The Story of Us

by Tara Sivec

Genres: Coming of Age; Contemporary Romance; Military Romance

Synopsis

From the USA Today best-selling author of Fisher's Light comes a "heartbreaking and hopeful" (AL Jackson) stand-alone romance about first love and second chances.

How much can a man take before he breaks?

A total of 1,843 days. That's how long I survived in that hellhole. They tried to break me, but I resisted. I owe it all to the memory of warm summer nights, the scent of peaches, and the one woman who loved me more than I ever deserved to be loved. Now, I'll do anything to get back to her.

Only Shelby Eubanks isn't the girl I left behind all those years ago. She's someone else, a stranger. My Shelby — my little green-eyed firecracker — would never give up her dreams, would never disappear into her mother's ambitions. But I won't give up on her. On us. I may be broken and scarred and not the man I used to be, but I will do whatever it takes to remind her of the story of us.

Release date: June 11, 2017

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 336

Sample

Prologue

How much can a man take before he breaks? Is it measured by how many minutes, hours, days, or years he lives in hell? Is it one too many punches, kicks, or broken bones because he refuses to give in?

I wish I knew. As my head whips to the side when a pair of knuckles slam into my cheek again, I wish I knew the exact moment all of this will finally come to an end so I can count down the seconds and know exactly how much longer I need to hang on. Five years, two weeks, four days, and nine hours of the same thing, day after day, and I’m ready for it to be over. But I won’t give in. I won’t give them what they want even as the punches turn into kicks and the kicks turn into puddles of blood soaking into the dirt floor around me. Marines never give up.

Ooh Rah!

They scream at me in a rapid-fire foreign language. I’ve learned just enough in my years here to understand how much they still hate me, my country, and my refusal to give them what they ask for. Just like I’ve done for 1,843 days, I close my eyes and pretend like I’m not getting the shit kicked out of me. I think of her smile, her laugh, the smell of her skin, and her gentle touch. The punches and the kicks morph into soft hands sliding over my chest and warm palms pressed against either side of my face. The metallic scent of my own blood dripping down my face turns into the sweet, crisp smell of fresh peaches and my mouth waters, wishing I could taste her skin one last time.

I wonder if she’d touch me with the same boldness now that scars disfigure my skin. I wonder if she’d love me the same way when she saw how twisted and confused my mind has become just so I can make it through another day.

I wonder if she still thinks of me as much as I do her.

I wonder if she knows she’s the only reason I’m still breathing, still fighting, and still holding on.

Blood pools in my mouth and I spit it into the dirt, wishing the dry, packed earth would swallow me up just like it does with the bodily fluids that drip down off my skin.

“Give us names and this will stop. You will live like king and not like dog.”

My torturer speaks in broken English, giving his battered fists a break and squatting down to stick his face close to mine. For five years, they’ve been under the impression I’m some high-ranking military official and can give them the names of top brass with checkered pasts they can extort for their own agenda in this war. I gave up trying to make them understand after the first year. They’ll never understand and they’ll never care. At this point, it’s just a game to them anyway. They don’t care about the names; they just care about having another American under their thumb to torture for sport.

“How about we kill your friend instead? Will that make you talk?”

My eyes flicker to the man shackled to the wall a few feet away from me, and the sorry state of his appearance makes me sick to my stomach. He’s my brother. My best friend. Everything dead inside me roars to life and my nostrils flare with pent-up rage. I want to make these people pay for what they’ve done to him. Since we haven’t seen a mirror in over five years, I’m guessing he probably feels the same way when he looks at me. Once, the two strongest Marines in our unit, now just shadows of the men we used to be. Bones and ribs sticking out where well-defined muscles used to be, tattered and dirty rags covering our bodies instead of crisp and clean camo pants and T-shirts, long mangy hair and beards that haven’t seen a bar of soap or water in years replacing our close-cropped military haircuts and clean-shaven faces.

Through the mop of dirty hair that hangs down over his face, I see him narrow one blue eye at me in warning, the second one swollen shut from yesterday’s beating.

Rylan Edwards. My best friend since high school.

We grew up together, joined the Marines together, and went off to fight a war together. It seems only fitting that we’ll die together. God only knows what happened to the other men in our unit that were captured along with us. Rylan and I have heard their screams over the years, listened to their shouts of pain, just like I’m sure they’ve listened to ours. We haven’t heard them in a while, which is almost worse. It could mean they’re no longer with us, fighting to stay alive. The quietness just gives you too much time to think about the fact that soon we’ll be silenced as well.

“Don’t do it, man. Don’t you fucking do it,” he mumbles angrily around a split lip, the movement of his mouth reopening the scab and letting a trail of blood drip down into his beard. “I can take whatever these fuckers dish out.”

I want to tell him to shut the hell up. His words are only going to piss these assholes off, but a part of me wants to tell him to keep going. Don’t fucking give up on me and don’t let them win. I can’t do this alone. I can’t survive this alone. If Rylan is still fighting for our freedom, there’s no way in hell I’m going to let go and give up.

The piece of scum squatting next to me nods his head in Rylan’s direction, the guard standing closest to him slamming his fist into Rylan’s cheek, whipping his head back against the wall.

Rylan laughs, like the smart-ass that he is. He laughs loudly from deep in his gut after each punch the little shit levels him with.

“Is that all you got, asshole?” he laughs again, shooting me another look of warning, letting me know he’s fine.

He can handle it. He’s not giving in. He’s not giving up.

How much can a man take before he breaks? When do the dreams stop giving him comfort and he has to accept that he’ll never see her again, touch her again or hear her say “I love you” again?

With my knees curled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around my waist to protect my broken ribs from any more abuse, I look into our captor’s dark eyes and nod when a particularly nasty punch across the room sends one of Rylan’s teeth sailing through the air to land in the dirt right by my face. I’ve watched them beat the shit out of my best friend for years, and eventually the relentless fists to his face and boots to his stomach turned me numb. But something about this moment shakes me to the core. The determination on Rylan’s face, and the pride I feel for him that he refuses to give in, wakes me the fuck up, and one way or another, it ends now.

The monster smiles at me for the first time in five years. I return his smile with my cracked and bloody lips, knowing it’s the first and last time.

I feel Rylan’s eyes on me. I feel his anger and his disappointment from across the room and ignore his shouts to me in between the thwacks of a fist connecting with his face.

Pulling my head back from the close proximity of the animal in front of me, I quickly jerk it forward and spit a mouthful of bloody saliva into his face, wanting to throw my hands up and cheer, feeling victorious that I finally found my balls and remembered how to use them.

I picture her smile and I imagine her laugh as he yanks a dirty rag from his pocket and wipes the blood and spit from his face. I hear the soft cadence of her voice, promising to love me forever when he shouts furiously in his own language. I feel her arms wrapped around my waist when, seconds later, two of his men race into the small room, grab me under my arms, and drag me across the dirt floor.

Shouting, the pounding of footsteps and gunfire sound from outside the room, and I wonder just how many people they need to bring in here to kill two weak men who can barely move.

My hands are quickly shackled to a wall above my head right next to Rylan, my broken body groaning in protest. No matter what happens next, I will not give in. I was born a Marine and I will die a Marine.

“Ooh Rah,” we both whisper to each other, not breaking eye contact as a loud explosion shakes the walls, rattles our chests, and rains dirt and rocks down on us from the ceiling.

How much can a man take before he breaks?

How much can a man handle before he forgets all the good things and only has regrets filling his head?

I never should have left you. I’ll never stop loving you, even if you hate me for walking away.

Closing my eyes to the chaos around us and waiting for them to finally end this once and for all, I let my mind take me away to warm summer nights, the smell of peaches and a woman who loved me more than I ever deserved. I remember how it felt to be loved, wholly and truly loved. I fill my head with thoughts of her, wanting to die with a smile on my face instead of shame in my heart. My cracked and bloody lips tip up at the corners and I hold on tightly to all the good things, refusing to give them up, and refusing to let them go.

Chapter 1

I sigh in frustration when the tiny clasp to the strand of pearls slips from my clumsy fingers yet again. I’ve been trying unsuccessfully to slip this necklace on for the last five minutes, and my arms are beginning to feel like deadweights. But when another set of fingers entwines with mine at the base of my neck, my breath catches in surprise. I drop my arms and fold my hands together in my lap as he quickly hooks the two ends of the necklace together before resting his hands on top of my shoulders. His palms are smooth and warm against my skin. His touch is gentle and kind, just like the man he is. It soothes me and erases all my irritation, as it always does.

“The pearls look beautiful on you. I was afraid you didn’t like them.”

I force a smile onto my face as our eyes meet in the mirror, wishing his compliment made me feel happy and beautiful instead of sad and disgusted with the person I’ve become. The pearls around my neck feel like a noose, choking the life out of me, and I want nothing more than to rip them off and laugh like a madwoman as the beads scatter across the floor. Instead, I squeeze my hands together as hard as I can until the feeling passes.

“I love the necklace, Landry, it’s beautiful,” I lie, my eyes flashing to the jewelry box that sits on top of the vanity in front of me before moving back to his face. He smiles confidently, naturally assuming I’m thinking about the countless other necklaces, bracelets, and earrings he’s given me recently, neatly resting on the red velvet that lines the inside of the box. He’s oblivious to the secret compartment under one of the drawers and that’s exactly how I want to keep it.

“Your mother is supposed to be the star of the party tonight, but I have a feeling you’re going to give her a run for her money,” Landry laughs as I stand up from the chair at my dressing table and turn around to face him.

My stomach churns when he whistles admiringly at the black strapless floor-length dress my mother’s stylist picked out for me to wear tonight. Landry McAllister is a handsome man and he loves me. I wish that were enough. I wish I could forget about the life I used to dream of and the plans I used to make. I wish I could stop thinking about those broken dreams, accept my fate and just be happy. All of this wishing and regretting has killed something inside me that I’ll never be able to bring back to life. I’ll never be able to give Landry what he needs, no matter how hard I try, and I feel a physical ache in my chest, knowing he deserves more.

My hand unconsciously presses against my left thigh when a dull pain throbs through the muscle as I stand. Glancing out the window beyond Landry’s shoulder, I see a flash of lightning and the beginnings of a storm send raindrops splattering against the glass. The pain in my leg is never gone, always hovering under the skin, around the muscle and in my bones, making its presence known and reminding me I once had dreams. Dreams that went beyond the walls of this prison I’ve been exiled to.

Aside from the constant pain, the storm is another reminder of everything I’ve lost. Everything that was taken from me in the blink of an eye, six years ago, on another rainy night when I lost control. Of my life, my dreams, and my car on that wet and winding road.

Now, I have nothing but memories and regrets. Day after day filled with fake smiles, feigned happiness and pretending like I never hoped for bigger and better things. Twenty-eight years old and every decision about my life is made for me, without consideration for what I want, what I need or what matters to me.

I wonder if Landry knows how much I want to scream every time he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. I wonder if he notices the guilt clouding my face when he touches me and it never sets my body on fire. I know it would break him if he found out that the only reason I’m with him now is because I have to protect the only person I ever truly loved, and I hate myself for doing that to Landry. I always thought my feelings for him would change and grow. I assumed the love he gave to me would be enough to fix my broken heart and make me whole again, but it’s done the opposite. I’ve become this numb shell of a woman I don’t even recognize anymore for a man who probably only used me, but I don’t know how to stop. He left this town without saying good-bye and then he left this earth without giving me closure. He left me to pick up the pieces and protect his family and his name and I hate him for that. I’ve allowed someone else to make all my decisions, rule my life and crush my dreams because I don’t know how to stop loving him more than I hate him.

Shouting voices and the pounding of footsteps in the hallway outside my room distract us. Landry walks quickly to the doorway, stopping one of my mother’s household staff as she rushes past. With his back turned and his attention focused away from me, I slowly and quietly slide open the bottom drawer of my jewelry box and lift the lid of the hidden compartment. I run my fingertips over the dog tags and wish I could forget how the cold metal used to feel warm against my skin from the heat of his body. How they would dangle down between us, grazing against the skin of my chest when he moved above me. I know I should have gotten rid of them a long time ago, but they’re a constant reminder that everything I do is for him, even if what we had was all a lie.

The quiet conversation in my doorway penetrates my thoughts when I hear the staff member tell Landry there’s some sort of emergency and it’s all over the news.

“Your mother is in a panic and needs all hands on deck.”

I close the drawer to the jewelry box right before Landry looks over his shoulder at me. Putting on a smile, I wave my hand at him.

“It’s fine, go see what’s happening and I’ll meet you downstairs,” I tell him.

He tells the woman to let my mother know he’ll be there in a few minutes, walking back across the room to me when she scurries away. I keep the smile on my face when he grabs one of my hands and brings it up to his mouth, kissing the top quickly and then sighing as he lowers our joined hands.

“I won’t be long, I’m sure it’s nothing. Your mother panics over everything,” he laughs softly.

Landry has been in love with me since I was a teenager and he worked as an aide for my father, the senator of South Carolina. Ten years my senior, Landry came from a family as wealthy and affluent as my own and my parents never shied away from trying to push the two of us together once I turned eighteen. I wanted to hate him simply because my parents approved of him and because of the pathetic way he followed my father around like a puppy. I spent all four years of high school faking politeness when he’d try to talk to me and every year after that turning down his requests for a date. I’d like to say I did it for the sole purpose of pissing my mother off after my father died and she became obsessed with pushing the two of us together, but I’d be lying. While Landry spent our high school and college years chasing after me, I spent those years chasing after someone else. Someone who gave me butterflies each time I saw him, someone whose life was different from mine in every way and someone who took my heart with him when he left, making it impossible for me to ever give it to another.

“And as her financial advisor and the man she’s backing to become our new state senator, you’re required to panic whenever she does,” I remind Landry. “Although considering you have your own things to worry about with your upcoming election, she shouldn’t lean on you so much.”

Landry chuckles, giving our joined hands a squeeze. “Your mother let me stick around after your father died and helped me make all of the contacts I needed to make a bid for the senate. If I win this thing, it will be because of her. Whatever Georgia wants, Georgia gets.”

I paste a smile on my face at his words instead of rolling my eyes sarcastically. Landry kisses my cheek and I watch him leave the room, wishing I had something left to give him. Wishing I wasn’t a liar and a fraud. Wishing I could magically glue the broken pieces of my heart back together and give them to him, because I know he would cherish it. He’s a good man, even if he is one of the sheep in my mother’s flock and I was coerced into dating him.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I grab the remote from my nightstand and power on the television hanging on the wall across from me, using my free hand to rub the pain from my aching leg. I know I’ll be briefed immediately on whatever major crisis my mother is having a conniption over so I won’t say the wrong thing if I’m questioned by reporters at her charity event this evening, but since I have nothing else to do while I wait, I might as well get the scoop ahead of time.

When I get to CNN, the reporter’s voice fills my quiet room. I’m barely paying attention to what she’s saying, busy smoothing down the front of my dress and checking for stray pieces of lint. Every word she speaks runs together in a blur of background noise, until she says a name I recognize. A name I haven’t heard or spoken in years, but couldn’t stop thinking about every second of every day. A name that makes my heart beat faster and my hands start to shake. My head whips up to stare at the television with wide, unbelieving eyes, and my heart drops into my stomach. They flash a picture of him on the screen from Marine Corps graduation day, but the sight of him in his dress blues isn’t what makes my world tilt on its axis. It’s the sound of his name coming from a stranger’s lips in the quiet room that steals the breath from my lungs, making it impossible to do anything but stare at the television as my hand flies up to cover my mouth and hold back the sobs.

“In a top secret mission yesterday evening, a team of Navy SEALs were sent into the small Afghanistan village of Sangin to rescue Commander Stephen Whitfeld, who was taken hostage earlier this month. We have just been informed that during this rescue mission, several United States Marines who were presumed dead have been found alive. Five years ago, only days away from the end of his year-long deployment, Lieutenant Elijah James was involved in an IED explosion that killed several members of his team and only left behind the men’s dog tags as identification. There were rumors that a traitor existed on the team who was working with the Afghan army. But those rumors were quickly put to rest just days after the explosion. Now that Lieutenant James has been found alive, we can only hope no truth will come from those rumors.”

The rapid thump of my heart sounds like a drum in my ears, making it impossible for me to hear anything else the reporter says. A wave of nausea rushes through me and I press a shaking hand to my stomach as I stand on unsteady legs while a memory from so many years ago rushes through my mind. Even though I want nothing more than to forget about that moment and the day I signed my fate, I’m unable to stop my eyes from closing as I relive it.

“It’s a lie. He would never betray his country. You have to fix this, please!” I begged my mother as I stood in her office with my broken heart clutched tightly in my hands.

She scoffed at me. She didn’t care about my pain, the tears streaming down my cheeks, or my conviction that he would never do something like that.

“You don’t know anything about him. He used you and then threw you away like a piece of trash,” she replied as she stuck the knife deeper into my chest.

I didn’t need to be reminded of what he’d done. It had been slowly chipping away my confidence and pieces of my heart every day since he’d left, but unlike my mother, I could separate the man who broke me from the man who fought for his country. The soldier I knew would never do something this appalling.

“He’s not a traitor. He doesn’t deserve this and neither does his family. Please, Mother, I’m begging you.”

She stared at me for a few quiet moments, studying me as I angrily swiped the tears from my cheeks and lifted my chin in the air to show her I wasn’t backing down. I would do whatever it took to clear his name.

“I could call in a few favors, but it’s going to cost you. Nothing in this life is free, Shelby.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine, wondering just how much she would demand as payment, but knowing I would agree to anything in that moment.

“I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care about anything but making sure he’s remembered as a hero. I’ll do anything if you just make this go away. Please, I’ll do whatever you ask.”

The conversation I had with my mother five years ago plays on a loop until I can’t stop the voices in my head and I have to grab and tug at fistfuls of hair just to stop myself from screaming.

He’s alive.

I promised to do whatever she asked when I feared he’d be remembered as a traitor instead of a hero, and she took everything I had to give as payment. Once she had me under her thumb, it quickly became a slippery slope filled with reminders and threats to keep me in line until I’d fallen so far down the rabbit hole I didn’t know how to find my way out.

He’s alive.

I can’t stop the tears from falling. I can’t force back the sobs of relief that something like this is actually happening. How many people lose someone they love, knowing they’ll never see them again, never touch them again, never hear their voice again, only to find out it was all a mistake? How many people wish they could turn back the clock for just one more moment, just a few seconds in time so they could look into their loved one’s eyes, run their hands down the side of their loved one’s face, and hear them speak? It’s a dream that everyone who’s lost someone has. A dream that slowly turns into a nightmare you feel like you’ll never wake up from. Something you know is impossible, but you can’t stop obsessing about. I’ve prayed and I’ve screamed and I’ve cried, wanting the impossible, and now, I have it.

He’s alive.

I gave up everything to protect him and to save his sister from a controversy that would ruin her in this town. They’d already suffered enough after their parents died—the rumors, the whispers, the finger-pointing and judgment following them everywhere they went…they didn’t need anything else marring their fragile reputation. Especially something so completely absurd as Eli being a traitor to his country.

Every dream I let slip through my fingers, every decision I handed over for someone else to make for me, and every piece of myself I’ve lost in the last five years was for him. No matter how badly he shattered my heart, nothing could erase the good . . .