Archer's Voice (Where Love Meets Destiny, #1)

by Mia Sheridan

Chiron’s wound symbolizes the transformative power of suffering—how personal pain, both physical and emotional, can become the source of great moral and spiritual strength.

The town in Maine I had chosen as my destination was a popular tourist attraction, and so after more than an hour of searching, the closest I could get was across the lake, in this small town named Pelion.

I paused. I never felt entirely safe. Would I again?

“You must read people well,” I said. “You’re not wrong there.”

My Bill used to say he couldn’t hide anything from me if he tried. Course, love and time will do that, too. You get so the other person is practically another part of you—and you can’t hide from yourself.

“He used to like a little bourbon in his sweet tea. Made him frisky. Course I didn’t mind. Kept him smiling and only took a minute or two of my time.”

After a minute, I whispered, “Peace,” before I blew and watched the fluff float out of sight, hoping that somehow one of those seeds carrying my whisper would reach that something or someone who had the power to make wishes come true.

“Maggie Jansen, by the way.” I grinned at her. “Bree Prescott. Thank you so much!” “You’re the one who just made my morning better,” she called as she went down the counter to refill the other coffee cups.

“Well, welcome to Pelion. I’m Melanie Scholl, and this is my sister, Liza.” The

“Archer Hale,” Melanie broke in. “I’m shocked he stopped to help you, though. He doesn’t usually pay anyone any attention.”

Anyway, I think he’s deaf. That’s why he doesn’t speak.

“because, have you seen the body on him? Of course, runs in the genes. If he wasn’t so antisocial, I’d do him.”

But what I do know is that Archer’s parents and his uncle, Connor Hale, the owner of the town and the chief of police, died that day, and that whatever afflicts Archer happened in that accident.

I supposed we all coped in our different ways—pain and healing as individual as the people who experienced them.

“I’m so sorry you can’t have us both, Little Bee,” he said, using my nickname. “Both?” I whispered, confused, watching the distance between us grow even more.

He’s in a world of his own.

“You watch out,” Maggie said to me. “That boy will charm the pants right off of you.” But she smiled as she said it.

We didn’t exchange many words after that, but the silence between us was comfortable, companionable.

It suddenly occurred to me that Archer Hale had taught himself an entire language, but hadn’t had a single person to talk to. Until me.

my strange, silent boy

“There’s no one on

God’s green earth who can torture you for intel. You show ’em your scar and pretend you don’t understand, they’ll leave you alone.”

She carried the guilt of not fighting when she thought she should have, and I carried the scar of what happened when you did.

Maybe there was no right or wrong, no black or white, only a thousand shades of gray when it came to pain and what we each held ourselves responsible for.

It felt like he was telling me that I didn’t need to be ashamed, didn’t need to turn away from him. My eyes met his again.

God, he had run over rocks and sharp branches and thorny ground cover to rescue me.

Considering it now, I realized that there had been a chemistry between us from the very start.

those beautiful whiskey-colored eyes filled with passion.

Maybe I needed to feel safe and accepted in my pain before I was set free from this daily misery.

“That boy has a violent side. Has anyone told you?”

laughed softly and got back to work, my mind full with questions about brothers, secrets, a girl they both loved, and a bitchy widow. I wondered how the whole puzzle went together, and where Archer fit in among it all.

about a sweet girl who came to a new town, and the brothers who loved her—and how the one she didn’t love manipulated her into choosing him, and how it had all ended in tragedy.

And his hands made letters on my skin, and after a few minutes, I realized that he was spelling, My Bree…My Bree…again and again and again.

The smell of sex hung heavy in the air of the small cab. I closed my eyes very briefly, color filling my face. “Hi, Travis,” I said, trying to smile, but grimacing instead.

He raised his hands and signed, You’re an asshole, Travis. I laughed nervously and looked at Travis. “He said, sure, no problem,” I said. I heard Archer shift in his seat.

“God, that’s sexy,” Melanie said. “It’s like you two are talking dirty right out in the open.”

“My wounded healer, my beautiful Archer.”

It’s like, the second I saw him, my life started. The second I started loving him, everything clicked into place for me.

want to be able to love you more than I fear losing you,

No, really, it’s about isolation and a girl who represents happiness for a man who’s never had any. I guess I can relate to some of the themes.

The smell of the earth after it rains, the feeling of falling asleep, the small freckle on the inside of your right thigh.

I closed the bathroom door behind me and just stood on the other side for a minute, trying to figure out why I was still so worried.

I guess if it wasn’t beautiful, the tragedy ultimately wouldn’t be sad.

It was almost as if he were trying to meld us into one person when we connected.

Bad things don’t happen to people because they deserve for them to happen. It just doesn’t work that way. It’s just…life. And no matter who we are, we have to take the hand we’re dealt, crappy though it may be, and try our very best to move forward anyway, to love anyway, to have hope anyway…to have faith that there’s a purpose to the journey we’re on. I grabbed his hands in mine for a second and then let go so I could continue. And try to believe that maybe more light shines out of those who have the most cracks.

Sometimes I think of those little pieces of fabric when life feels really messy and difficult to understand. I try to close my eyes and believe that even though I can’t see the other side right then, and the side I’m looking at is ugly and muddled, there’s a masterpiece that’s being woven out of all the knots and loose strings. I try to believe that something beautiful can result from something ugly, and that there will come a time when I’ll get to see what that

Don’t run from me, I said. I can’t call to you. Please don’t run from me.

I realized that people’s reactions had more to do with them, more to do with who they were, than anything about me. It was like a bolt of lightning hit me, Bree.

She asked me the sign for love and I spelled out your name.

There’s always going to be the chance that I could lose you in this lifetime. There’s nothing any of us can do about the possibility of loss. But in that moment, I decided I was more interested in focusing on the great privilege I’ve been given in having you at all.