Review
6 STARS & AND A TOP READ OF 2020!! 4 The Love of BooksWe Are Us is remarkable. A story both haunting and unavoidably real. Prepare your heart and your mind.Next Book ReviewThere are some books in this world that give you more than an emotional reaction, they give you a physical one. I'm stitting here writing this review after I just finished reading and I can't stop thinking about it, there are tears in my eyes and goosebumps on my arms. Bookish AuroraEvery emotion you could possibly feel, I guarantee you will feel while reading this story. My heart has yet to calm down, still beating wildly with thoughts of this book. I honestly don't know how I survived this whirlwind of a ride, but in the end I'm so relieved I did. NessReadsThis book took me on a wild ride that I did not expect. It blows my mind just how amazingly mastered this entire book is. Part by part. It was perfect, it was written with perfection and I was completely consumed by each word. I couldn't get enough.Sassy Nerd Book ReviewI can't even form a coherent thought after reading We Are Us... It's the most amazing story, it's angsty, will have your heart punched and broken to pieces, it's deceiving, there are secrets and twists and turns that will keep you on the edge of your seat the whole time waiting for the shoe to drop, and when it does you don't even see it coming, it hits you right in the face with no turning back moment. Liana Reads BlogA beautifully written, emotionally filled story that you don't want to miss. I will be thinking about these characters for a very long time.Carol, Goodreads AddictMore than just a book, We Are Us is an experience. I cannot praise Tara Leigh enough for her majestic writing in this book.Lazy Book Conqueror
From the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Sounds break through my insulated cocoon of unconsciousness. Harsh sounds. Ugly sounds. Buzzing. Beeping. Humming.
The fingers of my left hand twitch with the impulse to swat at... something. An alarm clock? The television remote? But although my wedding rings slide around my finger, my arm doesn't move.
Panic whispers at the edge of my mind, though there is no corresponding pulse of adrenaline through my veins, forcing me into action. My limbs are heavy and uncooperative.
Make it stop.
It's been a long time since I've felt this awful, this lethargic. Filled with an all-encompassing exhaustion that has seeped into the marrow of my bones.
Survivor's guilt, apparently. Sleeping the day away is preferable to facing what happened, what I've done. The dawn of a new day isn't a fresh start, a new beginning.
It is a violation. A betrayal.
Finally, I manage to clutch at my covers, dragging them over my head. Egyptian cotton, a thread count so high it could be spun of silk. Surely it will muffle the noise.
But something is wrong. The fabric is rough beneath my fingertips. It doesn't smell of the lavender and verbena packets tucked into the shelves of the linen closet. And there is a sterilized stench to the air I didn't notice before.
The whisper of panic becomes more of a murmur, then a shout. This isn't my bed.
The noises pick up, racing now. My breaths quicken, my lungs throbbing from the sharp bite of bleach with each shallow inhale.
Hospital. I am in a hospital. The buzzing and beeping and humming. Those are machines.
What happened? Think, think.
My mind is frustratingly blank even as my skin prickles with memories of another time. Another confused awakening. Another frantic search for memories. Did he... No. He wouldn't dare. Not again. Not ever again.
My corneas sting in protest as I squint against the harsh daylight streaming through the open window, my pupils slowly retracting until the room comes into focus. I turn my head, looking for the door, or a chair where my husband is probably sleeping. A sharp pain explodes in my temple at the small movement, taking me off guard.
"Look who's awake." A woman in scrubs peers at me, a stethoscope swinging from her neck. "Are you in pain?"
I consider nodding, then think better of it. My mouth opens on a squeak. "Head. Back." My throat hurts, too. "Legs," I add.
She nods. "That's normal for the injuries you've sustained."
Normal?
"Are you thirsty?"
This time I don't nod, or speak. I just open my mouth. She moves my bed into a more upright position and guides a straw between my parched lips. I clamp down on it, sucking greedily. Too soon, there is only a gurgling sound as the straw catches the last few droplets at the bottom.
"You can have more later, I promise."
"Hello, hello." Another woman enters my room. Clutching a clipboard, she is wearing a white lab coat over a navy blue dress. "I'm Dr. Carlson. Do you know why you're here?"
Tears prick my eyelids. No.
She isn't fazed. "How about your name? Can you tell me your name?"
A wave of relief washes over me. "Poppy."
"How about the name of the president and the city where you were born?"
I answer both questions and she beams. "Excellent."
"My... My husband?" My voice sounds as if it belongs to a ninety-year-old man with advanced emphysema.
The nurse lays her hand on my arm. "No need to worry about anyone else but yourself right now, sweetie."
The affectionate term is as offensive to me as the cheap, scratchy sheets. I stopped being anyone's sweetie, or sweet at all, nine months ago. "Why am I here?"
"You had an accident. Do you remember?"
"No." I run a tongue across my dry lips. "Am I-- What happened?"
"When you were brought in, we had to give you some pretty heavy doses of antibiotics and painkillers. We've kept you sedated for the past forty-eight hours to monitor the swelling in your brain which was, thankfully, relatively minor."
"I've been sleeping for two days?"
"Not exactly sleeping. Medically sedated. But all of these factors--high doses of strong medications, bruising and swelling of your brain, lacerations to your scalp, back, and legs--these things tend to reduce your ability to store memories of the causal event."
What event?
Anxiety threads beneath my nerve endings, pushing them up crookedly like roots distorting a flagstone walkway. She continues, as if I'm not already struggling to absorb her explanation. "In some cases, memory loss can go back further, impacting the days or weeks preceding the event. Those memories are likely stored in your mind, though recalling them can be difficult."
I glance beyond her, looking for a movie camera and a director's slate board. Have I been thrust into a bad soap opera?
"Are you--? I don't--" My head isn't just pounding, it is spinning. I can't keep a straight thought.
"Why don't you tell us the last thing you do remember, okay? We can go from there."
I stare unseeingly through the window, images floating up from the darkened recesses of my mind.
A silken smudge of horizon, sea meeting sky, no land in sight.
Ships. At least a dozen of them. Then one in particular, with glossy teak decks. Its hull gleaming bright white, mast arrogantly pointing toward an azure blue sky.
The flashes of memory appear and disappear like a shark's fin cutting through the ocean. Furtive and ominous. I turn my confused gaze back to the doctor. "I--"
"Poppy!" My sister screeches to a halt at my bedside, her concerned hazel eyes taking in the tubes and wires, the doctor and nurse and my bandaged head and body, all at once. "When did you wake up?"
Dr. Carlson scowls at her. "Just now. I know you've--"
"Sadie," I interrupt. "What's going on?"
She presses her lips together, scrutinizing my face. "Don't say anything else. Not until after we talk." She shoots the doctor and nurse a warning glare. "Privately."
A scream would rip through my throat like a fistful of razor blades, but I can feel it building. If someone doesn't tell me something... I suck in a deep breath, ignoring the ache in my lungs.
One of the machines gives an angry buzz. "Calm down, Mrs. Stockton."
Sadie's arm creeps around the back of my neck, drawing me into a gentle embrace. "Just relax. I'll explain everything."
Bright spots appear at the periphery of my vision, and there is another angry buzz. Can't they just unplug the damn machines already? "What happened? Why am I here?"
Sadie pulls back, a strange expression on her face. "You don't remember?"
"No." My heart pounds against my lungs, trying to escape. "Tell me."
Dr. Carlson clears her throat. "There is an FBI Agent waiting outside. He's asked to speak with you as soon as you're awake."
"Absolutely not," my sister answers immediately.
"FBI agent?" My whisper is barely audible against the blare of the machines.
"Yes. Given the circumstances, he's quite insistent." She pulls a card out of her pocket and reads from it. "Special Agent Gavin Cross. He said you know him."
Gavin. My cracked lips form the shape of a name I so rarely allow myself to think, let alone say aloud.
Sadie merely scoffs. "And you believed him?"
I turn pleading eyes on the nurse. Gavin. Get Gavin. But she doesn't look at me as she injects a needle into my IV bag.
A drugged numbness charges through my bloodstream, Sadie's voice becoming distant. "No one is going to accuse my sister of murder until..."
The warm embrace of sleep rolls over me and I surrender to dreams of a stolen past. A beautiful, broken boy. An enchanted forest. And a love that evaporated like mist in the morning sun.
