The Memory of Us: A Standalone Soulmate Romance Read online

  The Memory of Us

  Claire Raye

  Copyright © 2021 by Claire Raye

  www.claireraye.com

  The Memory of Us

  Cover Design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Nora

  Elliot

  Part One: Nora

  Chapter One

  Twelve Years Ago- San Diego

  Chapter Two

  Present Day - New York City

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Part Two: Elliot

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Part Three: Nora & Elliot

  Chapter Eighteen: Nora

  Chapter Nineteen: Elliot

  Chapter Twenty: Nora

  Chapter Twenty-One: Elliot

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Nora

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Elliot

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Nora

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Elliot

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Nora

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Elliot

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Nora

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Elliot

  Chapter Thirty: Nora

  Chapter Thirty-One: Elliot

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Nora

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Elliot

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Nora

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Elliot

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Nora

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Elliot

  What’s Next!

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  A Note from Claire

  A Note from Raye

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  We were together.

  I forgot the rest.

  -Walt Whitman

  Nora

  Our meeting was predetermined, I believe that wholeheartedly. It was fate.

  Him.

  Always him.

  I’ve been searching for him for almost twelve years. And I always wonder if he’s been searching for me too. A long time has passed, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten, it doesn’t mean I will ever give up.

  I was drawn to him in a way that was consuming and real and undying, and he felt it too. But circumstances beyond our control separated us and I will try everything to find him. I always will.

  Twelve hours seems like nothing. Insignificant, pointless, minuscule in the grand scheme of things, but to us, to that day, that night, it meant everything.

  Elliot

  I firmly believe I was meant to find her; it wasn’t a chance meeting. It was fate.

  Her.

  Always her.

  She disappeared without warning. One minute she was there and the next she was gone. No goodbye, no note to tell me where she went. Words left unsaid and an opportunity missed.

  She was unlike anyone I’ve ever met and my obsessive need to be close to her overwhelmed me, yet calmed me. I needed her like I needed the air I breathe.

  It’s been a long time, nearly twelve years, but she still consumes my thoughts. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. One day I will find her again. I won’t stop. She will always be mine.

  Twelve hours was all we spent together, a small amount of time, but to me, to us, it changed lives.

  Part One: Nora

  Chapter One

  Twelve Years Ago- San Diego

  He smiles at me from across the room and even his gorgeous eyes and beautiful smile can’t wipe this filthy look from my face.

  I’ve been awkwardly standing here for at least two hours wondering where the fuck my sister is and if she’s ever coming back.

  When my dad sent me out to California to help her get settled in her new apartment, I expected it to be everything awful and more. So far it’s been even worse than expected.

  I’m at a frat party, in a disgusting house with a slew of drunken assholes, none of which I know, and my sister has disappeared with a guy she just met. I should probably be worried. That’s why I’m here. My dad sent me to be the voice of reason, to be her keeper, but I couldn’t give a shit.

  “Alice needs your help,” my father said as he practically shoved me onto the airplane.

  “She doesn’t need my help,” I retorted back, my teenage attitude in place. “She needs therapy.”

  “Nora,” he added firmly, “Alice is trying to find herself. The death of your mother has been hard on her. Right now she needs a friend and who better to do that than her younger sister.”

  “So paying for her to “find herself” in California is your way of helping her?” I asked, quoting his term back to him.

  The death of our mother was hard on both of us, my father, too. It wasn’t unexpected, but that doesn’t mean it was easy. She had been sick for a long time, eventually losing her life to brain cancer. It was a struggle for all of us and still is. But like everything in life, you move on, try to make the best of what you have. I have my father, a wonderful, hardworking man with a serious love for his daughters. We have never wanted for anything and while it had no adverse affects on me, it made Alice feel like the world owed her something.

  Our mother died the summer Alice was to leave for college, and instead of carrying on with her life, Alice opted to wallow by taking the year off and traveling around Europe. She came home with several tattoos, a serious drinking habit and a possible STD, which she still won’t admit to.

  And here we are, two years later and Alice is still attempting to move on with more tattoos, more alcohol and more boys, but now she’s in California.

  She appealed to my father’s sentimental side and his inability to say no to his daughters, by telling him she wanted to spend some time living where our mother once lived. Telling him it might help her connect with her and find the strength to move on.

  Alice is a master manipulator and has a flair for the dramatic, but I have to hand it to her, it’s paid off in her favor more times than not.

  But here I find myself, alone, without Alice, although I’m supposed to be assisting her in “finding herself” and just the thought has me incredibly pissed off.

  I have my own life and my own chanc
e to “find myself”. I say this like I mean it, yet the idea is so fucking stupid I can’t believe I even thought it. I’m heading off to college in a few weeks, where I don’t need to find myself. I know what I want to do and I’m ready to start my life. A life that doesn’t include Alice and all her drama.

  I have to stick this shit show out for one more day and then I’ll be back in Boston, living my quiet existence.

  As of right now, despite the gorgeous blue eyes of this guy, I’ve had nothing to distract me from wanting to get home.

  I watch him as his smile remains and he makes his way across the crowded room to where I’m standing with a beer in hand and a don’t-fuck-with-me look on my face. It begins to fade the closer he gets and I hear his slight chuckle just as he’s about to reach me.

  I can’t help but smile when he stops in front of me and says, “That look is killer. I hope it’s not directed at me.”

  “Nah,” I say, shaking my head, my harsh demeanor already fading fast. “It’s for someone who isn’t here and even if she were, she wouldn’t notice.”

  I watch him shoot me a curious but devious look, and I immediately process what I’ve just said. I laugh out loud and he grins shamelessly at me. “Nothing like that, you pervert. My sister.”

  “Oh, that’s good because I’m about to hit on you,” he says and adds a wink as he steps closer to me.

  “Awfully confident for a guy who smells like he’s wearing more alcohol than he’s drunk.”

  “That stings,” he says, his hands placed over his heart. “But I’m not sure you should be so particular in your choice of company, seeing as you’ve been standing here alone for the better part of two hours.”

  This boy is cheeky and part of me finds him strangely endearing. He’s cute in that California surfer way. A deep tan, bleached out hair, a pair of low-slung shorts and a lovingly worn-in t-shirt. But what gets me is his perfect smile and striking blue eyes. There’s a kindness to him, an almost natural way that makes me feel instantly comfortable in his presence.

  “Who says I’m looking for company?” I quip back and he laughs.

  “You’re a tough one, but I’m always up for a challenge.”

  “I’m not much of a fighter and if you’re looking to get laid, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Oh, again with the witty remark,” he says as his fingers tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear. When his fingers brush my cheek, an electric shock runs through my body causing me to shudder at this touch. “Of course I’m always looking to get laid, I’m a guy, but with you, I’d rather know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

  I laugh loudly at his blatant come-on. This is getting ridiculous. “Does this normally work for you?” I ask, my tone slightly mocking.

  “Yes,” he responds indignantly.

  “Well, you’re gonna have to step up your game if you think I’m even going to consider talking to you.”

  “You’re already talking to me.”

  “You’re a shithead.”

  “But you like me,” he says and without thinking about it I nod my head. “Wanna get out of here?” His face is serious but welcoming, and when he takes my hand in his, weaving our fingers together, I’m certain I would go anywhere with him. The responsible side of me is screaming, I shouldn’t dare leave with him, but there’s a side of me that wonders what it might feel like to be reckless, to be like Alice.

  “I don’t even know you,” I answer, looking away from him before he sees my eyes and calls my bluff. My cheeks grow hot and something stirs deep inside my belly. I want to go with him.

  “You know me better than anyone else at this party,” he says, tugging me toward the door and I follow willingly.

  He stops on the front porch of the large Craftsman frat house before turning to me and smiling. The music is blaring, and the loud conversations make it almost impossible to hear him, so he leans in close, his hot breath tickling my neck as he says, “My name’s Elliot and I can’t believe the most beautiful girl at this party is about to leave with me.”

  Shit like this doesn’t affect me, well normally it doesn’t, and I can’t figure out why I’m suddenly enchanted by this boy and his awful pick up line. “You’re full of shit,” I shout.

  “Probably, but I promise we’ll have a great time.”

  It’s the best offer I’ve had since I landed in San Diego and with one more day left to suffer through, I’m going to take a chance on this.

  We walk down the sidewalk hand in hand, neither of us speaking, but the silence is comforting. After the loudness of the party and spending the past few days listening to Alice drone on about her wonderful life, I’m good with silence.

  Elliot stops off at a food truck that’s selling the best tacos in La Jolla according to the hand-painted lettering on the side, and orders for us. Never asking what I want or if I’m even interested in eating. He says nothing to me, just smiles and pays for the order, afterward handing me a plastic cup as he tilts his head toward the beach.

  It isn’t late, maybe around nine o’clock and while the beach is shrouded in a dim light, it hasn’t stopped people from continuing to enjoy the day.

  We walk out onto the warm sand and I slide my flip-flops off as soon as we do. Taking them in my free hand, I follow Elliot to a quiet spot on the south end of the beach.

  I sit down next to him and push my feet into the sand, warming my toes and finding comfort in the softness as it covers my feet.

  He reaches into the bag and pulls out two tacos, handing one to me and keeping one for himself. Again, we eat in silence, the only sound being the waves lapping at the shore as they surge forward and then recede. It’s the most peaceful sound I’ve ever heard.

  But when Elliot’s voice cuts through, melodic, almost musical, like he’s singing to me, I swallow hard and fight back the need to tell him to talk to me forever.

  “I’ve never found someone who enjoys silence as much as I do,” he says and it makes me close my eyes, relishing the tone of his voice paired with the sound of the ocean.

  “Sometimes there is more said through silence than you can ever say with words,” I tell him and he nods his head. “My name is Nora,” I blurt out and Elliot coughs, nearly choking on his taco. I hand him the drink we’ve already begun sharing and he takes a long sip.

  “That was strangely awkward,” Elliot says, laughing.

  “It was,” I add, laughing right along with him. “But I just realized I never told you my name.”

  “You intrigue me, Nora. You’re like no one I’ve ever met,” he says and I feel his hand brush mine as it rests alongside my body, my fingertips tucked neatly into the sand. “The way you stood at that party, not talking to anyone, yet you looked completely comfortable, totally okay with being alone.”

  “Maybe,” I say, knowing I was anything but comfortable there. Alone I’m good with, but alone in an unknown place, not so much.

  He shakes his head and turns to look at me. Although it’s dark, I can picture his beautiful face and something about it makes me smile.

  “So what are you doing here, Nora?” he asks, looking back out at the water. I like the way my name sounds on his lips, so pure, so simple, but like it means the world to him.

  “It’s that obvious?” I ask playfully.

  “Only mildly. You just seem like you belong somewhere else. Somewhere bigger than here. Somewhere you can get lost.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I question, curious as to who he thinks I am.

  “You have an aura about you, like one day you’re going to do something great, something far bigger than you’d ever find in this coastal town.”

  “Thank you, I think,” I say feeling oddly self-conscious. “But I’m just a simple girl from Boston with dreams of being a writer.”

  Elliot lays back, his arms tucked behind his head and I find myself settling against him, my head resting in the crook of his arm. I can feel his heartbeat pulsing hard in his chest and I re
st my hand gently over it.

  “A simple girl couldn’t make my heart race like this,” Elliot says, his hand covering mine.

  Suddenly my heart is beating in time with Elliot’s, fast and heavy, throbbing in my ears, thumping against my ribs. Almost like it’s trying to escape, like it feels too much too soon.

  “I never thought I’d be swept away by a boy from California that I just met,” I murmur, keeping my voice low in hopes that he doesn’t hear the truth behind my words.

  When I feel his lips touch the top of my head, my entire body covers itself in goose bumps and a shiver runs up my spine. Elliot pulls me closer, wrapping his free arm around my body. There is something far more intimate in his kiss than if we had kissed each other, than if we had had sex. It’s almost a declaration of his true feelings, of the person I realize he is. I trust him completely.

  “What will you write about?” Elliot asks, his hand now stroking up and down my arm.

  “I don’t know, but I feel like it’s what I’m meant to do.”

  Elliot doesn’t respond immediately, but a few seconds later he asks if I have a pen. I pull one from my purse and hand it to him. He slips out from under my body, sitting up next to me; he takes my arm in his hand. His fingers are warm against my skin, his touch light, as I watch him pull the pen cap off with his teeth and drop it off to the side. He straightens my arm out, resting it on his lap; he begins to write on my forearm.

  “Just in case you ever forget why you wanted to be a writer,” he says and kisses me softly on the lips.

  I’ve been kissed before, hell I’ve even had sex before, but none of those times ever ignited sparks in me like the touch of Elliot’s lips to mine. And when I read what he’s written on my arm, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to walk away from him.

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