Page 71 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

“Huh ... well, it stands for Global Response Staff or the GRS. The numerals represent each letter’s numeric place in the alphabet.” He grips my pointer, bringing it to the first set of Roman numerals. “G,” then moves it to the second, “R.” I glance up at him as he moves it to the third set. “S.”

He releases my finger as I keep my palm on the tattoo, running my hand over it. His eyes keep and hold mine as a few seconds tick by before he grabs the loofah hanging from my plastic shelf.

“Soap?” he asks, sorting through the bottles behind me.

“Gold and white bottle,” I answer absently, entranced while gently tracing his tattoo before his eyes dip to mine. The look in them reading dull? Bored? Irritated? As his nostrils flare in ... annoyance? Anger? “So, not a Marine tattoo?”

“The opposite actually,” he says, wetting and roughing the loofah with soap to make suds, “it’s a lot like my raven tattoo. This”—he covers my palm briefly with his—“doesn’t exist.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s an alphabet operation outside of our government that uses experienced vets, the best of each branch of the military, to carry out missions that also don’t exist. I’ve done a hell of a lot of marching, General.”

My eyes widen. “You have faced so many battles, Soldier?”

“One too many,” he exhales, keeping my eyes as he drops the loofah and grabs my shampoo.

“So, you weren’t in the Marines all this time?”

“Yes and no. According to the United States, I’ve been a Marine for eight consecutive years and counting. Truth? I served my first four years in the Marines, two years and change in the GRS, and the rest in the reserves. No one knows the extent of it but Tobias, who I thought might have told you.”

“You didn’t tell Dom and Sean?”

“Jesus, we have a lot to talk about.” He massages my scalp with his fingers as he answers.

“Yes and no. I gave them enough to hold them because there were long periods that I couldn’t contact home.

And when I did, I kept it to a bare minimum because I didn’t want my boss at the time—who was in the CIA—catching wind of the club. ”

“Tyler,” I gawk. “You worked for the CIA?”

“No, I worked for me ,” he says, gently ushering me under the shower head to rinse, “as a contractor, under the guise that I was working for them. I was investigating the military, like I told you I would. I didn’t want our club on their radar, so while I was in, I didn’t come home and made very few calls.

I’ve spent the last few years before this summer on a base in Greensboro.

Now I’m here until I can secure an invitation to the secret service”—he resumes with my loofah—“or join Preston’s security detail, depending on which invite comes first.”

“You’ve been back many times to Triple Falls?”

“ Many times ,” he delivers like a blow. I bite my lip and nod, the anger just beneath his words muting any more questions as I drop my gaze.

“Hey,” he says, pulling my eyes back to his with his timbre alone.

“Let’s not start on a shitty note. I have so much to tell you, that is if you want to hear it,” he whispers, running the loofah gently over my back.

“I want to hear it all,” I say, catching his eyes trailing a little lower before he darts them to the side of the shower stall, all the while gently massaging the sponge along my body.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Soldier,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to thank you for doing this for me. For the lengths you have gone to, for . . .” My eyes fill. “I’m ... I can’t believe all you have done for me after—”

His eyes pierce me deep, cutting the words I can’t yet summon but am determined to find .

“I told you I don’t want anything in return, but if you really want to, then thank me by stealing your life back.

By taking your future in your hands and living it the way you’ve always wanted to,” he says, gently scrubbing my skin.

“And winning this fucking war, General.”

I nod in determination despite my fatigue. “I will fight hard, I promise. For you, and for me, Soldier. I will fucking fight so hard .”

His lips lift slightly. “I knew you were still in there.”

“I will admit I’ve been an imbecile for some time with my health, Soldier, but cancer is a fucking asshole. It is merciless.”

“Do you feel any better today?”

“I am tired and aching in places I forgot existed,” I sigh. “To be honest, it feels very strange right now to be sober.”

“When did you start day drinking?” he asks, gently scrubbing my stomach.

“Two years ago,” I admit. “It was a very bad time. Very bad. I was fed up with doctors and needles. With all of it, I had—” I shake my head. “I got tired of hoping.”

“Before you gave up?” he prods, and I bite my lips before I nod in a truthful reply.

“I was not ready to die but no longer wanted to fight. I no longer felt any reason to. I did not see or feel capable of whatever fight you saw in me when you came.”

He lifts my chin with his finger. “I’ve always seen it— you , Delphine.”

My eyes spill over. “I had not seen you in so long, Soldier, I forgot myself. I forgot the way you saw me, the way I was starting to see myself before you left. It’s my fault, I know, but it’s the truth.”

He stops his movements, anger radiating just beneath his skin, and in his return stare before he hands me the sponge.

I take it as he turns his back, palming the tile in front of him so that I can comfortably clean myself intimately.

Making quick work of it, I scour every inch of his insane build as I do.

Once done, I drop the loofah and tentatively place my palms on his back, feeling him tense instantly before I press my forehead between his bulging blades.

“Soldier,” I rasp softly, running my hands from his shoulders, over the swollen curves of his biceps, and down to his muscular forearms. He emits a low curse when I slowly and appreciatively run my hands back up his arms, keeping them on his shoulders before I lean in, pressing a kiss to his skin before I speak. “Tyler, I—”

“Let’s get you out,” he clips before turning abruptly and staring down at me with barely concealed contempt as both of us ignore the very obvious cock salute in his boxers. “You ready?”

Stinging and desperate for a numbing sip, I nod.

Short minutes later, he’s pulling a clean T-shirt from his duffle over my head.

The scent of fabric softener surrounds me as he sits me at the edge of my bed and starts to run a brush through my towel-dried hair.

Exhausted, I’m barely able to keep upright.

My limbs shaking with effort to remain where I am—to take in his gentle touch and tender brush strokes.

“I did not miss this fucking house,” he states. Glancing back, I watch his expression harden as he sweeps my bedroom until our gazes again meet and hold. He breaks contact, continuing to brush my hair. I briefly trail the water still running from his skin to the towel now wrapped around his waist.

“You must be so tired,” I utter, comforted by the feel of his hands.

“I’m fine,” he assures.

“I’ve done nothing but sleep and can’t even think.”

“You don’t have to think,” he states as I glance back at him. “In fact, you’re relieved of thinking until further notice.”

I latch my eyes to his as he continues.

“I’m going to tell you what to do, what to eat, and when to sleep. Don’t scowl at me.” His lips lift at my expression. “It’s simply to establish a new routine. One you know you need. You and me, we’re going to keep very busy . And tomorrow, you’re going to talk to someone.”

I tense as he turns my head gently to face forward and continues brushing. “You know my mother is a psychologist.”

“You can’t be serious,” I admonish as he keeps me facing forward.

“Dead serious, she’s the only one I trust,” he relays, continually running the brush.

“And you’re the only one I trust,” I tell him.

“Same, but this is different, Delphine.”

“You truly want me to tell your mother about myself? My life? My past and secrets, Tyler?”

“Why not?”

“Because she’ll know.” I bulge my eyes back at him.

“That you’ve been horribly wronged by life and shitty circumstances like every other human? Yes, she’ll know,” he says, easily straightening my head again as anxiety thrums through me.

“Tyler, this is not a good idea.”

“You said you trust me,” he reminds me with a sharp edge.

“I do, but therapy with your mother?” I shake my head. “My past is no one’s business.”

“Well, your way hasn’t worked in twenty years, so we’re going to try it my way ... Just,” he sighs, “just talk to her, try to talk about what you hold so close. Besides, if you’re worried about anonymity, she’s required, by law , never to tell another soul.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Really,” he assures. “Not even me.”

I blow out a breath as his eyes beckon me to agree. “Fine. I’ll try.” I puff my cheeks with breath. “God, I fucking hate feeling so weak.”

“Right now, you’re anything but weak, Delphine. I swear to you.” He stops the brush. “Come on, let’s get you back in bed.”

“Pathetic,” I utter at the relief I feel once resting on the mattress, “that a shower took so much effort and energy.”

“You’ll get it back,” he assures, pulling some clothes from his duffle. “Will you be all right if I go change?”

I nod, watching as he retreats into Dom’s room. As he starts to close the door, my eyes begin to slip shut, but not before meeting his gaze briefly before he drops it. The truth becoming more evident that I’ve hurt my soldier in a way he may never forgive me for.

* * *