Page 37 of Severed Heart
“Why are you taking it easy on him?” I shout. “The man has condemned everyone in this house for the slightest fuckup. We got no mercy, did we? Why should he get away with this? With any of it.”
“Tyler stop!”
“No, you deserve better. He’s a piece of fucking shit for cheating on you—”
Mom raises her hand to strike me, and I visibly flinch, gaping at her ready hand, her brown eyes piercing me as venom spews from her mouth.
“Don’t youevertalk about your father like that again. My marriage is none of your goddamn business, do you hear me? Stay out of it!”
In that moment, as I study my mother’s poised hand, ready to strike her son because she doesn’t want to hear the truth come out of his mouth, I decide that, in the future, when it comes to matters of the heart, I’ll never make anyone else’s relationship my fucking business.
“Tyler.” Uncle Grayson’s voice sounds from the entryway before we both turn to see Dad and Uncle Gray standing feet away. Front door still open, their collective expressions tell us they didn’t miss a word of our exchange.
“So, this is how it is, huh?” Palming the ottoman, I slowly stand, sharing my glare between my parents. Silent, damning seconds pass as Dad slowly sweeps Mom, missing none of it—not the bruises, bandage, or the tears streaming down her cheeks before his eyes lower.
“You want me to stay out of it, Mom? Consider it done,” I clip out bitterly, “I’m completely fucking done.”
Mom gasps my name, and I scowl down at her, betrayal coating my voice. “He’s all yours,Mrs. Jennings... and you fucking deserve each other.”
Mom cups her mouth as I barrel out of the living room, slamming the garage door on my way out, feeling the finality of it.
Pressing past all threatening emotions, instead, I shift my focus to my future, on my brothers, and our game plan. It’s all I have left and all that matters.
Once outside the garage, I start at a dead run, speeding toward a future that’s beginning to take shape, the edges of the map becoming more defined with each step. I race toward it by order of the host of the silver-gray eyes that inexplicably have been calling to me like a beacon. A beacon that fills my chest with a slight glimmer of something that feels a little like hope.
Chapter Thirteen
DELPHINE
“Two daysEARLY,” Tyler reports, short of breath, chest heaving, sweat pouring from him as he lifts several plastic bags for my inspection. Dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and sneakers, his dark brown hair lays scattered and plastered to his crown.
“And where are my books?” I eye him speculatively while taking the haul I ordered him to bring once he was finished with his curriculum.
“Still on loan, for now, okay?” He scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth, a flicker of something passing in his brown eyes, too brief to decipher.
“Fine, you may be early, but did you showerin your clothesbefore coming here?”
Tyler opens his mouth just as Dom stalks into the kitchen, an empty coffee mug in hand, his inquiry the same as he scours Tyler’s disheveled appearance. “The fuck happened to you?”
“I ran to the store and back,” Tyler reports to us both before glancing at me. “Only a mile and a half, but I’m getting there.”
Dom pours his coffee, looking between us, his typical unimpressed expression encompassing his face. His obvious disdain for me much too ingrained to pose the question budding in his eyes as I dump the bags’ contents on the table and address him. “Drinking too much of that may stunt your growth,” I warn.
I glance over as he pointedly eyes the pint of vodka on the table while obnoxiously slurping his coffee.
“You have school tomorrow,” I remind him.
He poses his question to Tyler instead. “What is this?”
“You know what it is,” I retort while pulling the toy soldiers from their packaging. “I played with Ezekiel many times before he left for France.”
“Bullshit,” Dom clips out, eyeing the soldiers. “When?”
I hesitate in answering as I search my memory and can’t recall a single time Dominic was present when we played. My mind forever failing me.
“Maybe ... it was when you were still dirtying all your clothes by hanging from the trees with Sean,” I joke.
“Your memory is lackingas usual, Tatie,” he drawls out, “I’ve never hadgood clothes.”
