The Archer Brothers, page 1
CONTENTS
here with me
Foreword
1. Ryley
2. Evan
3. Ryley
4. Evan
5. Ryley
6. Evan
7. Ryley
8. Evan
9. Ryley
10. Evan
11. Ryley
12. Evan
13. Ryley
14. Evan
15. Ryley
16. Evan
17. Ryley
18. Evan
19. Ryley
20. Evan
21. Ryley
22. Evan
23. Ryley
24. Evan
25. Ryley
26. Evan
27. Ryley
28. Evan
29. Ryley
30. Evan
31. Ryley
32. Nate
choose me
1. Nate
2. Evan
3. Nate
4. Evan
5. Nate
6. Evan
7. Nate
8. Evan
9. Nate
10. Evan
11. Nate
12. Evan
13. Nate
14. Evan
15. Nate
16. Evan
17. Nate
18. Evan
19. Nate
20. Evan
21. Nate
22. Evan
23. Nate
24. Evan
25. Nate
26. Evan
27. Nate
28. Evan
29. Nate
30. Ryley
Evan’s Letter to Ryley
Evan’s Mixed CD for Ryley
Note From Yvette
save me
Preface
Prologue
1. Tucker
2. Tucker
3. Tucker
4. Tucker
5. Tucker
6. Amy
7. Tucker
8. Tucker
9. Tucker
10. Tucker
11. Amy
12. Tucker
13. Tucker
14. Amy
15. Tucker
16. Tucker
17. Amy
18. Tucker
19. Tucker
20. Penny
21. Penny
22. Tucker
23. Tucker
24. Penny
25. Penny
26. Tucker
27. Tucker
28. Tucker
29. Penny
30. Tucker
31. Claire
here with us
1. Evan
2. Ryley
3. Evan
4. Ryley
5. Evan
6. Ryley
7. Evan
8. Ryley
9. Evan
10. Evan Jr.
choose us
1. Nate
2. Cara
3. Nate
4. Cara
5. Nate
6. Cara
7. Nate
8. Cara
9. Nate
10. Monster
About the Author
Also by Heidi McLaughlin
HERE WITH ME / CHOOSE ME / SAVE ME/ HERE WITH US / CHOOSE US
THE ARCHERS BROTHERS
HEIDI MCLAUGHLIN
© 2022
The right of Heidi McLaughlin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000. This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
COVER DESIGN: Sarah Hansen: OkayCreations.
Created with Vellum
PRAISE FOR HERE WITH ME
McLaughlin’s voice is authentic, raw and genuine while bringing this story of love for both a single woman and an entire country to life…
—Rachel Blaufeld, author of Electrified and Smoldered
Simply breathtaking! Evan and Ryley had me mesmerized, rooting for them to find their way through unimaginable love and devastation. I sobbed, I laughed along with them, and at times, I wanted to throw this book across the room! HERE WITH ME is a story I won't soon forget, and I'm desperate for more…
—Rachel Harris, author of The Fine Art of Pretending
This book is hands down Heidi's best yet. Coupled with her ability to weave an intricate tale such as this with loveable and relatable characters such as Evan and Ryley sets this book apart from the rest. Heidi holds your attention with lies, mystery and a timeless love story that will grip your heart and leave you begging for more. Evan will melt your heart and Ryley's plight will pull it apart. This is a book you don't want to miss. The roller coaster of emotions is worth the ride!...
—Jennifer Wolfel,Wolfel’s World of Books
PRAISE FOR CHOOSE ME
CHOOSE ME by Heidi McLaughlin was an absolute breathtaking and beautiful read.
—Shayna
SQUEEEEEE!!!! I read both Here With Me and Choose Me back-to-back because I quite literally COULD. NOT. PUT. THEM. DOWN!!!! Together they tell a complete story and IT WAS AWESOME!!!!! OMG. My heart!!! Gah!!! The feels!!! I was glued to the page from start to finish and just couldn't turn those pages fast enough.
—Aestas Book Blog
Best book ever! I love the way this book ended...so perfect! The story was sooo heartbreaking, but sooo sweet!
—Megan
This book is, to date, the best work of Heidi McLaughlin. The emotions that you feel for everyone involved moves you to tears at times.
—Becca
PRAISE FOR SAVE ME
This was by far Heidi's best work. The storyline was consistent, the suspense was perfectly executed, and Tucker's determination was so powerful I felt as though his feelings were my own. If I could give Save Me a million stars, I would.
—Rebecca
I needed this book. I didn't even realize how much until I read it! The Archer Brothers were awesome and I was smitten with them both in the first two books in this series. I hate to tell them, but Tucker has grabbed my heart and claimed me as his own.
—Adriana Locke
The Archer Brothers Series is absolutely fan-FREAKING-tastic!!!! I have been a huge fan since book one. I'm going to be completely honest here.
—Kelly
This book was amazing! I loved the twists and turns that kept popping up and keeping me on the edge of my seat!
—Sara
No happy homecoming for SEALs declared dead by Navy By Art Liberty
SAN DIEGO – We have all seen and read about the happy homecomings of military members returning from deployment. Tearful but smiling family members embrace uniformed moms, dads, sons and daughters and welcome them back into their loving arms. High-ranking military and political officials give speeches lauding the bravery of the returning men and women. Sometimes there is even a band playing cheerful and patriotic music.
That is the joyful scene that we have become used to seeing on the internet, television, social media and newspapers. But that was not the welcome home reportedly experienced by four members of Navy SEAL Team Three, based in Coronado, CA.
They deplaned after a long flight from their theater of operations to be met by – no one. Instructed to take taxis from the airfield, the SEALs made their own way home to families that were anything but overjoyed to see them. The reason? All four were dead, according to the Navy. Funerals had been held with full military honors. “Taps” was played, a rifle salute was performed, and in a meaningful ritual peculiar to the Navy’s elite warrior SEALs, fellow SEAL team members removed their Trident insignias and embedded them into the lids of the caskets in a poignant and symbolic goodbye to fallen brothers-in-arms.
Sources close to the four men report that the SEALs, deployed for an unheard of six years, were regularly provided with “care packages” purportedly from their families at home, including items such as newsy letters and family photographs. The men are reportedly devastated by the thought that their loved ones believed them to be dead and buried for the past several years.
Lcdr. Becca Dawn, spokesperson for the Naval Special Warfare Command in Coronado, the command with authority over all Naval Special Warfare forces, said four days ago, “I am not aware of this issue or these men. I will have to get back to you.” So far there has been no further comment and Lcdr. Dawn has not returned numerous messages. Several attempts were made to contact the Public Affairs Officer of Naval Special Warfare Group One, the parent command immediately over SEAL Team Three, have also not been returned. Former Navy Lt. Candy Brotz, past spokesperson for the command and now a reporter for Military News noted, “It is unheard of for SEALs to be deployed for that length of time. The circumstances are not only unusual, they are highly suspicious. The Navy doesn’t just tell families that their sailor is dead without a lot of documentation and investigation.”
Clearly this incident calls for answers from Navy authorities. Meanwhile, four traumatized families and four brave warriors try to rebuild shattered lives, if that is even possible.
CHAPTER 1
& nbsp; RYLEY
EACH STEP I TAKE IS PAINFUL. Not in the sense that I’ve been physically injured — unless you can count my heart being torn out and ripped to shreds, twice, as being physically hurt — but in the sense that my body aches with any type of movement. I’m sore all over from too much crying and a lack of eating. Withering away to nothing, as my best friend, Lois has been saying for the past two weeks.
The fact that it’s been two weeks since my life has been turned upside down flipped inside out and run through the ringer stops me mid-step. Lois smashes into my back, no doubt looking at her phone, texting someone she shouldn’t be and meddling in my affairs. Even though I love her, I want her to stop. I want to wake up from this nightmare and have my life go back to the way it was six years ago.
Lois places her hand on my back, urging me silently to take the next step, and the next one and the next one after that. She’s been my rock for as long as I can remember, and surprisingly there was a time when I didn’t need her as much, but that’s all changed.
At the top of the staircase sits a table with a small bouquet of freshly picked flowers, a nice touch to the drab location. When Lois pulled in front of the building, I recoiled in my seat. The brick building, old and worn with age, shows no sign of being welcoming. The sidewalk is cracked and weeds grow in between the slabs. The only saving grace is the park across the street, and while it’s empty, it looks inviting, if not a place to escape.
Lois opens the door before I can raise my hand to knock. She’s impatient with me and I understand why. I know deep down she’s afraid I’m going to turn and run. Believe me the thought has crossed my mind a time or two. I know it’s not the answer, but it makes the most sense. If I can’t be found, I can’t be hurt, and I’ve had far too much hurt in my life to last me until my last breath. With her hand on my back, she gives me a gentle nudge to step into the office. The woman behind the glass wall looks up briefly and gives us a half smile. She probably feels the same way I do about the building. It’s lacking in life, much like I am right now.
After giving her my name, I sit down next to Lois. Her face is now stuffed in a magazine, and she’s ignoring me. This is her idea of tough love. I’ve been down this path with her before so I know what to expect. You’d think by now I’d be a pro and can deal with whatever is thrown my way, but I’m not. It seems that every few years my idea of happiness turns into a weak excuse for life.
My name is called, and I’m directed through an open door. The room I step into is lackluster and cold. I cross my arms to ward off an impending shiver and chastise Lois for making me wear a dress today. My cardigan is resting in the backseat of her car when it should be on my shoulders.
“Good morning. What’s your name?”
It’s in the chart on your desk, I want to yell out, but refrain. Lois would likely hear me and scold me like a child. I’d take it though because she’d be right. The lady behind the desk doesn’t ask me to sit down or guide me to the chair or couch in her office. She doesn’t even look at me. This meeting is feeling a bit too impersonal for my taste, and as I reach for the door, I hear her clear her throat.
“Ryley, I like to ask my patients to say their names so that their identities aren’t forgotten when we start discussing why you’re here.”
It makes sense, I think. I opt to sit on the couch, but only on the edge. I don’t want to be comfortable or complacent.
“Ryley Clarke,” I answer, letting my name flow easily from my lips.
“Tell me, Ryley, what brings you in today?”
Of course she wastes no time punching me in the gut. If it weren’t figuratively, I’d flinch and let her know that it’s not okay to hit, but instead I straighten my back and ponder the question that seems to have brought me to this point in my life. A point where I’m required, no begged, to enter therapy to help figure out the rest of my life. Maybe not even the rest, but the next step. Either step I take leads me down a path of love, pain and irreparable hurt.
Most importantly, I don’t want to be here. I don’t think talking to a third party with a psyche degree is the answer. Sadly, I’m the only one who feels that way. I’ve been told therapy will help, but I’m not so sure it will. You can’t fix something that has been destroyed for years. We aren’t a family of teddy bears with missing eyes or ears that can be sewn back on making us look somewhat new. We’re a damaged bunch, destined for nothing but heartache.
I pick at the threadbare couch that I chose to sit on. It looked more comfortable than the chair in front of her. It’s royal blue, or at least it used to be. I think at one time it was probably soft, plush and very comfortable, and people didn’t have a problem lying back, closing their eyes and letting all their worries flow from their mouths. You would think that with the many people that come through the door, a new couch could be purchased. I may be wrong in my assumption. I likely am. This couch holds secrets that no one ever wants out, and it’s about to know mine too. Maybe that’s why she keeps it this way.
“Why am I here today?” the words are a whisper on my lips. I can barely hear them myself and know she can’t hear me. Clearing my throat, I keep my eyes downcast and away from her face. The last thing I want is for her to see the pain in my eyes. That’s for me and me alone when I stare in the mirror, asking myself how and why.
“I’m here so you can fix… this.” The words are bitter and angry. I spread my arms out wide, and my knuckles scrape the side of the worn out armrest. I pull my right hand to me, examining my fingers for any signs of damage. A sliver maybe, something to cause pain, anything to make me feel. I have nothing.
I lean forward, determined not to cry. I don’t know why I’m here. I healed. I moved on. We moved on. Life was good, not better, but manageable. We were happy. We laughed and loved and we missed him terribly, but we woke up each day determined to make a new happy memory. But then life — no, I take that back — the military made that all change.
If I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d say this was all planned, but honestly, what do they care about my life? Nothing, that’s for damn sure. They don’t care that they’ve ruined the last six years of my life because of some clerical error. “Sorry,” is all they could be bothered to say.
