Oliver (This is Our Life Book 3) Read online

  Oliver

  F.G. Adams

  Contents

  TITLE

  Synopsis:

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by F.G. Adams

  Acknowledgments

  Oliver

  This is Our Life #3

  by F.G. Adams

  Copyright © 2017 by F.G. Adams

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, named features, artists and bands are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used for reference and without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  Cover Design: LJ Anderson with Mayhem Cover Creations

  Photographer: Shauna Kruse, Kruse Images and Photography: Models and Boudoir

  Model: Jonny James

  Editor: Julia Goda with Diamond in the Rough Editing

  Synopsis:

  Soulmates destined to collide.

  Six years after surviving a tragic loss, a photograph of a young woman turns Oliver Bishop’s world upside down. He’s on a mission, tracking her from state to state. Each stop bringing him closer to finding her. Will his search find the ghost vixen, or will the madman stalking her get to her first?

  After fourteen years of running from a nightmare, Fallyn Blackwood barely escaped her stalker's clutches in Washington. When a sexy stranger walks into Ray’s Diner, her entire world shifts on its axis. Scared and determined, she finds herself fighting his protective nature—and her desire. The problem is, she’s not looking to be saved.

  He’s come too far to back down. He found her, and he won’t let go. Freedom from the past is within his grasp, and he'll fight for her love.

  This book is dedicated to all the women and men who have endured abuse and loss.

  To those people in the world who have survived the chaos and kept afloat.

  We’re in your corner.

  We see you.

  Prologue

  Oliver

  Six years ago

  Since the beginning, man has struggled with the passage of time. Yearning for just one more moment, one more chance to make things right.

  Choices made at each fork in the road. Every cause has an effect.

  One thing is for certain: you have to let people go. Everyone who comes into your life is meant to be part of your journey. Unfortunately, not all of them are meant to stay till the end.

  Currently, I’m transfixed on the blue and orange flames flickering back and forth across the sandy-brown pebbled beach from the blazing fire of my camp. I close my eyes to listen to the sounds of the bubbling river as it lulls my shattered soul.

  The sun is setting on the horizon over the Ozark Mountains. Quieting my thoughts and filling me with a sense of peace. A small reprieve from the otherwise chaotic upheaval muddling my brain.

  Except for the insistent cicadas and frogs. As well as the occasional pecking rhythm of a woodpecker high in an old oak tree on the mountain slope. The familiarity infuses me with life; still, at the same time, my body’s unrelenting dull ache caused by the broken pieces of my heart is torment.

  Twenty-five agonizing days have passed since she left. Ripped away from me in a split second. My life changed in an instant. Not for the better, and not by choice.

  I can’t keep up this charade. I don’t want to.

  That’s why I’m here in these woods. My woods. A sanctuary I’ve depended on since I was a young kid. Running away, trying to get lost. Caged in my own personal hell.

  When I came home from the last tour in the Middle East, my mind was made up. Ring in hand, I found my girl and asked her to marry me. I didn’t want to wait any longer. Taylor Lynn Jones was mine. I wanted the world to know it.

  Taylor and I had known each other since we were young’uns. She lived down the road from my family’s homestead, not too far from where I sit. We were five and six years old and forged a friendship that later turned into an undeniable love. That’s the way I felt, anyway. I wanted that girl with a passion beyond my years. Taylor soon became the most important thing in my life.

  Following high school, she went to the local community college near our home town, while I enlisted in the army. We had our whole life planned. Every step was together.

  I’d always felt invincible. Growing up in the hills of Arkansas may have had something to do with it. Not that I didn’t respect life and my vulnerabilities, but I knew what I could do. Call it dumb luck or just being cocky. I felt like Superman. Tempting fate sometimes but always managing to ride the wave unscathed. Didn’t worry about the consequences or the future. I only lived in the here and now.

  Still, I always respected authority, keeping the peace while serving my country and enjoying the hell out of life. It’d kept me going this far.

  Until the day when everything changed.

  Why didn’t I stop her from going?

  “It should’ve been me!”

  I fist-bump my chest with one hand, and I kick at the dirt with my booted foot.

  I’m so fucking lost.

  Brushing the overgrown hair from my eyes, I erupt with spontaneous laughter. I wonder what my brothers in arms would think about how far I’ve fallen. I rub my chest and will the ache to subside.

  Dipping the fishing pole into the river off the bank, I feel a tug on my line. The slight bump, bump, bump of the pole lets me know…fish on. Slowly, I begin to reel in the line. Tightening the slack. I pull back to set the hook.

  “Yes!” I holler out into the woods and question my connection with reality for being so excited.

  “Dinner is served,” I mumble sarcastically to the trees as I pull the fish from the water onto dry land. The fish flops wildly up and down on the bank beside me.

  At one time, this fish would’ve brought me great satisfaction. Now, it’s a means to an end. My belly is empty and I need to eat. Survival of the fittest and all.

  I clean the fish and place it over the fire to cook. Plopping down on the unforgiving ground, I study the makeshift camp, my home for the past few weeks. I scrub my hands across the beard on my face and place my head in my hands. Succumbing to the horror and pain that constantly soars through every part of me.

  I’ll never be the same.

  For the past two weeks, I’ve been off the grid. No cell phone, no contact, nothing. I needed to get away from everyone and everything. I know my time has come to an end. I need to report for duty soon. Brief notions of leaving, going AWOL, filter through my brain. It’d be so easy, but I won’t succumb to the taunting idea.

  Reaching into the cooler, I pull out another ice-cold beer. Water, beer, and nuts have been my friends during my time here. Al
though a few shots of whiskey would be better; but I know my limits. I’ve seen the results of what hard liquor can do to a person growing up. I may drown in my own misery, but it’ll be with Pabst Blue Ribbon all the way.

  The pan crackles and sizzles, drawing my attention back to dinner, and I move to turn the fish over. I take another long draw of my beer. As the amber liquid touches my tongue, I relax a little. Taking another swig, I feel the effects quickly from the lack of food in my stomach. Numbness. Deadened perfection.

  The smell of fresh trout floats through the air. My stomach growls again. I haven’t eaten in a day or two, so this gift is much-needed nourishment. Not that I can’t go without food for a while. I’m a solider.

  I drink a few more beers or ten. Hey, who’s counting? And I scarf down the trout.

  My body gives in to the stupefied circumstance. The last thing I remember as I drift off to sleep in my tent are those alluring baby blues that haunt me when I close my eyes.

  “You’re mine, Oliver Reed Bishop.”

  Taylor’s hands move all over my skin. Causing ripples of desire throughout my body that burn so brightly I have to have her. The need causes my dick to twitch.

  “Gotta have you, baby. Right. Now,” I tell her as she sits astride my lap, placing her pussy right on top of my aching, swollen cock.

  Her eyes bore into my soul as she rocks back and forth, causing the burn to flame brighter and brighter. I’m swept away by desire; my need grows with every stroke of her bare pussy rubbing against my dick.

  “Ollie. I need you.”

  Her plea is my undoing as I slide into her welcoming heat.

  Bliss.

  Nirvana.

  Waking up with a start, I rub the wicked headache storming across my temples. Once again pleading for the pain to go away.

  The hardest part of dreaming about someone you love is having to wake up. Will it ever stop?

  I get up, untangling my limbs from the sleeping bag. Stumbling through the fabric tent door, I fall to my knees right at the edge of the creek bank. I reach down to splash water across my face, hoping I can wake the fuck up.

  Later in the day, I’m hiking up the mountain. Winding in and out between low-hanging branches and boulders sticking up out of the ground. My body is screaming to slow down, but I don’t listen. I punish my limbs, the pain the only thing making me feel alive again.

  When I advance closer to the top of the ridge with each footfall, I lose my footing a time or two and slip, scraping up my arms and bare chest. Damn, I should’ve worn a shirt. I continue until the peak is in view.

  Off to my right, a rustle in the bushes grabs my attention. Snapping my head to the side, I stop dead in my tracks. I’m on high alert, my training kicking in.

  The crunching sound of leaves and branches splintering draws my eyes to the area. It’s something big. A pair of dark brown, deadly eyes owned by a large round head appear through the brush. A low bellow thunders out of a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth possessed by a massive animal as it stalks slowly, methodically toward me.

  Fuck me. Black bear. These woods are full of them.

  Ever so carefully, I back up, step by step as to not startle the beast. I slide my hand into my pouch, searching for the pocket knife and mace I always carry with me. I’m mindful of the black bear that’s the size of a small car, scuffing at the ground, head lolling back and forth, saliva dripping from its sharp teeth. Pacing and getting ready to pounce.

  “Shit,” I whisper when my hand comes up empty. Caught up in my head earlier, I forgot the most important thing one needs when going on a hike in the Ozark Mountains. A weapon.

  I discreetly survey the area to come up with an escape route. Not giving the animal my back, I continue to the peak. Stopping at the edge, I briefly look down and watch as small rocks and debris fall helplessly through the air to the bottom. I spy several large roots hanging out and over the ledge. The bear is closing in, and my decision is a no-brainer.

  As quickly as humanly possible, I squat down, grab one of the large roots, and swing out, down over the ledge. Hoping that it will hold. Giant bear claws swipe out, scraping a gash on the back of my shoulder as I fall fast, hitting the side of the mountain with a hard jar.

  The impact robs me of my breath; my hands slip slightly. After I adjust my grip on the root, I close my eyes and begin to pray. Is this how it’ll end for me? At least I won’t be bear dinner. What a crock of shit. Lukas would love this.

  As I hang precariously over the edge of the mountain, the view from my position is breathtaking. During normal circumstances, I would enjoy it, but hanging suspended over the edge by a flimsy root takes away the beauty.

  I glance over to the right of the ridge. My cabin’s tin roof peeks out through the treetops. A retreat I’ve been working on over the past few years. A place to relax and enjoy the outdoors. A place I poured my heart and soul into with the help of my girl, Taylor. One I may never enjoy again.

  Funny how things can change at the drop of a hat or the slash of a claw, sending you over a ledge. Hanging on the edge, mentally and literally. I guess these are some of the things a person thinks about when facing the end.

  My only hope is that the bear will give up and leave. The smell of copper mixed with sweat drowns my nostrils, while the sounds of the grunting and growling of the black bear treading heavily on the edge of the drop off above drowns out every other noise.

  Seconds, minutes, hell, maybe hours later, my arms are trembling from holding on to the root. I manage to wrap the bottom of the makeshift rope around my waist, creating a type of harness. The bear is still making noise overhead, scraping the ground. Not giving up.

  My mind is ready to give up and let go. I’m ready to give up and end it all. Maybe it’s fate that this happened. An end to my miserable existence.

  Shots fire off above, and my head jerks in the direction. A voice yells, and judging by the shuffling and crunching, the bear has been scared off. I sigh in relief as a shadow leans over the ledge. A hand reaches out and begins to pull the root up the bank. Finally, a palm clasps onto my outstretched hand, pulling me up to safety.

  The last thing I remember before I surrender to the darkness is the sound of a familiar voice telling me it’s okay.

  “Ollie. I need you to wake the fuck up. Bishop!”

  What the hell?

  “Rise and shine, sunshine. You’ve slept long enough. Get your lazy ass up, Ollie. It’s time to go.”

  My heavy lids open slightly to view the huge figure looming over me. Well, shit.

  “What the fuck, Keagan? What are you doing here? How’d you find me?” I question. “No... shit, man. I don’t even care. Just leave,” I mumble through my cotton mouth.

  Wearing the famous Fontneau half-scowl, half-grin, Keagan continues, “Didn’t cover your tracks, Ols. Too easy. But you’re damn lucky I showed up when I did. Now, get the fuck up.”

  “What? Fuck you, man.”

  I roll over and cover up my head with my sleeping bag, remembering the fall over the mountain, the black bear. Hanging there for what seemed like hours. An arm reaching out to grab mine. Fuck! Damn Keagan.

  I feel a slight tug, and before I know what’s what, I’m on the ground, flipped over and trying to catch the breath that was knocked out of me.

  Sleeping bag in hand, Keagan looks pleased by his actions. The big fucker.

  “Damn it, man, leave me alone. You should’ve let me fall!” I shout at him and grimace from the pain it causes.

  “Nope, can’t do that, brother. My orders were to come and get your sorry ass. And you know how I am with orders.” Keagan growls back at me in that unnerving way he has, brokering no arguments.

  Normally, I’d follow suit. I learned a long time ago during our first tour together that Keagan is a force to be reckoned with. A man I’d lay down my own life to protect, as he would for me. Those long hours in the desert, watching each other’s back, we forged a bond. He’s family, even though not by blood. A kinship born
from war. At the same time, we formed a friendship that goes beyond the military. But not today.

  “I can’t.” I sigh, “I don’t want to. None of this shit matters anymore. Ya feel me, Keagan?”

  Still reeling from the dream and the fall, I clutch my head again from the pounding headache stirring around my brain like scrambled eggs. Shit! I drank too much again, and my body is taut caused by the fall. Not to mention, the gash on my shoulder is stinging like a motherfucker. Yet, it’s exactly what I deserve. The punishment I deserve for surviving without her.

  I hear Keagan move up and sit down beside me.

  “Fucktard. You’re really gonna make me do this shit, huh?” Keagan groans.

  “Nothin’ to it, K. Just tell them you can't find me, or tell them I fell over the ledge and I’m gone,” I grumble between my knees, where my face is buried.

  “Ain’t gonna happen, fuckface,” he replies as he takes a deep breath, chuckles, and glances to the bubbling creek. “Look, Ollie, I’ve got no clue how you feel. I’m not gonna sit here and dry your eyes, kiss your wounds, and tell you everything's gonna be okay. ‘Cause I’m sure as shit not the one to do it. But you can stay around here in these woods”—Keagan gestures around us—“and spend your days, weeks, even fuckin’ months overanalyzing the situation. Try to put the pieces together, to justify what would’ve happened. How things could’ve been different. Or you can scatter the shitbag pieces you’ve been dealt into the wind and... Move. The. Fuck. On.”

  That comment right there is why Keagan Fontneau is my best friend. The guy spouts wisdom even when he’s clueless to the fact. Although, maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing. Smartass.

  I prop myself up with my hands behind my back and dig into the bristly grass with my fingers. I let Keagan’s words sink in. Son of a bitch is right.

  “Our team needs you, Ollie. You know we can’t do it without you.” Keagan’s comment breaks into my drifting thoughts. I know what he’s saying without saying it …he needs me, too. That’s the way he operates.