From the Embers

by Aly Martinez

Luna and Madison just sat there staring at him, their lips curled, completely unconvinced.

  “It is good!” Asher agreed, food spilling from his mouth. Our boy must have been growing. He’d already plowed through half of his burger.

  When the girls began to pick at their sweet potato fries, Eason leaned into my side and whispered, “Okay, what the hell is this?”

  “It’s a veggie burger.”

  “I got that. But I’ve grown to enjoy your veggie burgers and this is not that.” He lifted his top bun and pulled out a stalk of green, pointedly dropping it on the corner of my plate. “What did I do to you? Asparagus? In a burger? That is some seriously unnecessary violence, babe.”

  I barked a laugh. “I didn’t have enough black beans. I had to get creative. Look, Asher likes it.”

  “Yes, but I’ve had concerns over his taste buds for years.” Eason took another bite, adding another hum of approval for good measure.

  He was right. They were terrible, and there weren’t enough mmm’s in the world that would get the girls to eat it. But running to the store had meant missing hide-and-seek with the kids, and quite honestly, I was sick of missing the good stuff.

  For years, I’d been a stay-at-home mom, spending twenty-four-seven with my kids. It wasn’t glamourous, and I used to have to beg, barter, and steal to get even a single minute to myself. But I loved it. I loved my kids. I loved watching them grow. I loved being the one to teach them their 123s and ABCs. It was the hardest job I’d ever had and that included building a multimillion-dollar company from the ground up. Every blowout, tantrum, or meltdown fell on my shoulders. But so did the sweet snuggles when they got tired and the giggles when I pushed them high on the swings at the playground.

  I missed those days. Asher was in first grade now, and Madison and Luna cared more about pretty dresses and hairbows than rattles and blankies. As much as I would have liked them to stay babies forever, it was all part of growing up. I just hated that it was racing right past me.

  So, that night, we were having disgusting black bean-and-asparagus veggie burgers because I’d refused to miss anything else. And I felt not one ounce of guilt about it.

  I took a bite of my burger, cringing and then grinning as I chewed.

  Eason’s phone started ringing and he glanced down at the screen, his eyebrows drawing together. “It’s an LA number. I should probably take it. Can you hold down the fort?”

  “Yep. And there will be three clean plates by the time you get back.” They would be clean because I dumped them in the trash and made peanut butter sandwiches, but he didn’t need to know that.

  Bending over, he kissed the top of my head and then excused himself to the other room while answering, “Hello… This is he.”

  Asher not only finished his burger, but he polished off the rest of mine too. Eason was right, I needed to schedule him an appointment with the doctor about his clear lack of taste. When the girls finished their sandwiches and Eason still wasn’t back, I treated them to pirate dessert. This was just three bowls of water filled with fruit, and I gave them little plastic drink swords to use as skewers. It was a smaller, not slobber-infested version of bobbing for apples and they adored it.

  While they giggled trying to catch their dessert, I set out to find my man.

  I tracked his voice down to the formal sitting room at the front of the house. “Mhm. Yeah, of course.” His eyes found mine as soon as I rounded the corner. His hair a mess as though he’d been running his fingers through it, but it was the white pallor of his face that made my heart stop.

  “What’s wrong?” I mouthed to him.

  Shaking his head, he lifted a finger for me to wait. “No, that’s not a problem at all.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah. No, I appreciate it. This is…” He laughed, and while it sounded genuine, it was packed with more emotion than just humor. “Thank you.” He finally smiled, huge and white. “I’m looking forward to it. Right. See you then. Goodnight.” With a tap on the screen, he hung up. Or at least I think he did. He lifted it back to his ear, saying “Hello. Hello. Anyone there?”

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “Who was that?”

  “Just a second.” With his head down, he kept pressing buttons on his phone and only then did I notice the small shake of his hands. “Jesus, how do you turn this thing off?”

  I took several long strides toward him. “Eason, honey. What’s going on?”

  “Just a second. Just a second. Just a second.” His marched over to the couch and peeled back one of the cushions, stashing his phone beneath it. Still not happy yet, he grabbed the other two cushions and stacked them on top of it too.

  “Okay,” he said, finally turning back to face me.

  “Why are you burying your phone?”

  “Because I was really trying to play it cool and don’t want Levee Williams to hear me scream—” He sucked in a deep breath and then yelled at the top of his lungs. “I’m playing at the fucking Grammys!” Rushing forward, he tackled me in a bear hug.

  “Holy shit! Are you serious?” I laughed as he spun us in a circle.

  “She was supposed to do ‘Turning Pages’ as a duet with Henry Alexander for a special performance, but he’s sick and she needs someone who knows the song and can fill in for him on short notice. My name came up in conversation, and as someone who started as a songwriter herself, she thought it would be perfect. She wants me to perform with her. On the Grammys. In front of everyone who is anyone in the music industry. In two days!”

  “Wait. Two days? Like two days, two days?”

  “Yep. This Sunday. They’re booking flights for first thing in the morning.” His chest heaved by the time he finished, but he never set me on my feet.

  He did, however, kiss me—stealing my breath.

  “What are you guys yelling about?” Asher asked, rushing into the room, two miniature-sword-wielding girls hot on his heels.

  I had no idea where to even start explaining to them about how huge this was for Eason.

  I’d sat outside with him the night the song debuted on the radio. His solemn face as they’d announced Levee’s name. The spark in his eye when he’d found out I’d gone to the radio station and asked them to credit him as the songwriter.

  This was his shot after over a decade of dreams. The highest of highs when he’d been signed to a record deal. The crashing low when he’d been dropped. Shamefully, I hadn’t been supportive of Eason during those days, so even though we’d talked about it all at great lengths, I could only assume the heartbreak he’d experienced during that time in his life.

  But what I knew firsthand was how hard he worked. How many hours he spent, night after night, at his piano or with a guitar in his hand. Coming home exhausted after a show and waking up only a few hours later so he could be there for me and the kids. The backhanded slap of people slamming doors in his face in his attempts to become an artist, all while those same people asking if he’d written anything new.

  It was love and demanding work.

  Trials and tribulations.

  Hitting rock bottom and still getting back up.

  But there was no way I could make the kids understand any of that.

  So I went with something they would definitely get. “Eason’s going to be on TV!”

  They all started screaming and jumping around with us. Eason lowered me back to my feet, but only so he could scoop all three of the kids up in one giant hug, their little legs swaying as he swung them from side to side.

  They say when it rains, it pours. For going on two years, that had been exactly the case for us. Drama and tragedy, one after another. First with Luna, and now with this—it was good to see that joy also came in storms.

  And even with as absolutely elated as I was for him, Planner Bree came out in full force. “Oh my God, Eason, what are you going to wear? Come on. You have to start packing. I’ll help.”

  He set the kids down and prowled my way. “What do you mean I have to start packing? We ha
ve to start packing.”

  My back shot straight, and he gathered me in his arms, aiming that sexy smirk down at me.

  “You have lost your damn mind if you think I’m going to Los Angeles for the biggest day of my career without you.”

  I stared up at him in horror.

  This man. This wonderful, gorgeous, talented man—he clearly did not know me at all.

  I couldn’t plan a trip to the freaking Grammys by morning.

  We had no sitter for the kids. I had no dress. No shoes. My nails were a mess, and my hair was in desperate need of a trim. I had work on Monday. Meetings on my calendar. Asher had school. And honestly, it was worth mentioning again: I had no dress.

  But on the other hand, the same wonderful, gorgeous, and talented man I loved with my whole heart and entire being had just been handed the biggest opportunity of his entire life.

  And he wanted me there with him.

  Therefore, even if I had to go in a pair of jeans and with my hair in a ponytail, carrying all three kids on my back like a pack mule, I was getting on that plane first thing the next morning. Because if Eason wanted me there, dammit, then that’s where I’d be.

  “Okay,” I breathed. “In that case, you get the luggage from the attic and I’ll call Evelyn to see if she can keep the kids.”

  His smile was so wide I swear I thought it was going to swallow his face. “That’s it? No freaking out about it being short notice?”

  “Oh, there is plenty of that going on in my head right now. But I love you and I am so damn proud of you I’d be honored to go.” I blew out a dreamy sigh. “And let’s be real: A sexy rock star asking me to be his date to the Grammys isn’t exactly a hardship.”

  The kids made gagging noises as we kissed, our smiles never faltering even as our lips locked together.

  Yeah…the saying was right. When it rains, it definitely pours, and I was all too happy to drown in Eason Maxwell.

  EASON

  In theory, two days didn’t seem like a lot of time to prepare for music’s biggest stage.

  In reality, it was even less time than I’d imagined.

  As always, Evelyn was amazing. As soon as Bree told her about my opportunity, she dropped everything to be there for our kids while we were gone.

  First thing the next morning, with suitcases so full we had to pay the airlines a small mortgage payment in extra weight fees, Bree and I were off to California. It was an absolute whirlwind from the second we stepped off the plane.

  Cars were waiting for us when we arrived—two of them. Bree was swept off to the hotel, and God bless Levee Williams, she’d arranged for her stylist to take Bree out for hair and nails and shopping. I hated letting her go. I didn’t give a damn if I had to spend the day holding her purse while she tried on every dress in Los Angeles. I should have been there with her. But with thirty-six hours until showtime, I didn’t have much of a choice.

  After she’d climbed into the back of a black Escalade, I leaned in for a kiss. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

  “I’ll be the woman in your hotel room. With any luck, you won’t recognize me.”

  I chuckled and kissed her again. “Then be naked. I’ve memorized every curve of that body, Sug.”

  She wrapped her hand around the side of my neck and teasingly acted like she was going to choke me for using the pet name she hated. But she didn’t say a word about it. “You’re going to be incredible. Try not to be so amazing you make Levee look bad, okay?”

  I laughed, but so much love swelled in my chest it was a wonder I was able to breathe. “I’ll try.”

  She brushed her nose with mine. “I love you, Eason.”

  There wasn’t a word strong enough for the way I felt for Bree, so I made do with what I had. “Love you too.”

  The rest of my day was crazy. I spent four hours rehearsing with a woman named Jo while at least eight skeptical men and women huddled in the corner. Levee owned Downside Up Records, so I assumed she got the final say, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Levee’s asking me—Eason Nobody—to replace superstar Henry Alexander hadn’t been a thrilling idea for everyone on her team. However, if they wanted “Turning Pages,” a song of love, loss, and moving on—a song I’d written long before I’d known the true depths of any of those emotions—there wasn’t a person on Earth who could make it more authentic than I could.

  I played to a room full of mumbled conversations. And I didn’t give the first damn what they were saying. I followed my heart and let the music speak for itself. When I finally finished, I had everyone on board with swapping the arrangement so I could play piano instead of filling in Henry’s shoes on the guitar. I could play both instruments, but if I wanted the world to remember my name, my best bet was behind the ivory keys.

  After everyone had appeared satisfied that I wasn’t a royal fuck-up, I was driven to The Staples Center, sent through wardrobe, met with hair and makeup, and then weaved my way down a press corridor. They had exactly no idea who I was and most didn’t try to pretend they did. Pretty much every question revolved around how I knew Levee. And the truth was I didn’t.

  She’d been MIA all day, but as they dropped me off at the hotel that night, I had a dozen texts from equally as many people outlining my packed schedule for the next day that started well before the sun would be up.

  It was surreal.

  Stressful.

  Intimidating as fuck.

  And I loved every damn minute of it.

  Bree was asleep by the time I got back to our room. I was so tired that I didn’t even have the energy to take advantage of her in a hotel bed two thousand miles away from the kids.

  “Mmm,” she hummed as I crawled into the sheets behind her. “How’d it go?”

  “Crazy. Incredible. Exhausting.” I kissed her shoulder. “And perfect now.”

  “Mine too,” she murmured, rolling over, resting her head on my chest, falling right back to sleep.

  I didn’t know how she did it.

  I’d been in relationships before. Hell, I’d been married.

  But it was different with Bree. After a day spent experiencing high after high, living the life I’d dreamed about for the majority of my existence on Earth, coming home to her was still my favorite part.

  “Eason! Eason, over here.”

  I squeezed Bree’s hand, lifting my other to wave at the line of paparazzi camped out outside Levee’s afterparty. Not one single person had known who I was when I’d woken up that morning, but after a standing ovation from the biggest stars in the world, my name was making the rounds.

  And much to Bree’s relief, none of them had called me Easton yet.

  The performance had been a huge success and a damn near religious experience for me. When the lights came on, revealing Levee in a floor-length ballgown made to look like pages from a book, the massive train taking up half the stage, and me in designer black jeans and a gray fitted vest, the sleeves of my white button-up rolled up to my elbows, I came alive behind an onyx grand piano.

  There was a reason the world called Levee the Princess of Pop. She carried herself with the grace of royalty, poised with power and experience. But behind the scenes, she was down to Earth and so damn kind. For the first twenty minutes after we’d met, she’d asked a dozen questions about my family and then sidled up beside me to scroll through pictures of the kids on my phone.

  On stage, our voices blended flawlessly, her personal brand of sultry harmonizing with my style of edgy soul. With “Turning Pages” as popular as it had become, I’d worried about living up to the standards set by Henry Alexander, but if I’d failed in any way, no one was letting on.

  “This is wild,” Bree said as a hulking security guard pulled the door open for us, no questions asked.

  I folded my hand over hers and shot her a smile. “I know. Out past midnight and we haven’t turned into pumpkins yet. Who knew?”

  She laughed as we navigated our way through a virtual who’s who of the music industry.

&
nbsp; Bree suddenly froze, pulling me up short. “Oh my God, is that Shawn Hill? Ohhhh, sweet lord it is.”

  Chuckling, I leaned into her. “Yes, and after letting your boyfriend hear that moan, we will be staying on this side of the party for the rest of the evening.”

  “I’m not suggesting we invite him back to our hotel room for a threesome. But maybe just a picture I can send Jillian. She gave me a list of people I’m required to slip her phone number to this weekend.”

  I curled my lip. “And twenty-two-year-old Shawn Hill was on there?”

  Bree shrugged. “What can I say? She likes younger men. And now that you’re off the market, she’s on the prowl again.”

  “Then we should definitely go over there and warn him.” Draping my arm around her hips, I put my lips to her ear. “Did I happen to mention that you look incredible tonight?”

  She beamed up at me. “Maybe a time or seventy-five.”

  Bree was always gorgeous; it didn’t matter what she was wearing: sweaty workout clothes, power suits, or just jeans and a tank top. Though a red backless dress with a high slit up one of her legs definitely never hurt. And neither did the low-cut little black dress she’d changed into for the afterparty.

  “Well, let’s make it seventy-six.” I smirked. “You look—”

  “Eason, you made it,” Levee said, stopping beside us, her hand linked with a man who had thick tattoos running up both of his arms.

  “Hey, congrats on Album of the Year.”

  She tucked a rogue brown ringlet behind her ear. “Thanks. I still have no idea how ‘Turning Pages’ didn’t get you a nod. Though, after that performance tonight, I’m sure next year’s nominations are going to look a lot different. My phone has been blowing up, everyone trying to figure out who you are and where I’ve been hiding you.”

  “If it was a record executive on any continent, including Antarctica, tell them to check their pile of demos over the last hundred years. I’m sure I’m in there somewhere.”

  She giggled melodically. “I get it. Trust me. I spent my fair share of time in the trenches too.” Slanting her head at the man beside her, she said, “This is my husband, Sam. Sam, this is Eason Maxwell.”