by Shayne Ford
FALLEN
LOVE IS WAR SERIES
SHAYNE FORD
Copyright © 2018 by Shayne Ford
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, organizations and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners and have been used without permission and in an editorial fashion only, with no implied endorsement.
The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with, approved of or sponsored by the trademarks owners.
This book is for entertainment purposes only. The author and publisher disclaim any and all responsibility for any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly in relation to this book.
This book is intended for mature audiences only.
Written by Shayne Ford
www.shayneford.com
Twitter:@ShayneFordBooks
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Cover design by Shayne Ford
The image on the cover is a licensed stock photo, and it is used for illustrative purposes, any person who may be depicted on, is a model.
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This is to you, my dedicated, loyal readers who share my passion for deep, emotional stories. Because of you, I love these books even more.
Contents
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
Also by SHAYNE FORD
About the Author
1
TESS
I peel my eyes away from the screen, curl my fingers around the mug, and take a sip of coffee.
I toss a side glance at the phone, checking the time.
10:30 AM.
My gaze swings to the window.
Tall and clear, the sheets of glass offer the unhindered view of the park. Square shaped, lined with lampposts and wrought iron benches, stretching large patches of grass, old trees, and a big eye of water, the park sprawls in front of me, outlined by quiet streets and two-level, brick townhouses just like mine.
Snaking alleys crisscross the place, connecting the northern side of the park––where some of the most expensive properties in town sit, to my street.
No clouds float across the dark-blue sky, the smoke drifting through the air telling me that fall is here.
Gusts of wind spin dervishes of leaves on the sidewalks. Fiery red, sunlight yellow, and dark copper, the leaves flutter in the breeze, like mottled butterflies, spinning and dancing, celebrating the ephemeral life.
A soft sound of wind chimes travels from nearby.
Mellow, and alluring, the melody evokes things and places I’ve never got to see, gently pulling me into a different realm, tempting me to daydream.
A carousel of images spins in front of my eyes––stone paved, narrow streets in a small, old town. White walls and red geraniums washed with golden light. The glimmering sea sprawls not far from me, tossing soft waves against the shore where white shells lie asleep, buried in the sand.
From time to time, the face of a man––a stranger I’ve never seen before, flashes in front of my eyes as well.
Everything looks real, vivid.
The red floral print on my full skirt dress, the man’s white shirt open at the neckline, his bronzed skin and dark hair, framing green eyes shadowed by the canopies of lashes.
A small smile sleeps in the cradle of his lips as a warm, soft breeze blows into his hair, sweeping strands over his brow.
The wind messes my hair too. Taking a step back, I tear away from him and tie my hair back into a loose chignon.
Tenderly, he takes my hand and twirls me back to him. His arm snakes around my waist, his chest pressing into mine. The warm embrace sends a shiver down my back.
My gaze dips to his mouth.
He teasingly arches his lips and makes mine part with desire. I lift my gaze and meet his eyes, their depths bearing secrets, yet making love to me.
The sensation feels so real, and raw–– intense and sweeping, my heart clenches in my chest.
He spins with me as we dance following the music of a tune that only we can hear, and then, he starts to kiss me.
A slow, warm, passionate kiss, witnessed by the calm sea while the music of the wind chimes rolls in our ears. The air smells like summer, sun, and love. It smells like him––the scent of his skin kissed by the sun meshed with the fresh aroma of his cologne. His lips taste good as he steals my breath with his fiery kiss.
No.
I push the image away and plug myself back to reality.
A dark veil falls over the blue sky and the turquoise sea, obturating the bright sun and hiding the man’s smile.
My pulse starts throbbing rapidly in my neck as if I wake from a real dream.
What is it with me?
I glance around, hoping to regain my focus as I take in the familiar details of my office.
Stubbornly, the images keep playing in my head.
This is the third time this week.
The same man, a slightly different setting. I always get a glimpse of his face, but never enough to learn his features.
A shaky breath slithers into my lungs as I shift my eyes to my hands, trying to calm down.
Step by step, I talk myself into paying attention to all sorts of everyday, familiar details, hoping to help my mind pull out of the loop.
Little by little, my mind recovers its focus as my eyes sweep the wooden desk, and silver laptop, the antique lamp, and the books stacked on the table, the velvet armchairs and the matching sofa.
Pulled back into the moment, I no longer grapple with my daydream.
With delight, I register the scent of smoke wafting through the open window, and the bunch of scarlet flowers overflowing in the vase, the smell of coffee drifting from my cup, and the incense of the newly printed books.
The trick works.
I’m no longer hot, my skin no longer flushed. Cold air rolls over my skin, soothing my senses and calming my heart.
I set the tall ceramic mug next to my laptop and force my gaze back to the screen.
It’s time to get back to work, Tess.
My eyes start moving rapidly over the manuscript while my fingers trail the walnut desk.
‘A dirt road takes him to the edge of the woods, the flashlight barely glowing, not offering much light.’
It takes mere seconds, and my eyes pull away from my work again. A sigh falls from my lips as my frustration fuels my restlessness.
What is it now?
The wind chimes start dancing and singing again, prompted by the autumn wind. I push out of my chair, wrap the mohair blue sweater around my slender frame, and take a few steps toward the window.
With cold fingers, I open it even wider, letting t
he haunting, clinking sound drift into my home office.
Sunlight rolls over my face, the dense glow forcing me to blink repeatedly to adjust my eyes.
It’s a beautiful day, the colors and the sounds revving up my senses.
I lean forward slightly. The quiet street with tall old trees enters my line of sight the moment I prop my hand on the windowsill.
“Good morning, Miss.”
My hand goes to my eyes, shielding them from the sun. I shift my gaze to the old man who stops in front of my house. Gray trousers, a pale pink shirt open at the neckline and a brown cashmere sweater comprise his attire.
That’s what I always liked about George. He never sets foot out of his home without making sure that he looks dashing.
I know him since I was a little girl. I used to watch him almost every day, walking down the very same street, and heading to the school located just around the corner, where he taught history most of his life.
“Good morning, George.”
He shifts the leash from one hand to the other.
“Beautiful weather, isn’t it?” he asks, smiling at me.
His little dog barks a couple of times, twirling at the bottom of the few stairs that lead to the entrance of my home.
“Yes, it is. It’s perfect,” I say.
The man’s lips crease into a smile.
“You should join us. Where’s Luna? I haven’t heard her barking this morning,” he says, picking up his tiny pooch and tucking him into his chest.
I give him a warm grin.
“She’s still sleeping. Not today, I’m afraid. I have a lot of work to do.”
A broader smile brightens his face.
“Work, work... Too much work, Tess,” he says, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t waste a beautiful day like this on work.”
A chuckle falls from my lips.
“I have to finish it. The deadline is next week.”
Quiet, he shakes his head a few more times.
“How’s Maggie?” he asks after a moment.
“My mom is good. Thank you for asking.”
“Tell her I said hi.”
“I will,” I say, grinning.
He sets the pooch down and waves at me before he walks away.
Slowly, he strolls down the street, the sidewalk taking him to the corner of the block where he takes a turn, crosses the road and enters the park.
I watch him all the way, my eyes absorbing the colors, and the warm light, my ears filled with the sound of the wind chimes.
Ding-a-ling. Ding-a-ling.
A soft touch of fur makes me pull back from the window and tip my gaze to the floor.
“Hey, sweetie,” I quietly say as I bend at my waist and pick up my dog.
She looks at me with big sparkling eyes.
“Do you want to go outside?”
She blinks a few times, her eyes still foggy with sleep.
“I guess, not,” I murmur, pivoting with her in my arms.
I pull her soft bed from under my desk, plop it on the armchair sitting next to the window, and lay her down. She curls up and goes back to sleep.
“I think you’re going to like it,” I say.
She instantly falls asleep.
“That’s my girl,” I murmur.
My gaze lingers on her for a moment longer before I toss one last glance at the park and move away from the tempting view, reluctantly taking a seat behind my desk.
A vase filled with flowers sits on the corner. I pick up the card from between two long, thorny stems.
Happy Birthday!
You are the love of my life.
Allan
Absently, I flip the card, musing over my husband’s words.
I set the card on my desk, and move my focus to the screen.
‘Two more steps and the wood cabin tucked behind the trees enters his line of sight. The man stills and tips his gaze down, a set of footprints other than his depressing the soft, damp ground. A bad feeling hovers over him.’
My mind jumps away again, prompting me to pull my eyes away from the screen.
“Damn it,” I mutter to myself.
I suddenly feel cold, shivers running down my back, and goosebumps forming on my arms.
I bring the cup of coffee to my lips and take a sip, the liquid no longer hot, the aroma barely satisfying, the caffeine failing to give me the focus that I crave.
I check the manuscript, hoping for a dash of good news.
There are two hundred pages left and a looming deadline that requires the editing work to be done by this coming Tuesday.
That’s four more days, including the weekend, of course, but the weekends are never good. There are too many things that require my attention, and I’m already struggling with it.
The house gets animated––we usually have family and friends over for dinner, and even if we don’t, Allan wants me for himself.
I can’t blame him, can I?
That’s why weekends are not good for me to work. This one, in particular, is busier than usual. We meet Lisa and Ben for dinner on Saturday. We’re trying a new Italian restaurant, from what I know, and then we have a lunch planned for Sunday with my mom, Maggie, and my sister, Viola, plus Allan’s parents, Fred and Marni.
Anna, my best friend, will come over too.
It’s an anniversary.
My twenty-fifth birthday celebration.
A celebration...
“Celebration,” I murmur absently as I run my empty gaze over the screen.
My fingers roll the mouse back and front, opening and closing windows, keeping me away from doing my work.
My eyes start scanning. Words. More words. Images. Ugly. Beautiful. Shocking. Dreamy. I like dreamy. There’s never enough 'dreamy’ in this world.
Why can’t I focus?
I skip over the images and give more attention to the words.
Words are less painful to me. I can pull away from them any time I want. I can choose not to listen to them or to forget them mid-sentence. I can tune out words, but I can’t forget an image. The image enters my brain, lodges in my memory, reflects in the mirror of my soul, and spreads angst through me like a bad disease. It stays with me and messes with me, filling my mind with a thousand thoughts that spin like the leaves outside, or the wind chimes bothered by the breeze.
Only quieter.
The windows open and close faster.
Words. Words.
‘People kill love.’
“Love?”
My voice rolls out cold and tired. As if it’s someone else’s voice.
I click my way back.
‘There’s no love in captivity.’
There. Is. No. Love.
Isn’t there?
My eyes focus, a bit too late. Ignoring my thoughts, my fingers click fast, eager to move on, the same way I do when it comes to my life. Popping too many windows open, I fill my head with too much noise and information.
Lights, sounds, clips, and a different kind of words flash in front of my eyes, obliterating everything, numbing my sense of reality.
I feel my panic rising, the adrenaline rushing through my veins.
Where is it what I just read?
Where the fuck is it?
It was right there. I swear I saw it.
‘Love is deceit.
A trap.
A sham.
Love is war.’
Where the fuck is it?
I remember every word, and yet I can’t find it on the screen.
I straighten in my seat and slide the cup of coffee to the side as I begin to close the windows, my jaw tensing–– even more, my nostrils flaring with frustration.
Why is it so important to me?
The more I fumble with the screen, the more anxious I become. Suddenly my senses scream as more smoke drifts into the house, the sound of wind chimes reminding me of a stack of coins rolling down the street. Kids giggle in the park, their voices a faint echo in the distance, and yet they sound like clink
ing bells inside my head.
Enough.
I leap out of my chair and shut the window closed before I spin around and dash back to my desk.
Sunk into her sleep, my dog doesn’t even flinch.
I slide back into my seat.
Where is it?
Disappointed, I run my eyes over the screen.
There’s nothing there except the manuscript I’ve been working on, and the notes I took while I was editing.
History.
Let’s check the history folder. Painstakingly, I go over every website I’ve browsed within the last five minutes.
There. Forum.
A forum??
A small avatar catches my eye. A black flower and a sword. My eyes absorb the image, my gaze shifting to the colorful flowers in the vase sitting on my desk as if I want to wash away that darkness.
A black flower?
Why do you care, Tess?
His avatar name is Random Thoughts.
His name?
I do a double take. Yes, he is a man.
The discussion is long.
I skim the questions and the slew of answers, out of reflex making mental notes. Commenting in my head. True, false. I don't think so.
He stirred up the people, and now their answers flood the page. Conflicting, arguing, embracing his thoughts, or just dismissing them.
He’s wrong. He’s right??
The people’s opinions are split.
He writes a few more lines, talking about life, people, and love. Is love good or bad? It’s anybody’s guess. Everybody has an opinion, yet most of them do not agree with him.
‘Make the world kneel,’ says the line beneath his avatar.
He doesn’t believe in love.
Do I?
What about mom? My sister does. And Anna does too.
George believes in love. He always praised it, even when he lost the love of his life, the woman he’d been married to for almost forty years.