From the Embers

by Aly Martinez

  “I don’t give a shit about the camera if—”

  The opening notes of my number-one hit played through the Staples Center as the presenter, who I belatedly recognized as Shawn Hill, announced my nomination, “From the Embers, Eason Maxwell.”

  Straightening in my seat, I slapped on a smile that I prayed looked more genuine than it felt.

  Levee turned around in her seat in front of us and shot me a beaming grin. “You got this.”

  I wasn’t so sure she was right. Then again, I wasn’t sure it mattered, either.

  After moving to Los Angeles, life had changed completely. And thank fuck for that. Not that I didn’t have fond memories in Atlanta. Playing with the kids in the backyard. Falling in love with Bree around the firepit. The kids giggling as Oreo climbed the curtains like a cat on crack. But none of that had to end based on our location. Every one of the people I shared those memories with were with me—crazy feline included.

  It took about two weeks for us to find our dream house in California. It cost a damn mint compared to the Georgia housing market, but my advance from Downside Up more than covered things. Bree fell in love with the security gate across the driveway and cameras on every corner, and the kids fell in love with the pool—or, more accurately, the waterslide leading into the pool. I just fell in love with the fact that they had fallen in love. Win-win all the way around.

  As soon as we got the keys, I hired a company to build us a bigger and better firepit—mainly because it didn’t include fire at all. Twin curved couches surrounded a brick circle, but the burn basin was the center of an inverted water fountain. It was quiet enough that I could still hear Bree’s content hums but relaxing enough that we could sit out there for hours on stressful nights, lost in our thoughts alone—together.

  Even after we’d moved, it took a while for the kids to adjust to life after Rob’s dramatic return. Slow and steady, Luna had reemerged as the sassy, wild child she’d always been. Madison smiled and giggled with her every step of the way. Asher’s emotional recovery was slightly more of an uphill climb. He trusted no one. Questioned everything. Just acclimating to a new school almost broke him. Watching my outgoing, lovestruck boy withdraw into himself made me hate Rob Winters that much more. And it should be noted that I’d already hated that asshole with the wrath of a rabid tiger, so that was really saying something.

  It wasn’t until six months later, when Rob accepted a plea deal for a life sentence in order to avoid the possibility of the death penalty, that Asher seemed to finally relax. Before we’d left Atlanta, the courts had approved Bree’s petition to have their marriage dissolved—immediately. But in an even bigger move, as a part of Rob’s sentencing, the judge stripped him of his parental rights too.

  That was the day everything changed for Asher. Knowing Rob was in jail was one thing, but knowing he would never get out was another. However, the tears in his eyes and the relief on his face as we explained that Rob would no longer legally be his father healed wounds inside me I hadn’t even realized I was still carrying. Knowing Asher had felt that fear, had been worried he’d have to go visit the man who had kidnapped his sister and terrified that he’d somehow come back for him, shattered me in so many different ways.

  Though, when he looked at me and asked, “Does that mean you can finally be my real dad now?” all the pieces of my heart clicked into place.

  I couldn’t say yes fast enough, but then again, I couldn’t really say anything past the emotion lodged in my throat. I gathered my son in my arms and nodded at least a dozen times. Bree quickly excused herself, and a little while later, I found her sitting on the floor in the pantry, crying and separating the red M&M’s from her secret stash.

  “You can have every red M&M for the rest of our lives for that,” she croaked.

  I didn’t give a damn about red M&M’s—I stole them all anyway. But adopting Asher and Madison was not a favor or a good deed that deserved a reward. They were my kids. Period. Full stop. End of story.

  Bree and I hadn’t been married yet. We were planning a small destination-wedding-slash-family-vacation to Jamaica in the spring when my schedule opened up. However, as soon as the courthouse opened the next day, we were standing on the front steps. If we were making our family official, I wasn’t about to half-ass it in any way.

  In front of a county clerk, wearing a white sundress while I sported a pair of jeans and a pale-blue button-down—sans a tie—Bree Winters became Bree Maxwell. And then, four months later, after a mile-high stack of paperwork, a judge granted our adoption request, making me the legal father to Asher Maxwell, Madison Maxwell, and of course, their glowing and giddy little sister, Luna Maxwell.

  However, at the current moment, I was more worried about our fourth child making its debut in the middle of the Grammys.

  As quickly as the camera shifted to the next nominee, my smile fell and I turned back to Bree. “You gotta give me something here. How close together are your contractions?”

  Her lips thinned. “Do you mean the ones this morning or the ones now?”

  “You were having contractions this morning?” I hissed. “Jesus, Bree. What the hell are we doing here, then?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, resting them on top of her round stomach, and shot me my favorite glare. “I don’t know about you, but I’m about to watch my husband win a Grammy.” She paused, screwing her eyes shut, before sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth.

  Any other day when the birth of my child wasn’t at risk of being a televised event, I would have been moved by her support. On that day, with her being thirty-eight-weeks pregnant and having contractions, I was just moved to get the hell out of there. “That’s it. Let’s go. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  Tugging her arm out of my grip, she slanted her head. “Would you stop? I’m fine. The contractions aren’t regular yet. But even if I was crowning, there is exactly a zero percent chance of me letting you miss this. So sit back, relax, smile, and enjoy the moment you’ve worked your ass off for.”

  I gritted my teeth.

  Bree was the most stubborn and fiercely independent woman I had ever met. And while those were usually qualities I admired, with nerves churning in my stomach, they weren’t my favorite of her attributes at the moment.

  “I swear, if you go into labor and Shawn Hill gets to look up your dress while I’m forced to deliver our child, I’m never forgiving you.”

  She let out a quiet laugh. “Great. Well, now you’ve ruined my plan. Everybody knows there is nothing sexier than childbirth.”

  No less nervous, I grinned over at her. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Maxwell.”

  She laughed again, but it ended with another wince.

  “Not regular, huh?”

  Clamping her jaw shut, she shook her head. So. Damn. Stubborn.

  Only a year earlier, we’d sat at the same awards show with three nominations under my belt for Best New Artist, Song of the Year, and Record of the Year. I hadn’t won any of them, but with my music on every station across the country and a headliner tour selling out as quickly as dates went up, it was hard to feel anything other than grateful.

  For Bree and me, having another baby was an easy decision. I’d always wanted a whole herd of kids, and while sometimes it’d felt like just that with the three we already had, the idea of adding another had been more tempting than either of us could resist. With my tour winding down and work already starting on my next album, it was perfect timing.

  Though our current predicament was less than stellar.

  “And the winner is…” Shawn Hill’s voice boomed, forcing my attention back to the big stage.

  After my first loss of the evening, I’d told myself a win didn’t matter. I got to make music for a living. It was a job that more than supported my family, and my career had grown to levels I hadn’t even known to dream about. I had a gorgeous wife who loved and supported me wholly and with her entire being, three beautiful, healthy kids at home and another w
ho, with any luck, would hold tight until we made it to the hospital.

  Despite the chaos and tragedy of my past, I had a life I loved. Winning a Grammy wouldn’t change any of that.

  But it still sounded like the sweetest melody when I heard, “From the Embers, Eason Maxwell!”

  A wave of emotion crashed into me, pinning me to my seat, so I turned into Bree as she threw her arm around my shoulders. The biggest names in the entire industry clapped and cheered. Levee and Sam stood up, shouting my name and patting me on the shoulder, but it was Bree’s voice in my ear that made my throat get thick.

  “This is all you. Even when people told you to stop and the world quite literally caught fire around us, you kept going. And you did this, Eason. All of this.”

  When all other words failed me, I managed to whisper, “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she said before releasing me. “Now, go get your Grammy.”

  With shaking hands and breathless lungs, I stood up, pressing a kiss to her lips before heading up to the stage. Shawn handed me my award and I took a moment just to admire it, absorbing the weight of it in my hands. I’d seen them a dozen times in studios and at Levee’s house; there were even replicas sold in gift shops around the city.

  But none of those had been mine.

  Swallowing hard and praying that my brain found words, I looked out at the crowd. My gaze zeroed in on where Bree and Levee were still on their feet as my producer, Lincoln, joined me on stage. We did the whole handshake-hug-back-pat routine before I passed off the golden gramophone to him and stepped up to the mic.

  “I, um, have made a living for the past decade writing lyrics. But I was too worried I’d jinx it if I wrote anything down for tonight.” I rubbed my sweaty palms together, not having the first damn clue what to do with my hands without an instrument to fill them. “I’m kinda regretting that now.”

  The crowd laughed and I took the moment to clear my throat.

  “I want to start out by thanking my wife. I know a lot of you have heard bits and pieces of our story, but for those who haven’t, I’ll give you the abridged version. Some years back, there was a fire at my house. It was horrific. Lives were lost. Paths were forever changed. But the media reported that I saved the life of that beautiful woman over there.” I locked my eyes on Bree, pouring every ounce of love into my words. “But the truth is: She saved me.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she blew me a kiss.

  “Without that woman, there would be no Eason Maxwell.” I smiled and swayed my head from side to side. “There might be an Easton Maxwell, but that’s a story for a different day.”

  The tears finally escaped her eyes as she laughed.

  “I guess I just want to say thank you. To my old record label, who shall remain nameless, for dropping me all those years ago. To Levee and the entire Downside Up team for taking a chance on me. To Asher, Madison, and Luna, you three are the biggest dream I’ve ever had. Thank you for letting me be your daddy. It has been a wild ride, and now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s about to get a whole lot crazier. My wonderful, supportive wife neglected to mention that she’s been having contractions all day. I should probably get her to the hospital.”

  My producer handed the award back to me and I hefted it into the air and finished my totally unscripted-but-straight-from-the-depths-of-my-heart speech. “So, thank you. Also, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but it’s a girl.” I grinned and shot a wink at Bree, and even though she was glaring, the smile on her lips told me I wasn’t in too much trouble.

  The crowd roared, everyone standing on their feet, all eyes aimed at Bree. Just as they should be.

  I might have been the one who created the music.

  But Bree would forever be the star of our show.

  Eight hours later, Ava Grace Maxwell was born looking just like her sisters and completing the family we had forged from the embers—the way it was always supposed to be.

  The End

  Preview of Release:

  A Standalone Friends-to-Lovers

  Twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and thirty-seven minutes.

  That was how long it had been since my heart took a single beat without a searing pain piercing through my chest.

  That was how long it had been since my future exploded, leaving me on my knees, lost in the wreckage.

  That was how long he’d been gone.

  I lifted my gaze from my watch as Nora’s car slowed to a stop at the guard station. The corrections officer took our driver’s licenses, and Nora prattled off all the usual answers about why we were there. It was the same old song and dance. One I knew well after…

  Twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and thirty-eight minutes.

  He pressed a button to lift the metal arm and we drove around the corner to the second guard station. That was where my familiarity of the process ended.

  I’d never been allowed through the second gate, despite the fact that I’d spent two hours every other week sitting in my car in the parking lot. This time was different though. Nora wasn’t there for a visit. And I wasn’t there to warm the chill in my veins knowing he was somewhere nearby.

  “Breathe,” Nora ordered after the guard had instructed her to follow the road around to the side of the building.

  I couldn’t breathe though. I could barely keep my heart beating. Vital functions were no longer involuntary but rather an arduous task that made every inhale feel like I was pushing a boulder up a mountain.

  He was in there. My Ramsey, the boy who had branded my soul in ways time could never heal.

  Tears flooded my vision as I imagined the seventeen-year-old with chocolate-brown eyes and shaggy hair. Ramsey didn’t look like that anymore though. He was almost thirty now, but I still dreamed of him as the tall, lanky boy who had once held me in his arms and loved me with his entire being.

  For us, love was the original four-letter word.

  I was in fifth grade the first time we heard, “Ramsey and Thea sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” We were told first comes love, then marriage, then a baby in a baby carriage. No one mentioned that love would also be the most devastating emotion we would ever experience.

  As I got older, I heard people preach that love is patient and love is kind. And I could have jumped on that train if the Bible verse didn’t also contain the biggest lie of all: Love never fails.

  For Ramsey, it did.

  Love failed him.

  I failed him.

  The entire fucking world failed him.

  Love was a curse. Make no mistake about it.

  But Ramsey was my curse. And there was nothing that could change that. Not even twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and forty, no…forty-one minutes.

  Since the judge had banged his gavel, I’d been counting down every excruciating minute leading up to that very moment. Now that it had finally arrived, I was utterly terrified. The what-ifs of our reunion ricocheted in my head like a symphony of nightmares I couldn’t escape.

  I had faith though. What Ramsey and I shared was not a light switch that could be turned on or off at will. Our bond was sewn into the very fabric of our lives. Without Ramsey Stewart, there was no Thea Hull. That wasn’t because of some twisted codependent obsession.

  I didn’t need him in order to breathe.

  I didn’t need him in order to smile.

  I didn’t need him in order to be happy.

  But under those parameters, I didn’t exactly need my left arm, either.

  I wanted him beside me every morning as the first ray of the sun warmed my skin.

  I wanted his contagious laugh echoing in my car as we drove out to the hayfield—sometimes to make out, sometimes to sit in unbelievably comfortable silence together.

  I wanted to travel the world with him before settling down to have a family the way we had always planned.

  Bits and pieces of Ramsey were intertwined in everything I
’d ever wanted in life. He was my family. My best friend. The yin to my yang. The heart to my beat. But in the years since he’d been locked away, everything had been on hold. I’d grown up. Gone to college. Started my own business. But nothing was ever the same without having him there to experience it with me.

  That wasn’t the way it was supposed to have happened.

  We were supposed to get out of Clovert, travel the world hand in hand.

  Instead, we’d been forced to wait twelve years, eight months, three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and forty-two minutes to start our lives together.

  My stomach rolled and my hands shook with a unique mixture of grief, guilt, and pure exhilaration. Over the years, I’d labeled it as the Ramsey Stewart trifecta. For too long, it had devoured me each time someone mentioned his name. And for a small town in Georgia with nothing better to do, people loved to mention his name.

  They’d heard what had happened. They talked. They judged. They made up lies.

  But I knew the truth because I knew Ramsey better than anyone else.

  Nora and I lived a quiet life together. We’d bought a house about half an hour away from our old neighborhood. She was a proud first grade teacher, and I’d opened a successful internet travel agency in the small space next door to my father’s barbershop. We were two independent women, neither of whom needed a roommate. But since the day we’d lost half of our hearts, Nora Stewart had never left my side.

  I pretended it was because she’d lost her big brother and needed someone to lean on, but I knew she was there to take care of me. I told her almost every day that she didn’t have to. She ignored me. Just like her brother would have.

  A puzzle of tan buildings surrounded by chain link fences and barbwire came into view as we made our way up the hill.

  He was in there.

  Oh, God, he was in there.

  “Thea, stop. You’re making me nervous here,” Nora said, pulling into a parking spot in the virtually empty lot.

  “I can’t stop. He’s coming home.”