Introduction
They say everything happens for a reason although I never understood that expression well enough. I used to think it was a way of finding comfort, a way to make sense of things, a way to ease the pain of today by giving hope for tomorrow. It promises that one day you will have your answer—you will know why things happened the way they did and not any differently. You can’t linger in the past. Time will pass. We become sidetracked, and maybe even a little blind to it. We get distracted with life.
What about when two hearts collide? Is there a purpose for two souls to meet? Can anything in life truly be a coincidence? Is it something more powerful than us; are some things simply written
in the stars? You see, something terrible happened in my life, only for me to realize in time why it all had to take place. I will tell you a story that happened for a rea son …
CHAPTER ONE
June 2014
“Seventeen is not an easy age, Archer. You remember, don’t you, honey? Take it easy on him,” I heard my mother say early that Saturday morning as I was making my way out of my bedroom. I started pacing the hall upstairs, listening quietly to their conversa tion.
“Sure, I remember what it’s like to be seventeen. I also remember being a lot more responsible, Emily. He needs to grow up and realize how serious life is. I want him to be the best man he ca n be.”
My father ended his statement by walking out of the kitchen, towards the bottom of the stairs. I was sure he could hear my footsteps on the floor above, so I ran to the bathroom. I wasn’t ready for my family to see me with this face. I locked the door and leaned agains t it.
This is not going to be fun , I tho ught.
I could already hear what my father would say: You just can’t keep yourself away from trouble, can you, Elvis? You’re almost eighteen years old, graduating high school, and you still can’t figure out your future . Blah, blah, blah. It went on in my head.
Jeez, couldn’t my father just lay off my back? Maybe I hadn’t been the easiest teenager to deal with, but when can a guy get a b reak?
My mother’s words came to mind: He’s a good man and he loves you
. She’d always told me and my siblings that when we were in trouble, but my father looked disappointed with me all the time lately. Only she still seemed to see the best in me. Elvis, I see the real you through your eyes. I looked at them when you were just a little boy, and I saw what every mother sees … an a ngel.
She would say this as though she was absolutely sure o f it.
I normally don’t interrupt my father when he’s angry. I’ve learned to listen more than speak during his lectures, but today would be different, and I wondered if he was going to hear me out. As I considered it, my mind kept flashing back to the night before; it felt like a nightmare. Maybe none of it had even happened? Or perhaps I just wished it wasn’t real. I couldn’t seem to get those images out of my head. Should I have stayed and waited to get some answers? But I hadn’t wanted the cops to
arrive and bombard me with questions I didn’t have the answer s to.
It’s better this way , I’d tho ught.
I just wanted to escape the image of the girl that was engraved in my head. I didn’t want to think about her! I banged on the door in frustration. It was better to deal with one thing at a time and, at that moment, my once - a gain -d isappointed father and saddened mother were waiting fo r me.
“ELVIS!” my father shouted from the bottom of the st airs.
Crap, here w e go.
“In the bathroom, Dad. I’ll be out in a minute!” I shouted back.
I walked over to the sink, opened the first drawer to get the toothpaste, and squeezed some out on the top of my toothbrush. My eyes caught the bathroom mirror, and I leaned closer to see how badly my face had been damaged after the b rawl.
That doesn’t look too good .
I gently touched the top of my left eyebrow. The blood was still fresh on the open wound. One of the three guys had a pretty good hook that had left me with a swollen cheek and a black - a nd -b lue eye. I brushed my teeth, splashed some cool water on my face, and took a deep breath before walking out of the bathroom. With deliberate steps, I made my way down the stairs. As a child, I had loved the rush of running down that winding, spiral staircase as fast as I could, and the light -h eaded feeling it gave me, but now I needed to go slowly to give myself some time to pre pare.
We lived in a twelve - t housand - s quare -f oot home in a gated community at the top of the mountains of British Properties in West Vancouver. My father provided us with an extraordinary life.
He was well compensated as the head heart surgeon in the province, the best in all of Canada: Dr. Archer Sull ivan.
Your father travels across the country to save lives, my mother reminded us whenever he was away.
My parents have been an item since they were sixteen years old.
High school sweethearts. We still catch them, from time to time, dancing across the house in each other’s arms. I hated it. Why couldn’t they just be Mom and Dad? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to be, an yway?
“They’re soulmates,” my sister Allison would tell her long -t erm boyfriend, Logan. She’s a year older than me, and she’s all about this love, soulmate thing. I must admit, I questioned it. How do you know it’s love? How do you know when that’s what i t is?
My parents’ dance music came from the fifties and sixties, so we grew up with the sound of Elvis Presley in the house. Elvis! My father named me after the King of Rock and Roll. Ugh! I hate my name—it makes me sound so old. Why couldn’t they name me something normal like my siblings? My brother, Adam, is four years older than me. Then came our sister, Allison, and then comes ELVIS! Seriously, what was he thinking? Maybe they were listening to Presley’s music in the car on the way to the hospital. Seeing as I wasn’t exactly planned, they probably hadn’t thought of a name yet. I’m guessing they had to pick one quick! And now here I am, Elvis Sullivan, King of Te rror!
I made my way to the kitchen, hearing my parents and siblings talking over breakfast. When I finally walked in, they all stopped what they were doing and stared at me, all of them except my father. Adam was the first to say somet hing.
“Seems he caught you off guard, little bro.” Adam looked at me mockingly with his big blue eyes and a smirk on his face.
Adam looks a lot like my father: tall, well -b uilt , and with lighter hair than my sister an d me.
“Good thing I wasn’t there to see it. I would have pounced on him and got myself arrested for hitting a minor,” he said.
Adam has always been a great big brother and a protective one, too. Since he was eight years old, he’s trained in martial arts, and as a little boy, I would watch him, always fascinated with it. When we got older, he seemed to enjoy teaching us self -d efence . I definitely learned a thing or two about taking care of myself from him. But Adam never abused his martial arts skills on the streets, only using them if he absolutely ha d to.
“I can take care of myself, Adam.”
I would never want my big brother to get in trouble on my acc ount.
“Ouch! Elvis, that looks painful,” Allison said sympathetically, shaking her head.
“I’m fine.” I put on a brave voice, looking over at my fa ther.