Page 213 of Severed Heart
Though it took little to convince her after hearing why he’d fled his father, and even less once she laid eyes on him. Just after, we settled him into what we deemed his room as we lay in bed, hands clasped, a decision brewing between us as she echoed my own thoughts about him.“He’s a younger you, Tyler, just like you.”
With that decision now solidified, but with her God’s decision to take her, He’s threatening to relinquish the family we just became. Unable to handle another second of our new reality, I stalk over to the fridge to continue the charade as I plot my escape. Albeit temporary, I need a reprieve to gain my bearings and reinforce my levee, which feels obliterated in my mind as my body threatens to follow.
Grabbing some hamburger meat, I mentally summon a list of people I could call. He’s just one oncologist. There are specialists all over the world I can contact for additional help. I have millions in the bank that mean fuck all to me, but that money will buy an audience and has the power to gain the attention of those people. People who can tell me different words. Miracles happen every day. She still calls me hers, and I want more than anything now to make that true.
“I can help you after this game,” Zach offers.
“That’d be cool,” I hear myself reply in the perfect tone. I’ve mastered this.
Blink out, Jennings. Blink the fuck out!
“I’ve always wanted to learn how to grill,” Zach adds.
“Then I’m your man,” my voice deceives in jest as I miraculously speak again, my delivery just as convincing. “God knows that French menace in front of you can’t cook for shit.”
“Asshole,” she spouts as I glance over at her and lie again with the wink she loves so much. How in the fuck did I fakethat? More so, how did she accept it without knowing I’m dying too, right along with her?
Or is she actively deceiving me as well?
Though none of those answers matter because she’s ...
The burn wins as I take measured steps outside, the steps of a man in no hurry, gait typical. The easy strides of a man who’s going to cook dinner for his fiancé, and ... what Zach is or will become to me, not yet definable. Just as I step out of the front door, I think I might be made when she calls my name, until I turn back to see her smiling.
“Imbecile,” she drawls lovingly, “I may burn and over-salt everything, but even I know you have to make the patties first!”
She bought it, she’s buying it. I can fake my way through this, but for how long? That question is answered a second later as the sledgehammer swings again—the doctor’s words slamming into me full force, damn near taking me to my knees, hastening my decision to temporarily retreat.
“I’m aware, General,” I drawl dryly, the deceptive execution professional as my heart continually seizes, threatening to give out. “Shit, I forgot,” I lie, stalking back to the fridge to ditch the meat, “I have an errand to run. I’ll only be a few hours and will cook when I get back.” I quirk a brow. “Unless you two want to brave it?”
Both grant me easy nods before dismissing me, the two of them already sparring in their shit talk by the time I’m taking more measured steps out the front door. The instant I’m clear of their line of sight, a slight relief sets in, which is promptly annihilated by the sight of the porch swing—a swing I installed to watch a lifetime of sunsets with my general. With that added fuel, I go up in a blaze and free myself with the sweep of my eyes.
BLINK.BLACK.
* * *
BLINK.
“‘I’m your Huckleberry,’” Jeremy quips theTombstonequote to Peter as the two clown around in the bay. Their banter reminding me of Cecelia and our game, the guilt-filled tug in my heart promptly following. Our last interaction was horrific. An interaction in which Cecelia stood covered in my brother’s blood, destroyed by Dom’s death, and consumed by fear while begging me not to turn my back on her.
That gnawing guilt increases as I pull my cell to check on her and see that she’s parked at school. No doubt going through the motions while replaying the trauma and questioning if we truly are the cruel deceivers we led her to believe we were. Who left her flailing and utterly isolated in the dark, cast out and grief-stricken. Our current war only reinforcing Tobias’s initial decision to keep her away from the club. A decision seemingly heartless, but in truth, fueled by his love and dire need to protect her to his own paralyzing detriment.
If Cecelia knew that Tobias fights himself every fucking day to keep from going to her, she’d put herself in harm’s way to be here, and they’d both be moving targets. So, while I feel it’s unusually cruel to have alienated her,again, even I agree it’s for the best—for now.
Jeremy’s hysterical laughter jars me out of thoughts of her, as does Sean’s curse before he noisily tosses a tool on the concrete in response. His accusatory eyes cutting toward them both as they play oblivious—the tension growing thick. Even from where I stand at the counter in the lobby, I can feel the anger rattling off him. After sealing the last envelope as they continue to crack on one another, I walk into the bay to join them for a few. I need a little more time to level myself out, to keep capable of faking what remains of the day for Delphine, who will get the results tomorrow.
I blinked back when I pulled up to the garage, the roar returning with a vengeance, no breathing technique capable of taming it. But because the woman I love has to endure it—as does everyone else without access to my created loophole—I decided to man up and do the same.
As I continue watching Sean rattle in his skin, I realize that when you’re experiencing the same discomfort and pain, it’s easily identifiable in others. That truth ringing clearer as I observe him, knowing I’m not the only one in the garage currently raging against the hand life has recently dealt. Even from feet away, it’s obvious Sean is seconds away from implosion. Then again, he has been in this state since the day Dom died.
Though we’re somewhat functioning at this point—having managed to open the garage just yesterday—I’m still uneasy about trying to attempt club life as usual, or whatever the fuck that might have meant before I was wasted an hour ago by a doctor’s words. It’s when I see Sean glower at them both that I recognize he, too, has no idea whatas usualis, either. Not anymore.
“The fuck is so fucking funny?” Sean demands a second before their laughter ceases, and they both turn to see him bristling feet away.
“Chill out, man,” Jeremy says, “we were just cutting up, having a laugh.”
“Yeah? Well, maybeI want to laugh, too,” Sean prompts in a voice I don’t recognize.
“Something tells me you’re not in the mood,” Jeremy says with a sigh, his delivery lacking sarcasm but baiting enough for Sean—who’s begging for any reason to lash out, his thinning patience already threadbare.
