Page 58 of Severed Heart
That snub is felt by both of us as she turns and silently washes the melon before pulling out a knife to slice it. Her eyes are cast down as she addresses me.
“Tyler, will you put the rest of the plants on the porch?” Her tone is now void of the life it had seconds before, and I inwardly curse as I glare at Dom’s profile.
“Sure,” I agree easily, just as Dom looks up, giving me an eye roll. One I don’t acknowledge. He wants me to condone his inhumane treatment of her, but as of late, it’s starting to grate on me. He’s only vaguely aware that her ex-husband brutally terrorized her in this very fucking house, and only because I told him.
Memories I’m sure she often needs to clear her mind of. The shake in her hands and certain sounds jarring her at times, telling me when she’s triggered. I’m just not sure exactly by what, yet, having only snuck in a handful of the letters between her and Celine.
Her triggers are so fucking textbook that I’m surprised Dom hasn’t taken notice while at the same time knowing exactly why—resentment. This makes me a bit of a hypocrite because I refuse to acknowledge any effort Dad makes on his rare good days. But unlike Dad, Delphine doesn’t falsify reality on her good days the way Carter Jennings does, pretending like he isn’t the source of the tension in our house. While my dad now expects acknowledgment for completing old responsibilities he previously ignored, Delphine merely tries to make up for her wrongs, hoping for forgiveness and some semblance of a relationship—not demanding it.
“Come help me,” I tell Dom, sidling up to him where he’s perched at the counter.
“Busy.” He lifts the paper, shutting down a conversation between us that he knows will end with a reprimand from me.
“Two wrongs don’t make things right, asshole,” I interject anyway, bumping his shoulder before I head to her car.
“Neither does your little hard-on,” he relays cooly before snapping his paper. A quip I ignore because it’s bullshit, and he knows it. Despite me taking notice of how beautiful his aunt is, there’s nothing remotely inappropriate happening between us, and he’s aware of that. Especially when we encourage him to join us during every game of Battle, and I invite him on my runs.
It’s when I step back into the house that I see the full crack in Delphine’s exterior as she unscrews her pinttwo hoursbefore her usual first drink of the night.
At the sight of it, and for the first time since Dom and I became friends, I resent his fuck-all disposition and fail to find the humor in his brutal delivery.
Not your business, Jennings.
Not long after, Dom leaves for the library. It’s as I sit at the table to contemplate my next move that Delphine approaches, hesitating with what looks to be a sketchbook in her hand.
“More to memorize?” I ask, grinning up at her. “You’re relentless, General.”
“Not exactly.”
“What’s got you so nervous?” I frown at her finger-whitening grip on the book.
“I’m not nervous,” she snaps defensively, and I catch the instant flash of regret in her eyes due to her harsh delivery. “Non,” she dismisses, a slight blush ghosting her cheeks and neck, “some other time.”
“Come on,” I prompt, stopping her with my hand on the book, careful not to touch her. “Let me see.”
Biting her plump lower lip, she studies me for sincere interest before setting the book in front of me. Opening it, I start to flip through the pages.
“The true genius of any strategist,” she relays, “lies within thesurprise.”
“These are yours?” I ask, running my finger over one of the drawings.
“Hmm.” She nods, a little pride-filled smile playing on her lips as I scan the penciled, heavily shaded artwork.
“Delphine, this isreally, really fuckinggood,” I tell her honestly.
She shrugs.
“It is just . . .” She pauses, searching for the words, which she does often. “Rough.” She nods. “Rough draftings.”
I don’t correct her, other than her downplaying her effort.
“You put real time into these.” I examine some of her battle formations. “And a hell of a lot of thought.” I point to a few on the page. “It shows.”
In the last few weeks, we’ve gone forward and backward on the battles fought by expert strategists and legends, namely Alexander the Great and Napoleon, including the details of their private lives. Delphine is adamant that all aspects of an enemy—including knowing the ins and outs of how they conduct themselves personally—will give some advantage.
I don’t disagree, which is why I continue to educate myself with my mom’s psychology books.
Despite Dom’s best efforts to destroy her mood today, her optimism slowly starts to shift back as I flip through the book. From the way she speaks to me, it’s as if she’s been waiting for years to tell me these things. The more we talk, the more attentive and receptive I am, the more animated she becomes, and I don’t credit her swallows of Smirnoff for it. Her enthusiasm for this isn’t at all vodka-fabricated, and it’s evident the more we discuss each page.
