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  2. Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

  3. Severed Heart: Chapter 59
Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

Severed Heart: Chapter 59

WINTER 2015

Christmas Evenoveldrama

BLINK.
Palming the tile, streaming hot water pelts my back where I stand beneath the shower head in an attempt to cleanse myself, body and mind, of the last few days due to my latest mission. Intent on calming or, at the very least, muting all lingering restlessness, even as a flurry of activity takes place down the hall.
Judy Garland croons throughout the house as my mom helps Delphine put up some last-minute decorations to add to the already festive, cozy décor while covertly helping me make sure Delphine doesn’t burn the turkey. Not just for our selfish sakes but for her own due to the amount of time she’s spent in preparation. Despite her rapidly deteriorating health since Thanksgiving, she’s mustered an inhuman, determined amount of energy, transforming our house into a twinkling, glittering haven of comfort.
Her finishing touches include three old-school sock stockings, our names freshly embroidered on them where they’re strung alongside our antique-stove fireplace. The stove currently houses a low-lit fire, completing her ideal picture while chasing out any winter chill.
Outside, I can faintly hear Zach enjoying the hell out of his early Christmas present from Delphine, who gifted him the keys and ownership of her Ranger. Though it stung to see her relinquish them and pass on the gift, it was a moment to witness as Zach’s eyes lit up, but not on the Ranger, on Delphine. I could see it then—his need to embrace her in some way in gratitude, but even better, his desire to do it, though he’s not quite there yet.
It’s been a cumulative mix of peaceful and hellacious months, but with Delphine’s latest brainchild hatched, as of this morning, we’ve maimed Miami in a way they aren’t going to recover from anytime soon. In fact, I’m certain that any move Miami ponders on making now, they’ll be second-guessing, rethinking, and most likely shitting their pants before carrying anything out. In addition, her latest scheme brought a much-needed break for our club and exhausted Ravens.
The brilliant strategy my general came up with derived from an interaction Tobias recounted, in painstaking detail, only once for Delphine and me about what transpired the night Dom died. The exchange between Matteo, Andre, Dom, Tobias, and Cecelia. An exchange in which Delphine had memorized and concocted a revenge plot consisting of the things typical in drawing out the evils of most men—money, greed, and power.
Our temporary solution laying within Andre’s own spoken confession of ‘things getting a little too light down south.’
In ruminating on that, Delphine decided we should finally share some of our hard-earned wealth in her devised game of tit for tat. To lure in and sprinkle some of our blessings to Miami’s most desperate and bloodthirsty bottom feeders. To those who get crumbs of intake from the lion’s share—and are treated with the least respect—to do our bidding.
And because Miami so effectively fucked with our club’s morale in tit, she decided we should deliver just as effectively in tat. It took a little time, but together, Tobias and I lured in the lowest on Miami’s totem pole and offered them a small fortune to flip on their own to deliver some epic payback.
I was wary of the plan at first. However, fifteen of Miami’s runners and mistreated gophers flipped on them overnight. Not only giving us intel but taking a few of the raven-inked defective out with our offered added bonus. Ultimately, it turned out to be the best money our club has ever spent. The best part? Tobias and I made calls after boarding our plane home to the personal, private cell phone numbers of those now highest in their ranks while they were in the midst of actively plotting against us.
Once they answered, we were both able to wish them a heartfelt Merry Christmas, our calls ending as Ravens blew holes through their front doors before spreading the rest of our Christmas cheer.
Not only was her tactical plan fucking brilliant, but it ended up in a lot less bloodshed for our Ravens as Miami practically slew themselves. The downside is that when they finally do sum up the nerve and come back for us, we know they’ll make it hurt. But this is war, and with blinks of Dom still heavily flashing through my mind and his words in my psyche, regret and remorse will never factor in.
Rinsing off, I step out and grab a towel as my phone rumbles with a message. Checking it for the first time in months without apprehension, I make quick work of dressing before setting off to join the festivities. Pausing my footing at the end of the hall, just a step outside the living room, I spot Mom opening a familiar box and retrieving my cotton ball ornament before presenting it to Delphine.
“I was always going to gift this to him when Tyler made his own family,” Mom relays, emotion clear in her voice. “These are yours now.”
Delphine bites her lip at the sight of it before she speaks. “Oh, Regina, I appreciate this. But it’s clear you have so much pride and mother’s love for him, and why you want to rid yourself of it because this is ugly.” She tosses her head back at Mom’s answering frown and laughs, and I join in. Delphine’s eyes widen as she turns and sees me, her expression dimming with a little guilt. “I was joking, Sold—”
“Oh, no,” I quip, loving that she’ll forever remain her brash self in any situation. “You can’t take it back now that you’re busted”—I stalk toward her—“and I was five when I made that, you asshole.”
“Five or not, you’re going to ruin our beautiful tree when you hang that monstrosity.” She extends it toward me, covering her eyes with her free palm. “But I love you enough to suffer if you hang your ugly ornament.” Mom laughs at this, staring between me and Delphine, eyes softening at our back and forth as I give as good as I’m getting.
“I never claimed to be Picasso, just like you can’t claim to be an Iron Chef.” Delphine lowers her palm to glower at me as I wink at Mom. “But if my mommy says I’m talented, I believe her.”
“You better take that false confidence because I won’t be encouraging you to paint or participate in any other artistic endeavor,” she jokes before taking more decorations out of Mom’s offered box and unwrapping one surrounded by tissue.
“Oops, that’s baby’s first ornament,” Mom says, snatching that one back. “It’s a mother’s right to keep this one,” Mom joins the razzing, darting her eyes between us. “So, let’s not make this fight physical because I will,” she warns playfully as a knock sounds on the door.
“Uh, oh, we locked Zach out,” Delphine says as she walks over with a wince. Opening it, she stiffens in surprise when she sees a Marine dressed to the nines in his blues on the other side.
“You’re not Zach,” she chuckles as he grins down at her. “Soldier,” she calls, glancing back at me. “I think it’s for you.”
“Actually, Delphine,” he replies, “I’m here to see you.”
“Me?” she says, glancing back at me in confusion before addressing him again. “Here for me, why? Who are you?”
I can’t help but chuckle at her frank candor and reception. He grins down at her before spotting me over her shoulder. I grin back, giving him a shrug and ‘good luck, pal’ eyes.
“Well,” he chuckles in amusement, and I can tell she’s intimidated him a little, which is comical because he’s a good foot and half taller and is currently towering over her. “I’m First Sergeant Eric Shultz, and this,” he says, extending a neatly pressed jacket to her, “is for you.”
“Shultz,” she mimics, very familiar with the name. “You are here for me?” she repeats, darting her eyes over her shoulder to me before turning back to him. “I know who you are.”
“Likewise, I’ve been anxious to meet you for some time now, and it’s the reason I’m here. Today, I came from Albany, New York, to thank you for saving my life.”
The air tenses briefly as he stares down at her, his expression sincere as shock registers in her posture.
“You came from New York? . . . But I-I did no such thing,” she argues, though I can hear the effect of his words in her voice. Already armed and ready for her objection, Shultz pulls up his cell phone.
“This is my daughter, Amy, and I almost didn’t get to be her father.” Delphine takes the phone, stares down at the picture, and studies it for long seconds, which I know she’s using to gain her composure.
“She’s beautiful,” Delphine says.
“She is, and thanks to you, I’m going to help her blow out her fourth birthday candle next week.”
“I appreciate you . . . the jacket, really, but—”
“Delphine,” Shultz delivers in his no-bullshit tone, “I would have missed her birth, her life, being her father if you wouldn’t have trained the man behind you. If you hadn’t taken the time to teach him exactly how the hell to get us out of a situation we should not have survived. So—” He takes the jacket and opens it, and Delphine turns, pushing her arms through as he covers her with it. “This is yours because it’s what I was wearing when you saved me.”
“I—oh, Merci, thank you”—I can see the mist in her eyes as she glances back at me again—“but truly, I did nothing—”
“Well, I’m afraid we don’t share your opinion, ma’am,” he says, grabbing her hand and squeezing it before releasing it. “So, thank you, Delphine. Truly, thank you.”
“Okay, I don’t know . . . what,” she chuckles nervously, “you are welcome, I guess,” she whispers, the rattle in her voice thinly concealed as she pauses. “Wait, we?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, stepping back and opening the door wide just as Mom takes her cue and clicks on the porch light. Delphine gasps as she scans the row of uniformed soldiers in varying branches of the military lined in our front yard.
“Mon Dieu,” My God, she croaks before turning back to me, instant tears shimmering in her eyes. “Soldier, what is this?”
“This is a long overdue and much deserved thank you,” Shultz replies for me. “Merry Christmas, Delphine,” he says before turning and stalking off the porch, passing Ramirez as he steps up, lifting his chin toward me in greeting before his eyes glitter down on her.
“Hi Delphine, I’m—”
“Ramirez,” she whispers, her voice full of incredulity just as Zach enters the back door.
“Hey, what’s going on out—oh,” he says, as I hold up a hand and usher him toward me with the wave of my fingers. A second later, Zach joins me at my side as Ramirez voices his own gratitude while Delphine rattles in shock at the front door.
“Watch this, buddy,” I say, careful not to nudge Zach the way I’m naturally inclined to.
“They’re all here for her?” he whispers.
“I think the better way to put it would be—they’re still here because of her.”
“She saved them all?” He gawks, and I nod before nodding toward the exchange at the front door.
“. . . ten-year veteran, husband of fifteen, and father of five who also thanks you for bringing their father home—but my wife especially because, well—” Ramirez bulges his eyes—“five children.”
We all laugh as, one by one, my buddies begin to pay homage to the soldier whose endless efforts to educate and mentor me played a major role in getting us all home.
“Merry Christmas, General,” he tells her, and I can see her physically start to shake as they continue to come, one by one, showering her with tokens of thanks and praise.
McCormick delivers his thanks next, his words visibly affecting her before he nods to me just after in greeting. “Merry Christmas, brother.”
“Merry Christmas, man,” I call back before he turns and heads off the porch.
When Delphine palms her face, overwhelmed, a “Mon Dieu” leaving her in a rush in McCormick’s wake, I join her. Cradling her in my arms, pride fills me as she finally gets the well-deserved props.
“What have you done, Soldier?” she whispers, utterly shaken, as I hold her steady while they continue to address her one by one, as the others patiently wait for their turn. Fully shaken when one of them gifts her his Purple Heart, which she tried to refuse. Battle lost, the ribbon now hangs from one of the lapels of the jacket, swallowing her. Each takes their time, giving her detailed testaments of how they escaped with their lives by carrying out my orders. Her orders.
“Tyler,” Delphine croaks, becoming increasingly overwhelmed as they continue to approach her, all of them in their best dress to honor the woman who saved them. Pride thrums through me that not one of them made an excuse and showed up for her. Mom beams equally with pride, her eyes continually watering as Zach inches closer, just as affected, hanging onto their every word. The last to step up is a mid-forties man with a ruddy complexion and a shitty disposition, who manages a smile for Delphine as she greets him by name.
“You are Phillip,” she declares, and he nods and extends his hand, and she takes it.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, General.” He gives her a wink after using her pet name. “I came to personally thank you for building the soldier capable of saving my sister’s son. My nephew is the closest to a son I’ll ever have, and if it weren’t for you, for Tyler, he wouldn’t be home tonight spending Christmas with his fiancée. So, thank you sincerely, Delphine. And . . . if you ever find yourself bored and need a way to pass the time, get my number from him,” he says, only half joking. “I’d love to pick your brain and—”
“Don’t push it,” I mutter before we share a smile. “Thanks for coming.”
Phillip steps off the porch just as Shultz rings out a “Company, attennn-tion!”
In an instant, a collective snap of boots sounds. Releasing Delphine, I round her before walking down the step, doing an about-face and snapping my own boots as Ramirez cracks a joke. “Where are your blues, asshole?”
My grin wiped clean as Shultz sounds out a second later.
“Company, join me in wishing the general a very Merry Christmas!”
“We wish you a very Merry Christmas, General!” we shout in unison as Mom snaps a dozen photos and Zach stands back in shock.
“Company, salute!” Shultz shouts as we all snap our hands to our brows, and tears flow over Delphine’s cheeks as she soaks us all in, one by one, before Shultz breaks us up with a final order. “Company . . . dismissed! . . . And Merry Christmas, fuckers!”
Delphine crashes into my mom’s waiting arms as I razz her from where I stand at the foot of the porch. “You’re embarrassing me,” I taunt as she buries her head in Mom’s chest while flipping me the bird.
A second later, my view of her is blocked before I’m surrounded by some of my old company and GRS team. We spend a few minutes greeting one another, as I thank every one of them individually. Not long after, they all start to pile into vans and trucks they used to carpool here in an attempt to keep their cover and approach the house undetected.
Exhaling a contented sigh of relief as the last car speeds off, happy with how it went down, I turn back toward the house to see Mom and Zach have made themselves scarce while my newly and highly decorated general waits for me on the porch. Tears continue spilling down her cheeks as I walk up the step, and she stalks toward me, gripping me to her before burying her head in my chest. “You . . .” Her voice is hoarse as she speaks. “. . . just . . . can this be the second-best night of my life, Soldier?” she whispers.
“It can be whatever you want it to be. Merry Christmas, General.”
“I can’t believe this. I have no words . . . no words. Tyler, how did you do this?”
She stares up at me with splotched cheeks, wearing a priceless smile, and I could tell her that her expression alone is why I did it. Instead, I give her the second reason. “Because no matter how many times I tried to tell you that you saved us, you refused to believe me. I had an argument to win, so I guess the question is . . . do you believe me now?”
* * *
Locking up the house later that night, I look out the front door to see Zach standing in the middle of the yard and frown. He’d wished us both a good night an hour ago and disappeared into his room. Delphine and I have been wrapping presents for him in our bedroom since. Stepping out, Zach tenses when he hears the creak of the door. It’s then I see his chest bouncing involuntarily as his hand flies to his face. Heart aching at the knowledge he’s crying, I give him his personal space as I speak at his back. “We can talk about it, about anything, and I’ll be straight with you, I promise.”
Silence ensues, and I know it’s because he’s gathering himself. I scan the orchard, the night moonless but star-littered, the porch light illuminating the frost on the ground. Thankful it’s been a mild winter, I remain patiently in wait until he finally speaks.
“She’s really going to die,” he croaks. “She looks okay . . . I mean, she’s getting weak and is starting to look . . . but she seems okay.”
“She is okay tonight. She is, Zach. She’s not in any pain right now.”
“She’s hiding it so well,” he whispers.
“So are you,” I tell him. “And I wish you wouldn’t, if I’m honest.”
“You don’t think you’re dealing with enough?” He looks back to me then, and I hold his eyes, studying what I can of him under the dim porch light.
“I’m dealing with what I chose to, and that includes whatever you want to give me.” I take a step toward him. “You know, she never wanted to be a mother, ever. But if she could, she would take on that role for you, Zach. Since minute one, she’s wanted to. And she loves you”—his back bounces as I admit that—“and I know because she’s preparing you the exact same way she prepared me when I was a few years older than you. That’s how she loves.”
“I got her a stupid present,” he croaks. “It’s so stupid. I wish I had gotten her a better present. And I won’t ever get to give her a better one.”
“She’ll love whatever it is. I promise you she will. She gets so damned excited about the littlest things.”
He turns back to me, a laugh on his lips. “She does, doesn’t she?” He chuckles. “I said ‘mater sandwiches’ the other day, and I think she peed her pants laughing. She ran out of the room.”
I wince as urinary incontinence is a sign that her body is starting to fail her, but if she had to have that embarrassing moment, I’m glad it was laughter that caused it. This I keep to myself. “It’s getting pretty cold out here, buddy. Do you want to go inside and talk for a little while?”
“I don’t want her to know I’m upset,” he sniffs. “She worked so hard to make this Christmas perfect for us. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“It is perfect. You’re not ruining anything. Nothing will or could ruin it, mark my words.” The instant I release that declaration, a French shrill sounds from the house and fills the yard.
“MERDE! PUTAIN! MY FUCKING YAMS ARE BURNT! DAMN IT, TYLER! I TOLD YOU TO TELL ME WHEN IT WAS FORTY-FIVE MINUTES!”
Zach and I hit the ground, laughter erupting from both of us as more shrieks ring out.
“ALL FUCKING DAY I WAIT TO COOK THESE LAST SO NOTHING GETS BURNED . . . THEY ARE POTATOES . . . HOW DO THEY BURN? . . . I HEAR YOU LAUGHING AT ME, ASSHOLES!”
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