watches raptly as I continue to pour the vodka until it’s running in rivulets off the table.

“Take a good look at your life,” I grit out. “Isn’t it beautiful ? Every single one of your memories, they all look the same.”

“Stop.” The word comes out faint as I empty most of the bottle, saving a few drinks for myself. Tapping her glass harshly, I motion toward her to lift her glass as I lift the bottle to my lips.

“Stop, why? You’ve never pussy footed around how you thought I was wasting my potential. Allow me to do the same, or better yet, lift that glass, Delphine. Let’s toast to your wasted fucking life.”

I toss the vodka back, the burn only fueling my anger. Fully expecting defiance, instead, she bows her head, her hands visibly shaking as she folds them in her lap. No fight. None. It’s utterly gone.

“What future do you see for me?” she utters softly. “Even if I battle the drink, I might not survive.”

“Years ago, you told me you didn’t know who you were, but we both know who you are beyond your past, what life you want.

What future you’ve longed for. That future is so fucking easily attainable, Delphine, it’s laughable.

You beat the alcohol, and you’re already halfway there.

You want to be a soldier? I know of a club that could use your expertise. ”

She stares at me, her gaze solid.

“You want to fish and hunt? Well, it’s in your backyard. You want to watch sunsets in every season? There’s a show every night. You want a place to do that at? I happen to know a place you fucking love.”

She whips her head up where I now tower over her. “So easy,” she scoffs.

“Absolutely not. At this point, you’re close to institutionalized in your thinking.

The bottle is step one. Step two is sorting your past and finally putting it behind you.

Step three will be you actually living your dream.

I know exactly what life you want, and I’m offering it to you right now.

You once told me that it’s the tests in life that make or break you.

You can do this, Delphine,” I state. “You could have all along. My only condition is this, as long as you try, really try, and even if you fail, I won’t fucking leave you. ”

“You can’t make that promise,” she whispers.

“I just did,” I declare with certainty.

“You have so much—”

“I know what I have. I’ll do what I need to do. If I can make this happen, then you can too. Show me, Delphine. Show me you want it, and I’ll move heaven and earth to be there for you, to help you succeed, and won’t ask for a damn thing in return.”

She bites her lip, eyeing the glass before lifting it, her eyes meeting mine in challenge.

“We both know it’s not the drink we’re up against,” I state emphatically. “It’s not the fucking drink.”

Doubling down, I pull out the last of my armor and decide to fight dirty. To forcibly try to create that shred of hope and pull out my arsenal. An arsenal I’ve been building in the years since I left her.

“You turned down life with me for what? For this?” I fist my hands at my sides.

“Well, that’s fucking insulting, but again, I’m not here to win your heart.

I’m here to fight for what life you have left.

Long or short, I want you to have it because it’s clear you’re no longer fighting at all for yourself and haven’t since the night Alain tried to kill you. ”