The Story of Us Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Tara Sivec

  Excerpt from Tara Sivec’s next new novel © 2017 by Tara Sivec

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner. Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Forever Yours

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  forever-romance.com

  twitter.com/foreverromance

  First published as an ebook and as a print on demand: June 2017

  Forever Yours is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever Yours name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  ISBNs: 978-1-4789-2019-9 (trade paperback, print on demand), 978-1-4789-2020-5 (ebook)

  E3-20170419-DA-NF

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Shelby

  Chapter 2: Eli

  Chapter 3: Shelby

  Chapter 4: Eli

  Chapter 5: Shelby

  Chapter 6: Eli

  Chapter 7: Shelby

  Chapter 8: Eli

  Chapter 9: Shelby

  Chapter 10: Shelby

  Chapter 11: Eli

  Chapter 12: Shelby

  Chapter 13: Eli

  Chapter 14: Shelby

  Chapter 15: Eli

  Chapter 16: Shelby

  Chapter 17: Eli

  Chapter 18: Shelby

  Chapter 19: Eli

  Chapter 20: Shelby

  Chapter 21: Eli

  Chapter 22: Shelby

  Chapter 23: Eli

  Chapter 24: Shelby

  Chapter 25: Eli

  Chapter 26: Georgia

  Chapter 27: Shelby

  Chapter 28: Eli

  Chapter 29: Shelby

  Chapter 30: Eli

  Chapter 31: Shelby

  Chapter 32: Eli

  Chapter 33: Shelby

  Epilogue: Eli

  Acknowledgments

  A Preview of a new novel by Tara Sivec

  You Might Also Like…

  Newsletters

  To the men and women

  who have fought for our country:

  We see you, we thank you, we remember you, and we will never let you go.

  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.”

&nbs
p; 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

  Shelby

  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 p
robably 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.