Maybe Tomorrow

By Hannah Stott

Hunter Brown, a United States Marine, knows the Middle East like the back of his hand. For years, he has fought on the front lines, trying to eliminate evil and maintain liberty. In 2000, Hunter gets deployed to Iraq and is captured by an uprising extremist group. For five years, he is held hostage and tortured by the men who took him.

Meanwhile at home, Hunter's wife, Colette, struggles to move on as she realizes her husband won't be returning. She is told that he is missing, although she can't help but think he's gone forever.

As Hunter never stops fighting on the other side of the world to make it home, Colette and their children move on without him.

Despite Hunter's will to survive, it's not an easy fight. Is he destined to return home, or will fate get in his way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887316161

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Prologue

Hunter

Part 1: August 2000

One

Colette

Two

Hunter

Three

Colette

Four

Colette

Five

Colette

Six

Colette

Seven

Hunter

Eight

Hunter

Nine

Hunter

Ten

Hunter

Eleven

Colette

Twelve

Colette

Thirteen

Hunter

Fourteen

Hunter

Fifteen

Colette

Sixteen

Colette

Seventeen

Colette

Eighteen

Hunter

Nineteen

Hunter

Twenty

Colette

Twenty One

Colette

Twenty Two

Hunter

Twenty Three

Hunter

Twenty Four

Colette

Twenty Five

Hunter

Part 2: June 2005

Twenty Six

Colette

Twenty Seven

Colette

Twenty Eight

Hunter

Twenty Nine

Hunter

Thirty

Colette

Thirty One

Colette

Thirty Two

Hunter

Thirty Three

Hunter

Thirty Four

Hunter

Thirty Five

Colette

Thirty Six

Colette

Thirty Seven

Hunter

Thirty Eight

Hunter

Thirty Nine

Colette

Part 3: September 2005

Forty

Colette

Forty One

Colette

Forty Two

Hunter

Forty Three

Justice

Forty Four

Justice

Forty Five

Colette

Forty Six

Hunter

Forty Seven

Justice

Forty Eight

Justice

Forty Nine

Hunter

Fifty

Colette

Fifty One

Justice

Fifty Two

Hunter

Fifty Three

Justice

Fifty Four

Colette

Fifty Five

Hunter

Fifty Six

Hunter

Fifty Seven

Colette

Fifty Eight

Hunter

Fifty Nine

Colette

Sixty

Hunter

Sixty One

Hunter

Sixty Two

Justice

Sixty Three

Colette

Epilogue

Hunter

Q and A with Jason Spurrier

Author's Note

About the Author

cover.jpg

Maybe Tomorrow

Hannah Stott

Copyright © 2023 Hannah Stott

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2023

ISBN 979-8-88731-615-4 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88731-616-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Disclaimer

This novel contains content that may be sensitive to some readers. If you or someone you know needs help, please contact the following hotline at 988.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my readers.

There are so many lessons to be learned from this book, and I hope at least one of them helps you become a better version of yourself. If you have ever wanted to give up, I hope this story reminds you to hold on. You are not alone.

Prologue

Hunter

June 1984

The sun was shining, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky as I sat with my coworkers eating a plate of burgers and fries. We worked construction in downtown Atlanta, and the busy city never gave us a break from roadwork.

We came to this diner every day for the past month, but I never saw her until today. She walked in as I dipped a handful of my fries in ketchup, and I couldn't help but stare.

Who are you staring at? Jake asked me.

What? I snapped out of my trance.

Who are you looking at?

Her, I said, looking back in her direction.

She disappeared into the break room, tying up her hair and grabbing a notepad to take orders. She came out once she was ready and strode to the first table across the room. She greeted her customers with the brightest smile I'd ever seen, and watching her made my heart skip a beat. Her blond hair was tied into a bun, and her blue eyes radiated in the sunlight. Her jeans were glued to her perfectly curved legs, making her body hard to ignore.

Go talk to her! the guys encouraged me.

What do I say?

Just start a conversation with her!

I know, but she's—

Hot! Jake cut me off.

I watched her walk back and hand the chef her table's order. It was about to get busy, so I figured it was now or never.

All right, I'm going, I said to them.

I got up and made my way over. She was moving fast, and I didn't know where to stop her. She stopped at a table to my left and picked up a pile of dirty plates, stacking them for the dishwasher.

Hi, I said.

She ignored me, still focusing on the dishes.

What's your name? I blurted, trying not to be awkward.

Not interested, she snapped, picking up the dirty silverware.

I followed her to the bar as she placed the dishes on the counter. Her tan skin was flawless, and I couldn't find anything wrong with her image.

In case you haven't noticed, I have a job to do. She sighed, turning around to face me. I already told you I'm not interested, she repeated.

Why not?

I'm a waitress. I get hit on all the time. If you're here to ask me out, the answer is no.

I didn't know you could read minds. I smiled.

See? I told you.

We both smirked, and I sensed she liked playing hard to get.

What was your name? she asked me.

I thought you weren't interested, I challenged her.

I'm Colette, she mumbled after rolling her eyes.

Hunter, I said to her.

She didn't say anything and kept plugging numbers into the cash register.

Why won't you go out with me?

I said no—she looked up at me—didn't I?

What's your reason?

No means no.

I promise you'll regret it. I winked.

What's that supposed to mean? She narrowed her eyes.

I'm not like other guys.

Oh please, I saw the way you looked at me when I came in. You couldn't take your eyes off me.

I can't help it—I smiled—look at you.

She blushed the slightest bit as she pulled out some cash from the register.

Still a no? I asked.

I'll think about it, she said as she walked to give her table their change.

I went back to my table and finished what was left of my food.

How'd it go? Jake asked.

I tried. I shrugged my shoulders.

Your first rejection? they gasped.

I guess so. I laughed.

Dude, how could she turn you down? Adam piped up.

That's what I said, I said cockily.

We chuckled and went to pay our bills, then made our way out the door. As soon as I grabbed the door handle, I heard someone call my name. I turned around hoping to see Colette, but it was a waitress I didn't recognize.

Are you Hunter?

Yeah, I said confused, do I know you?

No, um—she reached into her pocket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper—Colette wanted me to give you this.

I snatched the paper and opened it as quickly as I could. She wrote her phone number and signed her name at the bottom. I looked around the room to see if I could spot her, and my eyes pinned on her head as I saw her peeking through the break room door. She ducked and disappeared from the window when she saw me spot her.

She's too scared to give me her number herself? I asked the waitress.

No—she laughed—she's just stubborn.

I smiled as I shoved the paper in my pocket, making my way out the door. I climbed into our work truck with a smirk on my face.

You got it, didn't you? Adam teased.

Got what? I played dumb.

Her number!

Maybe. I smiled.

Part 1

August 2000

One

Colette

Grief

The word grief is defined as deep sorrow, especially one that's caused by someone's death. According to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, grief is meant to be felt in stages and bring closure to something that was lost. In my case, I had no closure, nor did I ever receive answers as to why my husband was taken from me.

The first stage of grief is denial—when people try to convince themselves that the inevitable will somehow disappear. When they told me that my husband was missing, I was sure there had to be a mistake, but unfortunately, I always knew that this was a possibility.

The second stage of grief is categorized as anger, which I never spent a lot of time on since I didn't have anything to blame. I couldn't be angry at my husband knowing that he sacrificed his life for something greater than himself. He chose to put his life on the line and fight for liberty, which was something I could never hold against him.

When people bargain, most of them wish they could trade places in order for their spouse to live, but my husband wouldn't have changed a thing. If given the option, he would do it all over again without any hesitation.

The fourth stage that Kübler-Ross describes is depression, which is what hit my children and me the hardest. The fear of losing my husband always lived in the back of my mind, but I tried my best to put it on the back burner. To be honest, there's no way to prepare yourself for an unexpected loss when you could expect it at the same time.

The final stage of acceptance didn't come for years, if ever, even though life forced me to move on. Despite my battle with grief, I learned to accept the loss of my husband with time. As time progressed, the pain started to dissipate, but at times, it only seemed to resurface.

Experts claim that the average time to grieve lasts anywhere from six months to four years. Although I had never experienced this before, I quickly realized that there is no antidote for despair.

My husband was a United States Marine, Gunnery Sergeant Hunter Brown to be exact. We were married for eighteen years before he went missing, and I was foolish to think that we were in the clear from these types of tragedies.

It was no secret that being a military wife was unquestionably challenging, but the love I had for my husband made it easy for us to push through. The only regret I had was not holding him closer during the times I had him, but that type of regret only comes when it's too late. I'd never forget the day that changed our lives forever—the day grief had consumed me.

My heart shattered inside my chest, and all the strength in my body slowly faded away. My limbs went numb, and the tingling worked its way to the ends of my toes and tips of my fingers.

I looked out my front door, staring at the man on my front porch.

My condolences, Mrs. Brown. I wish we had more information, but at this time, I'm afraid this is all I have to present you with, Sergeant Williams stated.

The metals pinned to his uniform blinded me as the sunlight reflected off them, making my eyes sting from the rays. I reached for the bench that sat next to my front door. I sat down and caught myself to avoid collapsing onto the hardwood. My hand trembled up and rested flat against my forehead.

I don't understand, I spit out.

Your husband, ma'am, Gunnery Sergeant Brown. He has been classified as missing in action. What we know with certainty is that he was the only survivor in his squad. I wish I had more information for you, but unfortunately, that's all we know at this time. I offer you my deepest condolences, Mrs. Brown.

My mind raced in circles as I tried to distinguish the thoughts running through my head.

Ma'am? I hardly heard him over the piercing ring in both my ears, I need to make sure you understand before I leave.

I nodded slowly; my eyes pinned on the floor.

We will inform you of any other information we happen to uncover. Again, I offer my deepest condolences. He turned and walked down the steps.

I remained on the bench with one hand gripping the edge and the other resting on my knee. My heart pounded inside my chest, and I couldn't feel my limbs as the tingling crept down my spine. The color had completely drained from my face, the blood pooling at my feet and making my body as light as a feather. My breathing was sporadic, and I couldn't catch a full breath as his words echoed through my mind. I shook my head in disbelief, refusing to believe that this is how our story ends. I closed my eyes, asking myself how this was fair. I knew the risks of my husband's job, but that didn't mean I was prepared.

On a normal day, I would've turned my attention to the sound of the garage door, but I was too far in shock to respond to my senses.

Mom?

My oldest son, Justice, came striding over to me as he returned home from school.

Mom, what's going on?

My eyes were still fixated on the floor as he knelt down in front of me.

Mom!

I looked into his eyes, still hearing nothing but the ringing in my ears. My eyes were wide, and I couldn't spit out the words my mind was telling me to say.

Mom, talk to me, he demanded.

It's your dad, I mumbled.

My face winced as tears slipped from my eyelids. They slid down my cheeks, stopping at the corners of my lips.

What happened?

His eyes were glossy as he reached for my hand. He took a seat next to me on the bench and turned to me for a response I didn't know how to give.

Someone came and—

Who? Justice cut me off.

Seargent—I shook my head trying to remember his name—he was from the Marines.

Please don't tell me he's gone, he whined.

I looked into his hopeful eyes as he cradled his head, trying to convince himself this wasn't real.

He's missing, I whimpered.

He put his hand over his mouth, staring at the floor. He shook his head, letting the news sink in. He wiped his tears with his sleeve, then turned to me for more answers.

Who else knows?

Just you, I said to him.

We sat on the bench, side by side trying to process the news. My heart burned like hell, and my body was still far from feeling stable. The numbing in my legs prevented me from standing, and the ringing in my ears was too loud for me to think.

How could this happen? Justice cried. His cheeks were littered with tearstains.

I squeezed his hand so that he knew I was listening. I hung my head toward the floor and closed my eyes. My heart broke at every string as I felt my world being torn apart. Not only did I have to face the challenges of loss, I had to drag my children through it as well.

Time had passed quicker than it felt while Justice and I sunk deep into our thoughts. As 4:00 p.m. approached the clock, it was time for Tate to be picked up from school. Thankfully, my mom was bringing him home from school today; I wasn't prepared to face him in public. My nerves got worse knowing that he would be home soon. I could hardly break the news to Justice, so I questioned my abilities to tell Tate.

My stomach was in knots, and I placed my hand on top of it to prevent myself from vomiting. I swallowed hard, trying to remain calm as I expected my son at any moment.

Will you help me? I turned to Justice.

I'll try. He nodded with uncertainty.

We sat in silence, each of us bouncing our legs as we waited for Tate. Justice was bent forward with his feet flat on the hardwood and his hands cupped over his mouth. His eyes were wide with shock, and his body was as stiff as a board.

I don't understand, he whispered through his fingers.

I bit the inside of my cheek to make sure I could still feel something. The silence between us was deafening, and all I could focus on was my pulse throbbing on the side of my neck. I focused on my breathing, inhaling and exhaling for thirty-second intervals. I glanced over at the clock, realizing that Tate should be here any second.

We're going to break his heart, I whimpered.

Two

Hunter

Baghdad, Iraq, was my last deployment. To me, it seemed the same as any other operation—eliminate evil and preserve freedom. Our purpose was to gain intel on an uprising extremist group in the heart of Iraq, but little did I know I would be put to the ultimate test. Many see my story as a tragedy, but I see it as a second chance.

Although we were deployed to Baghdad, our operation forced us to migrate toward the mountains, jumping from the Chinook at exactly 0500. The sharp rocks and loose soil caused me to lose traction, and the weight of my gear jolted my body from side to side.

I led my squad with my men following behind as we climbed the mountain. We had one hour remaining before we reached our cover spot, and the blistering heat made it feel like an eternity.

Echo 7 Bravo, my earpiece mumbled.

Echo 8 Charlie, I said, approaching Polar Ice.

We were approaching our waypoint, Polar Ice, confirming our location to base. The tree line came into view, and I felt relief, realizing we were almost there.

As we approached the mountaintop, I took a sip of water, then secured my camera around my neck.

Everyone, clear? I turned to my men.

Roger. They nodded.

Anderson and Smith, you'll cover me from behind as I creep toward the cliff to get pictures. Weber and Johnson will cover from the north, and the last three will watch the east and west. I'm going to try to get a view of them from up top, I instructed.

Copy that, my men repeated.

The cliff had a wide selection of trees, and we each took our pick. We made sure to stagger ourselves so that each of us got a different view. The branches hid our bodies well, but lying stomach first wasn't the most comfortable.

The sun was still blazing, but thankfully the trees soaked up some heat. I fiddled with the small sticks below my hands while I decided where to crawl first. I snapped out of my trance when I heard distant chatter below. The voices were assertive, so I knew we were right on target.

Echo 8 Charlie, Polar Ice is frozen, I whispered into my radio, confirming my view of the extremists.

I raised my camera to snap a picture but was caught off guard by their sudden movements. They started hiking in our direction, and I wondered if they heard us. Their long robes and turbans slowed them down by trapping heat, but I was focused on maintaining our cover. They carried their rifles loosely at their sides, not anticipating that we lay ahead. I grabbed my binoculars to pinpoint exactly how many of them we were dealing with, but the edge of the cliff covered the majority of my view.

Echo 7 Juliet, Polar Ice is melting, I whispered, directing my words at Johnson.

I crawled back to the rest of my men, wanting to communicate without radios.

Stay put. They're too close, I ordered.

Brown, if we don't move now, this whole operation is compromised, Smith replied.

I said stay put! No one moves until I say, I repeated.

I slid under a tree that provided a view of the extremists, waiting until the first man was a few yards in front of me. I kept still and held my breath, keeping my rifle steady. The breeze picked up, making the tree sway to the left. He noticed my body and aimed his rifle, yelling to the men behind him.

I pulled the trigger, and he collapsed, falling backward down the cliff. The remaining extremists scattered, trying to find the direction of my shot. Adrenaline took control as my intuition told me this was about to get ugly.

Move up! I yelled once I saw the area was clear.

We ran further up the mountain and stopped just before the next line of trees. I squatted to stay hidden, keeping my eyes pinned for movement. I heard two more shots and slammed my body onto the ground, trying to pinpoint where it came from. I could feel the sun baking my skin, and sweat pooled at the base of my back. The silence on the mountain was deafening for too long following the echo of the gunshots. I ran to a log a few yards away for cover, resting my barrel on top of the dry wood.

Did you get that son of a bitch?

Behind me, Johnson crawled up with his rifle slung around his back.

Yeah, I got him. Who's behind us? I whispered.

Wilson and Jones are hit. Those assholes clocked them right in the stomach. Miller and Davis are dragging them while they cover our six.

Johnson and I dove down under the log as more gunshots fired in the distance. Rounds whizzed over our heads and pelted into the trees behind us.

Where the hell did that come from? Johnson growled.

Sounded like twelve o'clock. Let's move, I said to him. Anderson and Smith are a couple yards to the right.

Johnson and I sprinted through the trees until we found an opening. We joined Anderson and Smith as they shot at a line of men across the cliff. I watched their bodies jolt as our rounds sank into their flesh.

Johnson and I slammed down onto the dirt, our gear clanging as we met the ground. Smith moaned as a bullet grazed the top of his shoulder. He reached up and cupped his flesh as blood pooled from in between his fingers.

Suck it up, Smith! It's a flesh wound! I yelled, looking through my scope.

More sweat dripped from my temple as I focused to get someone in my crosshairs. Rounds smacked into the cliff below as they missed us, the empty shells clanking all the way to the bottom. As more shots rang out, one hit Johnson in the abdomen. He groaned and held his side while trying to shoot with the other hand.

Grab some dirt and pack that shit, you understand? I yelled at him.

He winced as he reached down, grabbing a pile of dirt that had been dried to bits by the sun. He grinded his teeth as he packed his wound to slow the bleeding.

Move left! Push up the tree line! I ordered, watching Johnson bleed out.

Everyone followed and crouched up the tree line, still shooting as we crept. Johnson was struck again, but this time, on the other side of his abdomen as he turned to fire.

Goddamnit! I can't move! he yelled.

Yes, you can! Let's go!

I can't, Brown! I'm losing too much blood!

Anderson! Get your ass over here and help me drag him! I shouted.

Anderson and I lodged our hands in between Johnson's flak jacket, pulling him along. Anderson let out a cry, and I looked down to see he was hit in the leg while helping me drag Johnson. Anderson let go as he grabbed a tourniquet to secure his leg. It was gushing blood, and I scrambled to cover us while he tried to stop the bleeding. I reached down to pull Johnson by myself when I saw him struggling to keep his eyes open.

Johnson! Stay with me! We're almost to the trees!

His eyes followed as his face started to turn pale. I was losing him, and I knew I was running out of time. I dragged him under the first tree I saw and knelt down beside him, cradling his body in my lap.

Stay with me, Johnson! You hear me? We're going to finish this and get the hell out of here!

His mouth was cracked as he struggled to inhale, fighting the urge to let go. His lungs were shutting down, and his respirations turned into shallow gasps.

Keep fighting, Johnson, you keep fighting! Don't you dare give up on me!

He let out a shallow breath and was gone. Anderson and Smith covered me while I comforted Johnson.

Smith's aim was wasted due to his shoulder, and trying to hold his rifle made the pain unbearable. The moment I eased Johnson's body to the ground, Smith tumbled back into the grass. A bullet pierced his neck, and he was gone instantly. His eyes were wide open as blood seeped into the grass around him.

Fuck! Anderson yelled as he saw Smith get hit.

I joined him back on the edge of the cliff with our brothers' bodies behind us. We fired until there was a break of silence, then darted to the next tree line. Anderson dragged Smith while I dragged Johnson.

Anderson's foot landed perfectly in a hole and twisted his ankle. He let out a whimper, and by the sound of it, I knew his ankle had snapped. I reached down to help him up, but when I looked up, I saw a group of men aiming their rifles toward us. I let go of Anderson just in time and dove under the closest tree.

I fired until they disappeared, flopping onto the ground. It wasn't until I was done shooting that I realized between Anderson and I, I was the only one pulling the trigger. I crept to my left and found him lying on his back with his chest at a standstill. The sunlight reflected off his helmet, and I saw the blood spreading across his chest. My heart sank at the loss of another, but I didn't have time to grieve until the job was done.

I looked behind me, hoping to see Miller and Davis, but I knew they were gone too. They hadn't responded to my radio call, and I couldn't risk venturing out to find them.

I crouched, moved a