When Ashes Fall

by Marni Mann

  “We found you in front of Dylan’s grave,” Rose said.

  As each word entered my chest, it tightened around my heart.

  “You were unconscious.”

  And then it felt like my heart stopped beating.

  The sound of her voice told me the scene had been ugly.

  The terror in her eyes told me I’d done more than just frighten her.

  “Did you go to my townhouse first?” I asked.

  I knew the answer.

  I just needed to hear it.

  When Smith nodded, I wanted to throw up.

  I wanted to crawl off this bed and go into the bathroom and never come out.

  I wanted to scream, so I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep it in.

  My fingers didn’t stop the tears.

  They dripped over the back of my palm.

  They made everything blurry.

  I finally looked at Rose and pulled my fingers away and admitted, “I’ve been hiding this from you.”

  Each syllable stabbed my chest.

  They caused my breathing to become more labored.

  She put both hands around mine. “I realized that once I was inside your house.”

  “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “I know, babe.”

  Gradually, my gaze shifted to Smith. It hurt just as much to say to him, “I couldn’t let you see the truth.” And, before either of them could interject, I added, “I know I need help. I can’t do this anymore. It’s controlling my life, and it’s far bigger than me.”

  I’d known that for a while.

  I just wasn’t ready.

  Looking at their faces, waking up in the hospital, had changed that.

  Smith had changed that, too.

  I knew I couldn’t give him all of me unless I let Dylan go.

  “Oh, thank God,” Rose groaned with relief. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to hear you say that.”

  Never once had she ever kept her feelings from me.

  I didn’t want her to start now.

  “I should have gotten help when I first lost him,” I told them.

  “It’s okay,” Rose said. “I can understand why it took you so long to want it.”

  My voice was so soft when I confessed, “I wasn’t prepared to face it, but I am now.”

  “I’m so proud of you, it hurts, and I love you so ridiculously much.” She stood and leaned down to kiss my forehead. Then, she turned to Smith and said, “I’m going to go get us some coffee and see if I can snag us some scrubs, so we can get out of these wet clothes.”

  Smith thanked her before his attention returned to me.

  That was when I noticed he was soaked—his jeans, jacket, even the ends of his hair.

  I had a feeling that was because of me.

  He’d been out in the rain.

  He’d seen my storm.

  I was embarrassed he’d witnessed those secrets.

  And I was relieved that I didn’t have to carry those secrets anymore.

  But, now, I was worried he would leave me.

  That I was far too damaged for him to love.

  That thought seared across my heart.

  “I’m sorry I scared you,” I said as the tears continued to fall.

  He reached toward my face, his fingers softly wiping the wetness off my cheeks.

  “You’re safe. You’re going to be okay. That’s all that matters.”

  I took a breath and the air got stuck in my throat. My nose was running. My lips were trembling so hard I was sure they’d never be still again. “I-I couldn’t tell you, Smith. I couldn’t t-tell anyone.”

  “You don’t have to justify—”

  “You d-deserve an explanation, and I’m going t-to give you one.” I twisted my engagement ring that wasn’t there, and I attempted to calm my breathing. And as I stared as Smith’s handsome face, I tried to find a way to explain something that was indescribable. “When I found Dylan, I couldn’t help him. He was dead in my arms and I lost it and …” I stopped to swallow, the spit becoming so thick in my mouth from how hard I was still crying. “Keeping Dylan close, keeping his things in my house, it made me feel just the tiniest bit normal, like the bomb had never gone off, like everything was the same as it had always been.” The air burned my lungs as I sucked it in. “I wasn’t living. I know that now. In fact, I was barely surviving. And then I met you, and I was ripping myself in half; part of me was still in the past, and the other was with you in the present.”

  His hand cupped my cheek. “I knew, when I eventually saw your storm, I would get all of you. Even if that took forever, I would have waited.”

  “You’re so good to me.”

  The last time I had said that was when he’d wanted to take me to Lake Tahoe.

  I’d meant it.

  I meant it even more now.

  I glanced at the end of the bed where my toes were sticking into the blanket. They were so sore, and I didn’t know why. But they reminded me of a question Smith had once asked me. A question I had to ask him now because I honestly didn’t know the answer. “Don’t you want to run?”

  He brought my fingers up to his mouth and kissed them.

  Dylan had done the same thing just a few moments ago.

  I knew that thought should be clenching my heart.

  But it wasn’t.

  “No, I don’t want to run,” he said. “Unless it’s toward you, and then my answer is yes.”

  Fifty-Six

  Smith

  Present Day

  I stood in the living room of Alix’s townhouse, glancing around at the emptiness. There wasn’t any furniture in here, and nothing was on the walls. Once the property had gone into escrow, Alix had donated all of the furnishings to several different sober living houses throughout Boston. One of the places was where Joe was living now that he’d completed rehab.

  The closing was scheduled for tomorrow, and Alix wanted to just stop in one last time.

  She wanted a good-bye.

  Rose and I had met her here.

  Rose had brought champagne and three glasses, and it was waiting for us in the kitchen.

  I’d recently learned all about moments.

  This was one.

  And we were going to celebrate it.

  As Alix walked down the stairs, there was a smile on her face.

  It was different than the grins I’d seen in the past.

  It was raw.

  It was the look someone gave when they reached the other side and could smile over what they had overcome.

  Not everyone fought.

  Not everyone knew how good that could feel.

  Alix did.

  She had begun the battle over one of the biggest wars.

  And she was fucking brawling.

  Like Boston.

  Because that girl was Boston Strong.

  She had a therapist and was now four months deep into treating her PTSD.

  With the help of her doctor, one of the first big decisions she’d made was to sell the townhouse she’d shared with Dylan. Her name was on the deed, so it was hers to do whatever she wanted with it. She had gotten a full-price offer within two days.

  She’d quickly found a place to rent that was just a few streets over from here. It was a one-bedroom apartment, a fourth of the size of her townhouse.

  It was perfect for her.

  One day, she’d live with me, but it wasn’t the right time for that.

  She was still getting stronger.

  She was still learning who she really was.

  And I couldn’t be more in love with the person she was becoming.

  “Hi,” she said as she joined me in the living room, linking her hand with mine.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “It hurts to be back here, but I’m okay.” She glanced up at the ceiling and briefly around the room. “I’m glad to be moving on.”

  “I don’t know about you bitches, but I need a cocktail,�
� Rose whined in the background.

  Alix and I laughed, and we followed Rose into the kitchen where she poured champagne into the three glasses and gave us each one.

  “To moments,” Rose said, holding hers up in the air.

  “To moments,” Alix repeated.

  I watched as she clinked her glass against Rose’s.

  I listened to the carefree sound that came out of her mouth.

  I tasted the flavor of the champagne on her lips when I reached forward and kissed her.

  She put her hand on my face, and a full smile spread across her lips.

  She didn’t say it.

  She didn’t have to.

  I saw it in her eyes.

  And mine said it right back to her.

  Epilogue

  Alix — One Year Later

  I’d thought good-bye was forever.

  I’d thought, once those words were spoken, there was no going back.

  But Dylan had taught me that wasn’t true.

  Because, even though he’d said that to me in the hospital, he was still very much a part of my life.

  The difference was, now, he was just a memory.

  And I had so many of them.

  After his death, I had said good-bye to Bar Harbor. I no longer felt a connection to it. I couldn’t fathom stepping inside our house.

  So, I put it on the market.

  Fortunately, it never sold, and I’d decided to keep it.

  It had taken a long time before I could make the drive to Maine. Before I could hold the keys in my hand. Before I could walk through the door.

  Before I felt like it was a place I could love again.

  But I had gotten there.

  And, even though it was a home I’d shared with Dylan, it was never what he wanted.

  Therefore, it felt like mine.

  After several trips up north, I’d finally had the courage to climb Cadillac Mountain.

  It took some physical training. My body hadn’t attempted anything that rigorous in a while.

  But I had already been in that mode because I had qualified to run the Boston Marathon.

  And I’d crossed the finish line.

  Some of the loudest people cheering for me at the end had been the guys from engine thirty-three, ladder fifteen. The firehouse on Boylston Street. The one I’d worked at before the bombing.

  And the one I worked at now.

  I’d taken a few days off from the station to come up to Maine, and this was my third morning here. I’d gotten up at a little past three to start the climb up the mountain.

  Instead of sitting on the rock where Dylan had proposed, I went to the other side of the summit. I stood close to the edge, and I looked down at the elevation. Then, I glanced at the water, and I breathed in the Maine air.

  I’d missed it here.

  And I missed Dylan.

  I always would.

  But the misery didn’t own me like it once had.

  They were just thoughts I had of him. I would acknowledge them, and then I could move on.

  Still, every time I was up here, looking at the sunrise like I was now, I swore, I saw his face in the sun.

  It made me smile.

  But that wasn’t the only reason I was grinning.

  Smith’s hands were wrapping around my waist, and he was pressing his lips against the side of my neck.

  He was still so gentle and so sexy at the same time.

  “It’s going to be a sunny day,” he whispered in my ear.

  I was so thankful for that.

  Maybe, one day, I would love the rain, but I was still learning how to handle the storm.

  Author’s Note

  The idea for this book came to me in February 2017. I had just lost my grandmother, who I called my best friend, who meant everything to me. I didn’t know how to cope. I didn’t know how to grieve. I didn’t know how to exist in a world that no longer had her in it.

  The only thing I knew was how badly I missed her and how I just wanted one more moment with her.

  A few nights after she passed away, I started writing, but not a book. The words I put down were for me. My fingers tapping the keys was the only thing that made me feel normal. That night, I emptied my soul. I purged every emotion I was feeling. And I answered the questions that had been haunting me. If I were given just a few more moments, what would they look like? How would I feel? Would I get the closure I needed?

  When Ashes Fall was born.

  It took seventeen months before I could emotionally tackle this novel, but every single word I wrote that night is in the book you just read.

  This story gave me the moment I needed. It gave me extra time with my grandmother. It allowed me to grieve. It taught me how to cope. And it helped me heal.

  My grandmother was from Boston—a city I began visiting when I was just a few months old—and when I graduated college, I was able to call it home. I lived in the Back Bay. I visited every place that is mentioned in this book.

  Although I don’t live there now, Boston is such a big part of my history. And, because it was my grandmother’s birthplace, it felt like the right backdrop for this story.

  One thing I’ve learned throughout this entire journey is, tragedy affects everyone differently. No two experiences are alike. Pain is pain, and it can be debilitating.

  Please don’t ever be afraid to ask for help.

  You don’t have to do this alone.

  Boston Strong.

  * * *

  XO,

  Marni

  Veterans Crisis Line: (800) 273-TALK

  PTSD Foundation of America: (877) 717-PTSD

  National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: (800) 273-8255

  Acknowledgments

  Jovana Shirley, I can’t thank you enough for changing your entire schedule to fit me in. You’re always there for me, always willing to do whatever you can to make things work. I say this every time and at the end of each book, the statement couldn’t be truer—I would never want to do this with anyone but you. Love you.

  Nina Grinstead, I love you more than anything. You’re the most amazing publicist and friend, and I can’t thank you enough for being on this journey with me.

  Judy Zweifel, as always, thank you for being so wonderful to work with and for taking such good care of my words. <3

  Kaitie Reister, I love you, girl, so hard. You’re my biggest cheerleader, and you’re such a wonderful friend. Thank you for being you. XO

  Letitia, thank you for creating a face for this book that’s better than I could have ever dreamed of.

  Crystal Radaker, my dark-souled sister, this one almost killed us. But we got to the end, and you’re the reason I made it. You believed in this book and you believed in me and you fought to make it the best. I’m forever grateful for everything you do for my books and for being the most incredible friend to me. I love you so much.

  Kimmi Street, I love that we’re on this journey together. You’re the sister I never had and the best friend I always wanted. I love us. And I love you.

  Nikki Terrill and Andrea Lefkowitz, I don’t know what I would do without you two. Your support, love, encouragement, virtual wine—it’s all so appreciated. You girls never left my side the whole time I was writing this book, and I will never forget that. I love you both.

  Ratula Roy, I love you to death. Every email, every voice memo, every PM you send makes my whole world. Thank you for being a part of this.

  Ricky, my sexyreads, we’re in this until the end, baby. Love you.

  Rachel Van Dyken, I’m so grate for all of your help and advice and words of encouragement. Thank you will never be enough.

  Melissa Mann, thank you for the gorgeous quote. It inspired so much of this story. I’m so grateful you let me use it.

  Gia Riley, thank you for always keeping me laughing. It means more than you’ll ever know. Chomp.

  Extra-special love goes to Chanpreet Singh, Hilary Suppes, Donna Cooksley Sanderson, Stacey Jacovina, Jesse James, Kayti
McGee, Carol Nevarez, Julie Vaden, Elizabeth Kelley, Jennifer Porpora, Melissa Mann, Pat Mann, Katie Amanatidis, Katy Truscott, my COPA ladies, and my group of Sarasota girls whom I love more than anything. I’m so grateful for all of you.

  Mom and Dad, thanks for your unwavering belief in me and your constant encouragement. It means more than you’ll ever know.

  Brian, my words could never dent the amount of love you give me. Trust me when I say, I love you more.

  My Midnighters, you are such a supportive, loving, motivating group. Thanks for being such an inspiration, for holding my hand when I need it, and for always begging for more words. I love you all.

  To all the bloggers who read, review, share, post, tweet, Instagram—Thank you, thank you, thank you. You do so much for our writing community, and we’re so appreciative.

  To my readers—I cherish each and every one of you. I’m so grateful for all the love you show my books, for taking the time to reach out to me, and for your passion and enthusiasm. I love, love, love you.

  Lastly, I want to thank the city of Boston. You’ve served as an inspiration for so many of my books. Your energy, your spirit, your charisma are unlike any other place in the world. Boston Strong. Always.

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