Asher (Ashes & Embers Book 6)

by Carian Cole

  Am I afraid that Ember might read that her past self wanted changes and decide to leave me now for a new life?

  Hell fucking yes.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dear Diary,

  I can’t believe how much my life has changed. When we moved to this new town, I thought it was going to be awful. I didn’t want to start a new school and try to make new friends. I thought I’d be the biggest loser in the entire class. But two weeks ago I met a boy. I saw him my first day here and he smiled at me and I totally forgot how to breathe or talk. I just stood there looking dumb.

  His name is Asher Valentine. Is that the coolest name in the world or what? He’s so amazing I might die. He’s one of the most popular guys in school and I can’t believe he likes me. I’ve never met a boy as sweet and thoughtful as him. He’s got long wavy hair and a sexy smile and a really nice ass. He actually made this journal I’m writing in. He sings and plays guitar like me and his voice gives me goose bumps.

  Every day he holds my hand and walks me to all my classes and to and from school. He’s not like the other boys at all. He’s quiet and deep and doesn’t party or flirt with all the girls. His dad is a famous musician and his mom writes books. They live in a huge house with a recording studio in it. I met them once so far and they were really nice to me. I can’t sleep at night because I can’t stop thinking about him and I’m too excited to eat or focus on anything. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  I flip through a few more entries, and they’re all basically the same—gushing about how awesome Asher is and how happy she is and how wonderful life is. It’s hard to believe two people could meet at fifteen years old and fall head over heels in love from the first day and still feel that way into adulthood.

  The little butterfly ring sparkles on my hand, reminding me of how Asher slipped it onto my finger and kissed my hand earlier. The way my heart pounded and my stomach tumbled.

  And that look of everlasting love and devotion in his eyes…

  Holy cow. I want love like that.

  Closing my eyes, I lean back against my pillows and hold the journal against my chest.

  This is me.

  This is us.

  I’m Ember.

  I’m the one who wrote all these pages of puppy love.

  I’m the girl who fell in love with Asher, and he fell in love with me.

  He still loves me, even after all this time.

  I know all of this is true. I just can’t remember it or feel it.

  But can Asher love me now if I’m not really me anymore?

  What if I never get all my memories back? What if his feelings change if I’m nothing more than a stranger walking around in his wife’s body? Will he still want me in his life? The only thing holding me to this man and his family is a past I can’t remember.

  I’m so confused. I should probably call my psychiatrist for a phone consultation. But she can’t help me because this is about hearts and love, and no doctor can fix that.

  Reading through the journals might help me remember, but it also might make me more jealous, confused, and upset.

  My head throbs with all this thinking.

  Nobody understands. I didn’t just wake up without my memory. I woke up sitting on top of a dead woman, and she’s trying to claw into me to get her life back. And me? I’m trying to dig her up one minute and trying to bury her the next. Right now, I can’t comprehend a merging of myself and the old Ember into one happy person.

  That means one of us will have to go.

  “You started reading?”

  I jump at the sound of his voice, and the journal falls to the floor with a thud.

  He immediately bends over to pick it up. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He hands it back to me.

  “I think I dozed off.” More like spaced out when my anxiety spun me into a stupor. “I read the first few entries.”

  “Was it that boring, or are you just really tired?”

  I smile. “It’s all about how amazing you are, and you’re the cutest boy ever. That’s as far as I got.”

  He beams like a peacock. “I think every page is going to be about how amazing I am.”

  I laugh at that. “Oh, you think so?”

  “I know so. You’ve always been crazy about me, and I’m just as crazy about you. That’s our story.”

  Nobody would write pages and pages of how much they love someone. Maybe for a few months, but for years? No way. If so, maybe Ember had something wrong with her brain long before the accident.

  “Have you always been like this? So…” I shake my head. “Just so sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Sighing, I get up to brush my teeth and use the bathroom. When I return, he’s sitting in the chair by the windows, staring out at the moon. As I climb back into bed, I see he’s put the journals on the nightstand for me.

  Maybe I’ll read more tomorrow. I’m interested to see if Ember moves past the Amazing Asher phase.

  “I’ve always been sure because of you.” He stands and slowly walks toward the bed. “You made me this way. The way you treated me and how you made me feel. Unconditional love breeds confidence.”

  “Asher…” I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure of anything, except right now, I want to be the woman who inspired such incredible devotion in a man like Asher Valentine.

  “It’s true.”

  He lingers next to the bed after I turn off the television and lights, a shadow of emotion and memories.

  “I think I can sleep alone tonight.” I don’t know why I said that. I don’t want him to leave, but the sensation of expectation is overwhelming and suffocating, and his nearness amplifies it.

  Someday, I won’t hide from these feelings. But today isn’t going to be that day.

  “Okay.”

  One word. So much sadness.

  He kisses my cheek goodnight and leaves, closing the door behind him. An unfamiliar burn festers in my chest as I lie in the dark. The scent of the leather journals comforts me from beside the bed.

  I haven’t taken off the butterfly ring or the skeleton key necklace. I don’t think I will. They feel familiar. Like they belong with me.

  A faint light shone through the fog today. Scenes from my past seeped through and became memories, and they’re still there, safely nestled back in my mind where they once lived.

  The park.

  The smiles.

  The blue front door.

  The old stone steps.

  His eyes.

  The kiss.

  My heart and stomach flutter with the remembrance of that day—the beginning of the dreamy fall into love.

  And into him.

  But beyond that…there’s still the big gaping hole of nothing.

  Ding.

  I sit up. Who would be sending me a text at night?

  Asher: Hi beautiful :-) What are you doing tomorrow night?

  Oh my. Is he texting me from his bedroom down the hall?

  Me: I don’t have any plans.

  Asher: I’d love to have dinner alone with you. And maybe a movie.

  My heartbeat quickens when I realize he’s asking me on our second date.

  Me: I’d love to, but I can’t leave the house yet. :(

  Technically, I can. I don’t feel ready to be out in public and risk running into anyone who might recognize me from the band days. Plus there’s the wobbliness, the cane, the random mood swings, and the stress of lots of people and new things.

  Asher: No worries. Leave that to me. ;-)

  Me: Okay. :-)

  Asher: How’s 6pm? Meet me on the porch.

  Me: That’s perfect.

  Asher: See ya then. xo

  I switch my phone to the music app and play the soft guitar music Asher recorded for me, and I think for the first time, I might fall asleep smiling.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I haven’t seen Asher all day. We always have breakfast together in the kitchen and we sit on the balcony. He che
cks on me periodically throughout the day during my rehab exercises—either via text or by popping into whatever room I’m in to say hello.

  As I’m getting dressed after my shower, I’m struck with the thought that maybe he forgot about the date we’re supposed to be having tonight. It’s not like him to disappear for an entire day with no contact, so I wonder if he had an unexpected meeting out of town.

  I debate texting him to make sure we’re still on, but I’m worried that’ll make me look needy or pushy. If this was to be a date with someone else whom I didn’t live with or wasn’t already married to, I don’t think I’d text. I’d just wait to see if he shows up.

  I decide that’s exactly what I’m going to do as I finish putting my makeup on.

  Gritting my teeth, I slowly make my way down the stairs to the first floor, still leaning heavily on my cane for balance. My legs get weak and shaky fast. I wonder how I would look to a man if this were actually a real date—a woman in skinny jeans, white cotton flowy blouse, wearing sneakers and clutching a cane, wandering around with amnesia and a nervous smile.

  I don’t think I’d be considered a catch. I’m terrified of being viewed as a burden.

  Does it bother Asher that he was alone for years, not dating or having fun with a woman—physically or otherwise—to now be stuck with the haphazard package that is me? Someone who takes handfuls of pills daily, needs weekly doctor visits, and doesn’t have anything resembling a nice body?

  Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him for feeling disappointed or if he wanted to throw in the towel and start over with someone new.

  When I get to the four-season porch, the French doors leading to the back deck are open, and I realize with a gasp that I never should’ve doubted Asher’s interest in our date.

  The outdoor furniture that’s usually on the deck has been moved and hidden somewhere. In its place is a black table and chairs under a canopy shrouded in black and red gauzy fabric that’s been tied back, creating a private, romantic dining area. On the other side of the deck is a red-velvet couch with a black coffee table set in front of it, all perched on top of a fuzzy, white rug. Random candles are everywhere, some on ornate metal stands of various heights, others on the deck railing.

  Faint classical music is playing from the speaker system installed around the deck and backyard.

  I don’t see him at first, leaning against the railing in the far corner. He’s clad in dark blue jeans, pointy black leather boots, and black blazer over a tight white T-shirt. Rows of leather and metal bracelets wind around his wrists. Dark hair with light streaks cascades over his shoulders.

  How is it possible that he seems to keep getting better-looking?

  He’s been watching me with that wistful smile of his, and when our eyes finally meet, my heart dances. He comes to me where I stand by the doors, instantly reaching for my hand to lead me to the dining table.

  “I love your hair that way,” he says. “You look beautiful.”

  Beachy waves, Sarah called it when she taught me how to curl it.

  “Thank you. So do you.” Ugh. Cringe. “Handsome, I mean.”

  He pulls my chair out like a gentleman, putting my cane to the side and helping me sit before he takes the seat across from me.

  Teen Ember was right. He is pretty amazing.

  “Asher…I’m speechless.” I glance at the low centerpiece of black and red roses, the black tablecloth and red napkins. “This is all so pretty.” And romantic. And surreal.

  He motions to something behind me, and I turn to see a young man in black trousers and a white shirt approaching the table with a pitcher of water and ice.

  “Good evening,” the man says as my mouth falls open in surprise. “I’ll be bringing your appetizers out in a few minutes. Can I get you something to drink?”

  I shake my head. “Water is perfect.”

  “I’ll take an iced tea with lemon.”

  Nodding, he fills our water glasses then disappears back into the house.

  “You hired a waiter?” I ask.

  “He’s a chef, actually, but he’s playing waiter tonight too. He’s been busy all afternoon. I asked Sarah to try to keep you away from the kitchen all day.”

  “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” I say, but I’m elated that he actually did.

  “Of course I did. It’s our second date. I didn’t want to be running back and forth to the kitchen when I want to give you all my attention.” He winks at me, and the butterflies stir in my stomach.

  “Hopefully soon I’ll be okay to go to a real restaurant with you. Although staying here with you with all this seems nicer than going out.”

  “I agree,” he says as the man comes back to the table with Asher’s drink and a big plate of stuffed zucchini, potato skins, and tiny burritos—some filled with chicken and avocado, others with steak and cheese.

  I cut up my food into tiny pieces, shoving the small pieces of chicken off to the side, chewing slowly, resting between each bite. Eating was something I had to relearn while in rehab. After the coma, I no longer recognized hunger pains. Once the feeding tube was out and I was eating on my own, I had to set a timer every few hours to remind myself to eat and drink water or juice. Holding a fork was difficult at first. Chewing and swallowing seemed odd and unnatural. I feared I would choke on everything.

  “It’s delicious,” I say. “Especially the avocado. You can have all the chicken ones.”

  “You sure? I could eat twenty of them.”

  I laugh. “Definitely.”

  The sun sets as we chat, turning the sky a myriad of bright oranges, reds, and pinks, and I’m captivated by the beauty and serenity of it.

  “We used to eat dinner out here a lot just to enjoy the sun set.”

  “I can see why. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sky look so pretty.” I suddenly have an unexpected urge to paint it. Capture all those colors, the memory of this day, on canvas forever.

  “Kenzi always jokes with me that our house is blocking her view of the sunset now.”

  “Have they always lived across the street?”

  He takes a potato skin from the plate and spreads a thin coat of sour cream over it with a small knife. I smile at how he even eats thoughtfully and meticulously.

  “No, Tor used to live a few miles away in town. Then Kenzi moved in with him when they got married. Years ago, he was going through a rough time financially after his father passed away, and he had to take over his dad’s motorcycle shop. I paid his mortgage on his house, and then he paid me every month, no interest.” He takes a bite, swallows, and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I did the same for them with the house across the street. It went up for sale earlier in the year, right before you woke up, actually. I thought it would be nice to have them close.”

  “Wow. Are you that generous with all your friends?”

  “Not like I am with Tor. He’s always been like a brother to me. He kinda got a raw deal in life.”

  “How so?”

  “He was originally part of our band when we first started out. He helped write most of the early songs. Just when we got our big break, his dad passed away suddenly. Tor had to quit the band to take over his dad’s business and help take care of his family. He basically watched us become famous and live our dream, and he was stuck here where he really didn’t want to be.”

  “That’s awful. I don’t think I realized he was part of your band.”

  “It’s always bothered me. He works his ass off—way too much to constantly be struggling with money. He was always there for us… and for Kenzi. He lived with us right after we graduated high school in a small apartment we had. He helped us take care of her. You used to tease us that it was like you had two husbands.”

  I put my fork down and try to envision the three of us living together as eighteen year olds with a toddler. “Wasn’t that strange?”

  “Not to us. We laughed about it. He was kinda like a brother to you too. But I guess other people didn’t und
erstand how close we all were. People always wanted to assume something sketchy must be going on. Like they couldn’t accept that people could just love each other without it ever going any further to a place it shouldn’t go. It’s like they can’t comprehend the value of love and friendship.”

  “I wish I could remember all these relationships and the closeness I had with people. I feel like Ember—I—was very lucky.”

  “I think you’ll remember as time goes on. But, yeah, you were loved by all of us.”

  The waiter makes another appearance and removes our plates, replacing them with wooden bowls of greens, veggies, and blue cheese crumbles.

  “Salad too?” I say. “We’re getting the works.”

  Asher smiles. “Save room for dessert. I think you’ll like it.”

  I cut my salad into smaller bits. “Maybe in time I’ll feel…closer to Kenzi. I’m not ready to go to her house yet and see her so grown up.”

  I still wish for the little girl in the photos. Days ago, I found a crib in the storage room of the lower level and stared at it until I felt dizzy. Sarah eventually found me, and we touched the maple wood together. It made me think of lullabies and baby powder, and I was overcome with a feeling of frustration and sorrow that the crib shouldn’t be down there.

  “She understands,” he says. “We all do.”

  I hope so.

  “Did we go to college?”

  “No. I started working full time right after we graduated, doing landscaping, and you had a part-time job at a bookstore in town.”

  This information surprises me. “Why didn’t I go to college?”

  “You didn’t want to. You were totally focused on the baby and the band.”

  I wonder why I didn’t go to college and earn a degree. For some reason, that’s sticking in my brain. Maybe it’s something my parents wanted me to do?

  “Are you sure I wanted to be in a rock band enough to forego an education and a decent future?”

  He leans into the table and grins. “Em…we made millions. We traveled all over the world. We had a beautiful home, a great marriage, an amazing daughter, a couple sports cars. We could do anything and go anywhere and have anything. And we had that all in our twenties.”