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  2. Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

  3. Severed Heart: Chapter 55
Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

Severed Heart: Chapter 55

THE SCREEN DOOR creaks open behind me, the familiarity of the telling sound always drawing mixed emotions, especially in this house. A house that now contains so much history, its walls and doors laying witness to so much of my life and of those who once dwelled here. Used now only to store the boxed remnants of our pasts.
But despite the horrors it’s witnessed and the extreme mixture of memories this house hosts and can evoke, as of tonight, unexpectedly, it has been declared a gathering point. Even more unbelievably, a temporary place of refuge for Dominic and Sean, whom Tyler gathered and brought here after their confrontation with Tobias at King’s. Shortly after, Dom fled, and I arrived just after to witness Sean’s devastation firsthand, which was telling enough of my nephew’s state.
All has been quiet as the hours have passed as I wait in hope of his return. Too quiet, and because of it, it’s the familiar snap of the door closing, one I’ve heard a thousand times or more, that manages to bring some comfort. As does the strong, warm hand that covers my shoulder as Tyler takes the step behind me, encasing me with his legs before pulling me back into his chest. Bending, he gently nuzzles my neck as he speaks.
“He might not come back tonight, baby. He’s gutted.” When he hesitates briefly just after, I know he’s holding more news, and I gently nudge him to continue. “I just got off the phone with Jimmy,” he emits low, knowing I’m aware Jimmy is the one who tattoos all local Ravens. “He passed Dom as he was leaving Roman’s house.”
“Dom tried to stop it?” I ask.
“I’m thinking he wanted to. Dom is still parked at Roman’s now.”
“Mon Dieu,” My God, “Tyler, this is too much,” I croak, my eyes watering as the surrealness of the situation sets in. My fear increasing for all involved—especially my nephews. As of this morning, after Sean and Dom discovered Ezekiel and Cecelia’s relationship, they are all at odds indefinitely. Ezekiel’s latest claiming act of marking Cecelia only damning any near future chance of reconciliation.
“I feel this hurt for them both, for Jean Dominic especially. In his voice last night . . .” I utter, feeling the desperation of my nephews’ words during their call while taking comfort in my love’s arms as they circle my waist. “I feel so much, Soldier . . . it’s worry and this horrible ache that won’t subside as if it’s happening to me.”
“You know what that sounds like?” he asks before pressing a slow kiss to my temple.
“What?”
“Like the love of a parent.” He turns my chin with his finger to face him. “You weren’t nearly as bad as you’ve convinced yourself you were. As pointless as it might be to voice, Dom was more of an unbearable teenager than most. Hell, Tobias could barely stand him back then.”
“He was such an asshole,” I laugh lightly as I lean back into him. “I will admit that.” I stare into my love’s eyes. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I’m not saying it to be kind,” he assures, “it’s just the truth.”
I blow out a long breath. “I have this horrible feeling.”
“It’ll be okay,” he assures, “it’ll take time, but they’ll get through it.”
“Is Sean sleeping?” I ask, his heartbreak palpable, bleeding through the walls and doors from where we both sit.
“No, he’s in T’s room,” he replies, “it’s quiet, but I can smell a fresh cigarette burning every few minutes.”
“I could use a cigarette myself,” I sigh, “too bad I only smoked when I drank.” His answering grin is filled with pride before he releases me.
“I’ll go check on him . . . fuck, I hate this,” he groans.
“Should we have spoken up, Soldier? Maybe tried to somehow stop this?”
“The results would have been the same. At least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s times like this that any justification we come up with won’t make it any easier to deal with.” He pinches my chin lightly, turning my face to his. “One more hour, General, then you come to bed, okay?”
He leaves me with a chaste kiss before making his way back into the house. Seconds after, I follow, quietly opening the storm door before pausing in wait. It’s when I hear Tyler and Sean’s muffled exchange drifting from Ezekiel’s room that I pull both front doors firmly closed before resuming my place on the steps.
Staring out at the quiet street from the porch, only the crickets sing as I pray for the sound of his engine, willing Dominic to return and hating that I’m slightly winded from so little physical activity. The gnawing inside me is telling enough. Then again, I’ve slept so little since I heard Dom’s pained voice last night. My youngest nephew’s words replaying in my mind throughout the day.
The war I started with Jean Dominic started so long ago that all I want now is to put a permanent end to it. To try to be here for him as he suffers this heartache. When he took me to see that sunset last summer, it felt like a start, but it was my guilt-fueled confession about how I had wronged Cecelia that quickly ruined that progress. My darkest secret. One I have yet to fully forgive myself for. But it was the man who spoke to Tyler last night—a man who sounded very much like Dominic— who voiced words I never imagined he’d ever say. Words that sparked my hope that our war could finally end.
As the minutes tick by, I replay dozens of clear memories of Jean Dominic. Vivid memories captured in my mind before the haze, before Celine’s and Beau’s deaths. In searching them, I manage to pinpoint the memory of the last time I saw my sister and her youngest son together.
Though almost too big for her frame, Dominic bounced on Celine’s hip as they danced in her kitchen. Their foreheads and noses touching, dark hair tangling as Dominic widened his eyes at her in animation. His heart was wide open back then, and he didn’t care who noticed how he loved and adored his mother. Neither did Ezekiel.
That recollection brings instant tears to my eyes as I track that memory to the next, up to the months after Celine and Beau died. Of the devastation on Jean Dominic’s face and just how carefully he watched me—heartbreak and confusion in his expression as I lashed out. Even back then, he was my mirror. Through the reflection in his eyes, I saw the comparison of the Tatie he once knew to the unhinged mess I was quickly becoming, and in turn, I hurt him for it.
Guilty tears sting my eyes as I recall not long after, when his own expression started to harden, his heart’s door starting to narrow further and further for me as he began to fight back. Painful realization sets in that though Cecelia might have broken his heart today, I had a hand in breaking it long ago.
That truth glides down my cheeks as I sort through the years of our ensuing war after, up to the last day we truly had ill words between us. Mere months before he left for college. Back to the morning where a marijuana cloud trailed him as he walked through the sliding glass door to find me standing at the foot of the kitchen table.
“What are you doing awake?”
“Waiting on you,” I answer instantly, taking the chair at the table as he opens the fridge. “How did it go?”
“I’m not handcuffed,” he spouts sarcastically as he bends to search the shelves, “so I would say well enough.”
Keeping my eyes lowered, my heart pounds in remembrance of the hours before, experiencing the most intense lovemaking of my life—with Tyler. Shame threatens to take hold as my body continues to hum, my lips still tingling from his kiss as my heart begs me to believe his words, promises, and declarations. Never in my life have I felt so much with and for another. Yet, am I a fucking fool to believe, to put faith in, the declarations of someone so young?
Fueled by the war that instantly started my mind racing as my body continued to buzz when I woke alone, I left my mattress in search of Tyler. Heart alight and in a haze, I found myself in the kitchen staring blankly at the maps, utterly consumed by what just transpired and his constantly circulating words.
“. . . There will be no other women for me because there is no other woman meant for me . . . I love you. I fucking love you.”
It’s when I glance over to see Dominic staring at me curiously at the open refrigerator that I jar myself out of my stupor. Cursing my stupidity for leaving my room while furiously trying to put my mask back in place.
“You seem rather”—he tilts his head—“chipper this morning.”
My heart starts to pound, but I speak up instantly with false bravado.
“Because I want to show you something,” I tell him, hoping my tone is convincing. “I am making maps of Triple Falls. Many have hidden spots for refuge. Tyler thought it would be a good idea and that it would benefit you all. What do you think?”
Slowly closing the fridge, he approaches the table to hover over me as I continue.
“Look, here.” I point to the map before I brave a glance at him. “See? The location of a forgotten underground entrance on Main Street. Maybe it will be useful for the club at some point in the future?”
The weight of his stare has me rattling with anxiety while trying my best to push away all thoughts of what it felt like to be with Tyler so intimately. But it’s Dominic’s unforgiving scrutiny that forces me to finally acknowledge it. “What? Dominic, what?”
“Are you really going to ruin his fucking life because you’re afraid to date a man your own age? I’m not a fucking idiot. Whatever is happening with Tyler, you need to end it. Now.”
“Hmm, you are acting like one. I don’t even know where Tyler is.”
“He went for a run because he’s fucked up and dealing with a lot right now. He doesn’t need you fucking with his head. End it.”
I still, keeping my eyes lowered. “We are friends, very good friends who care very much for each other—”
“Come on, Tatie, surely you can find someone your own age to play games with and deal with your bullshit.” His adamance to confront me forces me to lift my face to him. Panic rips through me as he stares back at me, utterly determined.
“I care for Tyler so much”—I swallow—“I would never hurt—”
“He’s not some lab rat for you to fucking experiment with.” Dom relights his joint and opens the sliding glass door. Keeping his eyes on me, he exhales a cloud of smoke, his searing judgment strangling me as I search for and spot my bottle on the counter, craving the numbness it promises.
“I am trying to change, Dominic. I am changing. I do not drink as much. I am doing all I can to—”
“Jesus, you’re so fucking selfish,” he spits, “fucking disgusting.” He flicks his joint before stalking past to slam himself into his room. Music blares from behind his door a second after I pass. My bottle is already at my lips before I close my bedroom door and drain every drop.
Dominic’s Camaro sounds a few streets over, jarring me from the memory of that morning, before it appears and he pulls up to the curb. With the porch light off, I know he can’t see me as he remains idle for several minutes before finally cutting his engine. When he exits, I stand to announce myself, hoping my white flag is evident in my expression as he begins to stalk toward the house, head cast down. Just as he approaches and lifts his head, he pauses when he sees me as I clear fresh tears from my eyes.
“I thought you didn’t live here anymore, Tatie?” he utters softly, not a trace of animosity to be found in his question. Relief sets in at his gentle reception as I answer.
“I don’t. I’m here to wait for you.” My eyes start to sting again as he draws in, and just as I think he’ll pass me, he takes a seat on the bottom porch step instead. I immediately join him, taking in the changes in his appearance with what little light filters on us from the lamppost across the street. His build is far more muscular, his hair shorter, and his jaw more defined. He smells of marijuana, but both his posture and expression reek of pain and defeat. Pain he’s not making much effort to conceal, or worse, that he can’t, which has my eyes welling again. “I’m so sorry, Dominic.”
He gives me a slow nod before granting me an ironic half smile as he speaks. “Well . . . silver lining for you is that your prediction came true, and karma got me on your behalf pretty fucking good.”
“No, Dom, shh.” I lift my palms to him in surrender as tears glide down my cheeks. “Please don’t speak of that out loud. This is not me gloating. That’s not how I feel.”
I lift a shaking hand to his shoulder, and he doesn’t deny my gesture as I will myself to speak again. “Through much, much therapy, I can now say things I never thought I would, and what I want you to take to your heart is that I never wish for your pain.”
He stares back at me as I release his shoulder to help clear my eyes. “Well, I’ll take your word for it because you’re leaking again.”
I can’t help laughing. “I have been nothing but an emotional woman since I stopped drinking, and I hate it. But if you can believe it, no matter how much I leak now, I am so much happier.”
“I see it in you. You look well . . . healthy,” he rasps out, “I almost couldn’t believe it when Tyler told me”—he tilts his head—“but then I remembered noticing a real difference in you when I took you to Pretty Place for that sunset. You were sober that day.”
“Oui.” I smile. “I had just gotten sober. I have worked very hard to stay sober. Very close to a year now.”
“It shows,” he whispers low before a rare apprehension fills his eyes. “You know, Ormand personally escorted me and Sean to the airport last night.”
“Oh?” I say, dread settling low. “Good, he owes me many favors.”
“Tatie,” he drags out, his tone confirming that Ormand did much more than give him a ride. Fury instantly fills me as I gape over at him.
“What did Ormand tell you?”
“A lot that you omitted. You undersold the shit out of your past when Tobias forced the conversation between us before I left for MIT.” He nudges me. “Jesus . . . fuck, Tatie, why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because you were children, and it was my job to protect you from such vile truths. Of all my failures, it’s the one thing I successfully managed to guard you from, even as I failed to shield you from myself. As you both grew older, I decided I never wanted you to know.” I shake my head in fury. “Ezekiel still does not know, and it was not Ormand’s place to tell you anything,” I whisper shakily, “he had no fucking right, the fucking imbecile.”
“Well, you might be pissed at him, but I got the impression you’re his hero,” he relays ironically. “I don’t think he meant any harm because he got pretty choked up as he rambled on about how he had wronged you. He looked fucking terrified, too, like he had the fear of God put in him. He kissed mine and Sean’s collective asses the whole ride. So, while you might hate it, I’m glad I know what little he did tell us, Tatie, and that you’re here because I already decided months ago that I was coming to you after I got back.”
My heart lights at his admission. “You did?”
“Through a coincidence—I’m now positive is named Tyler—I stumbled upon my grandfather,” he confesses.
“You met Francis?” I gasp.
“And his son, Ranier, briefly, but yeah, and my conversation with him changed a lot of my perception of you.” He shakes his head, his expression dimming. “After hearing Ormand last night . . . you’re not the only one who has an overdue apology. I fucking”—he swallows—“I fucking made fun of you, antagonized you, and you . . .” His remorseful gaze prompts me to answer his unspoken question.
“No.” I shake my head. “This is not the conversation I wanted to have. I have put that in the past behind me, and you are suffering enough.”
“Tatie,” he urges. “This is the conversation I need to have. I have bits and pieces, but I need to hear the truth from you.” He watches me carefully as if through new eyes. “I remember you before, Delphine. The aunt you were to me before my parents died. You weren’t a ball of sunshine, but you played with me and Tobias in the yard. You read to me a lot to practice your English. ‘One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish,’” he says as I mouth the last of the title with him. “It was our favorite book, even if you did have a love-hate relationship with Dr. Seuss.”
I palm my mouth to hold in my emotion as he nudges me. “Tatie, tell me what happened.”
“You were a child,” I tell him. “Please let it be.”
“I can’t. Tell me what he did.”
Closing my eyes briefly, I nod. “If I tell you this, Dominic, you must promise never to share it with Ezekiel.”
He nods.
“I will not give you all the details, but to keep it short, Alain took a heavy ashtray from the kitchen table, a very heavy ashtray, and struck me here”—I point to my left temple—“causing permanent damage . . . he almost killed me, but it was Beau, your father, who saved me from that fate,” I relay in hopes it brings him pride. “Beau terrorized Alain enough to scare him into hiding, and he never contacted me again.”
“Jesus Christ,” he utters. “All those times I fucked with you about it,” he darts his eyes away, “and that morning . . . I was so fucking vicious with you about Tyler.”
“Shh, Dom, no”—I glance back at the door in fear—“please don’t speak of this. I don’t want Tyler to hear or to know. Not ever.”
“Fuck that,” he says, not lowering his tone by a fraction. “I know you broke it off with him after I went off on you that morning,” he relays, guilt clear in his eyes, “because he enlisted just after and would never come near this house. That’s . . . on me, and I’m fucking sorry for that, but I swear to God, Tatie, I thought I was protecting him.” He palms the back of his neck. “Or maybe I was just too much of a fucking asshole to see it.”
“You weren’t wrong, Dom. You weren’t right, either, but time told us differently. Tyler and I are very happy now. You just wanted your friend to have the best life. It’s not so hard to understand why you had so many doubts . . . I shared them with you, but please, please let’s not speak of this . . . you know he has the hearing of a bat.”
He nudges me again. “He really doesn’t suspect?”
“No, and he will never know,” I vow.
“I don’t know if I can live with it. He deserves to know, and I deserve his wrath for it.”
“No,” I say adamantly. “No. Self-punishment is the absolute worst torture. Let it be, Jean Dominic, and don’t credit yourself so much. You may have had something to do with my decision that morning, but you did not make the decision. I did, and don’t forget that. You did not drink all those bottles, self-sabotage, and hurt your nephews. I did. So, take the blame from yourself, make peace that you were young and acted like a natural asshole teenager, and let it be over. We have all suffered enough from our past mistakes and circumstances, so enough of this,” I state again. “You thrive on your relationships with your brothers. I do not want this to be another divide between what you hold so dear. Hear me, Jean Dominic, let it be, let it go, and never speak of this again. Do you understand?”
He stares at me for a long minute before he finally nods.
“But I will ask you for one thing, nephew. Just one thing.”
“I’m listening,” he mutters, exhaustion and ache in his eyes.
“Do you remember what I told you about forgiveness when you took me to the sunset?
“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
“My ask is that you don’t let this go on so long that you and Ezekiel lose one another. Your heartbreak is one thing, but the loss of your relationship with your brother will be the true tragedy. I still, to this day, love your mother so much for loving me when I thought no one could. I’m sure now that is why she remains so deep in my heart, and you have her heart, Dominic.”
“I’m feeling a lot right now, Tatie, but I heard you.” He lets out a long breath. “You really don’t hold it against me?”
“No. I’m okay with things as they happened because he’s an incredible soldier, and I helped to rear the soldier inside of him to care for you both, which is my contribution and repentance. And look what you all have become! I have so much pride that you are all the soldiers I wanted so much to be . . . but please try to forgive as fast as you can so you don’t lose the time I have because it is damning,” I warn. “So damning.”
He studies me for several heartbeats before he finally nods again.
“Okay, that’s all I wanted to say.” I stand. “Good night . . . je t’aime, Jean Dominic,” I exhale shakily. “I am so glad you remember me . . . before.”
Turning from him to relieve him of any response to my affection, he grips my forearm to stop me when I take the first step up. Looking down, I see his eyes filled with pain before he poses his question.
“Do you want to play a game?”
“Do you mean Battle?” I perk up.
“Yeah.” He stands, “I don’t see myself sleeping anytime soon.”
“Okay.” I smile. “Let me go find some soldiers.”
* * *
The feel of little hands has me opening my eyes to follow their movements. They carefully strip away the plastic before the adhesive is pressed to my skin, covering the fingerprint-shaped bruises on my arm. The little fingers attached to little hands continually pluck from a box of Band-Aids that are propped against my drawn knee where I lay in bed. It’s when he starts to hum “Alouette” that a sting I swore I was incapable of since I woke begins to burn my eyes, nose, throat, and chest. A sting that increases as I continue to rouse.
“Tobias . . . you can’t go,” Tyler calls from yards away, trailing Ezekiel as he stalks toward his Jag.
“Where is she?” Ezekiel snaps in response.
Jean Dominic remains diligent in his task to cover me in strips of plastic where I lay on my side, facing him. With every bandage he successfully secures, he darts his eyes up to mine, sensing he’s being watched, and I close them just as quickly before he resumes his work.
As Jean Dominic attaches another bandage at the base of my neck, I ignore the tickle. Fighting hard not to release the burning tears desperately trying to escape my closed eyes. Slitting them open, I catch glimpses of the little boy at my bedside, who is doing his very best to cover every visible mark, every hurt on my body.
“You know you can’t—” Tyler tries to reason with Ezekiel as he, in turn, demands his answer.
“Where is she?” Ezekiel orders a second time.
“Je te plumerai la tête . . . oh, oh, oh, oh,” Jean Dominic squeaks as he carries on, as feelings I haven’t once experienced—nor been able to draw out since I woke in that hospital—start to crash into me like a tidal wave. Emotion that I haven’t yet been able to summon. Not once since Ormand looked over to me, sobbing with red-rimmed eyes. Not once since Celine began to spoon-feed me, her eyes haunted as she assured me Alain was long gone and would never be back. Feelings that did not arise the day I isolated myself in my bathroom, staring for long minutes at the damage my husband left in his wake.
Confusion has been present since I woke, as well as irritation with Beau, who did not heed my warning about Abel. Insisting he would deal with Ezekiel’s grandfather if he did become a threat. That our Ravens would stand guard and that we had the upper hand here in the States.
More irritation as well for the haze that now surrounds my vision, my memory. For being so helpless and unable to care for myself. For being unable to speak. But as far as real, genuine emotion, especially anger—not a trace. However, it’s the loss of something essential inside of me that plagues and puzzles me. The mystery of what was taken that sometimes outweighs the pain. Something I know now is not emotion.
But it’s Jean Dominic’s continued gentle touch and humming that has emotion threatening to overcome me now. Through slow cleansing breaths, as I gaze upon him, I manage to stifle the threatening cries so as not to scare him, though I want so much to free them.
“You don’t want to do this,” Tyler warns, his voice more urgent. “It will only—”
“Where is she?!” Ezekiel shouts as a tense silence passes.
“At school,” my love hesitantly replies, his curse floating up to me shortly after Ezekiel’s car door slams, and my nephew turns his engine over before racing away.
Jean Dominic hums as I keep up my charade, stealing glimpses at my nephew, where he stands at my bedside, bandaging me in an effort to heal me. Inching my head back to gain more view, I glance down to see my pajama top is covered as well—but in only one place. I count six Band-Aids lined up in a neat row across my pajama top, above where my heart lies. The number is ironic to me because Jean Dominic could never possibly know that’s the number of years I was trapped in hell. It’s when he finally works his way up to my face that I allow him to see my open eyes as his own widen in surprise. “Tatie!” he exclaims. “You are awake!”
I nod as he scans the work he’s done before he brings his gaze back to me. “Maman said you were so very sick and sad and that you can’t talk!” He shouts as if I’m deaf, too. “Do you feel better?”
His innocent eyes search mine in hope as I will myself to answer.
“Oui!” I manage, my voice unrecognizable with that one word.
“Maman!” Dominic calls loudly for her, and I know it’s to boast that he got me talking. As he calls her a second time, I note the beauty of Celine’s youngest son. Where Ezekiel is just as beautiful in his own right, Jean Dominic’s is ethereal . . . almost otherworldly in a sense. I decide it has to be his youth and that all children are probably beautiful in the same way. I have not paid attention to many children, but I have noticed it in Celine’s boys. In their translucent newborn skin, the tiny veins just beneath their perfect pinkness, and their silky hair. Which shines on its own without the added reflection of light.
Their souls just as flawless. Perfect and pure, free of debris and the filth of life. Their tiny bodies and hearts utterly untarnished. As I stare at Jean Dominic as he waits for his mother’s praise in those short few seconds, for the first time, I take a different meaning in the Word, which conveys God’s love for all his children. Words which declare we are seen and loved by Him the very same way—new babes with translucent skin, tiny veins—and shine for Him without the reflection of light. That His love keeps us safely in that veil and viewed the way I view Jean Dominic right now.
The idea that this could be the truth has my chest roaring in pain and longing, in desperate want of that love. Where just days ago, I was made to believe that love is the greatest deceiver of all and could never exist in such a way for me. But in my nephew—during those short seconds—I see God’s love. Just as I think it, a shudder runs the length of my body before it erupts in chills. A presence takes hold of every one of my senses, surreal warmth filtering throughout my heart as my mind goes utterly silent. And with my mind quieted, I feel a soothing balm surrounding the riot roaring within my rupturing soul, a half breath before it’s snuffed out. Within the length of a few heartbeats, all pain leaves me, and I experience a peace I never thought myself capable of. Just after, I’m gently released back into reality. That utter state of peace coming and going so quickly that I instantly wonder if I experienced it at all. It’s the relaxed state that remains in the aftermath that convinces me it did happen—that I didn’t imagine it.
In that aftermath, the sight of Celine popping her head into my bedroom door, eyes comically widening a second before her jaw unhinges, has a smile threatening—a smile!
The mere notion of that expression seeming impossible to me, a feat I never planned on taking on after I woke. Never to be fought for or mustered up, or a priority or remote possibility mere minutes ago that suddenly becomes knowledge. A knowledge that someday, maybe not soon, but someday, I will smile again.
Celine’s eyes widen further as she draws near and lifts the box of empty Band-Aids, her voice light but scolding.
“My God, Dominic, did you have to use every single one?” Celine’s mortified eyes dart to mine in apology as she kneels before him and grips his tiny, healing hands. “And what did I tell you?”
“To leave Tatie alone,” Jean Dominic speaks, mimicking her voice. “But she said she feels better now, Maman!” he argues before he turns to me, his silver-gray eyes imploring mine. “She told me so. She talked to me, Maman! Didn’t you?”
“Oui,” I answer through the rusted blades in my throat as I manage my first words for him since I woke in that hospital. “Oui, m-m-much better.”
My sister’s eyes instantly fill with tears as we hold our stare for long seconds, both moved by the gesture of her beautiful little boy. Hope bouncing between us for the very same reason—that we will survive this dark time and escape the lingering fear and pain together as we have every other obstacle we’ve faced since we became sisters.
“Come on,” Celine sighs, guiding Jean Dominic by the palm through my bedroom door as I call after him. They both stop at the threshold as I whisper the truth.
“You heal me.”
“Oui, Tatie,” he pronounces proudly. “Then I will bring more tomorrow!”
“No,” Celine laughs, ushering him out. “You will not. Come on, little prince,” she says, giving me a wink before they disappear from sight. Just after, I release the tears of hope I’ve been holding as I stare after the angel who just left my bedside.
Tyler surrounds me in his comfort as I stare down at Dominic’s solid white casket, pinpointing precisely what Alain took that night—the naïve sense of safety God gifted us. The blissful ignorance that veils and shields us from the evils of men. Of being naturally blind to such evil. Of believing in Band-Aids.
A veil that no one, once exposed to it, can ever get back. And in seeing that evil, feeling it, and becoming intimate with it, I can task myself to battle it like my nephew did before he lost that fight. As more cars begin to turn over, I allow myself to mourn the loss of that veil for the last time. To grieve the boy who stole my heart and brought me light and hope during one of my darkest times. It’s then I collapse into my love’s arms and allow that grief briefly to take hold . . . but only for a moment.
Years before that veil was taken, I charged myself to fight the evils of men. And as I will the last of that grief out of me, I decide to reforge the soldier within and charge her to rejoin the battle she left long ago.
Fury begins to take hold, taking ownership of my grief as the restlessness that’s been prodding me since the day Jean Dominic died becomes recognizable. Inside that recognition, a mold starts to take shape. The inferno of anger blazing inside, pouring itself into it just after. The base of my designed wrath precise for wielding. The opposing edge sharpening to a point capable of penetrating any armor. The tip of it coated in a venom so toxic it will unapologetically take down any barrier that threatens to interfere with its purpose. As I gather my rage to poise it—to take aim—I feel the coil beginning within, growing tighter and tauter as I start to straighten my spine, denying another tear.
Tyler tenses briefly, sensing the change happening inside me before releasing me just as I lift my eyes to his.
In an instant, he recognizes what’s in my expression. And though my days as this newly forged soldier are numbered, I lift my chin in defiance of that number, determined to take aim as long as I’m capable. Not an ounce of fear remaining as I stare at the man who not only recognizes the fire now burning inside me but stokes it with the return fire in his own. No words necessary as we solidify our new mission.
Our collective flames and darkness brushing before merging together as we mentally start to strategize. Though they declared it, they’ll soon die painfully regretting it because, as of this moment, we’re taking it back and declaring it our own war. As my soldier and I walk hand in hand from Dom’s graveside, we blaze together down that hillside with a matching search for vengeance in our rippling souls and wrath beating between our synced hearts.
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