Asher (Ashes & Embers Book 6)

by Carian Cole

  I finally have my own phone and number so at night I call him and he plays his guitar for me. Even my mom said he’s been taking such good care of me. She didn’t like him at first because he has long hair. So judgy. I love his hair! I’m the luckiest girl in the world and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making Asher Valentine as happy as he makes me.

  My temple throbs reading that last line, and the twinge in the center of my chest isn’t far behind it.

  Ember’s mission to make Asher happy has died in my hands.

  Dear Diary,

  My hand is shaking as I write this. Not in a bad way, I’m just… I don’t even know. We made love for the first time tonight. It was totally unplanned, I swear! I kinda wanted to wait for my wedding night but everything just felt so right. I know I’m going to marry Asher someday so I think it’s okay. He’ll be my one and only forever. But like I’m speechless at how I feel right now.

  It hurt a little but it was just so incredible. He was gentle and slow and he kissed me from my nose to my toes and whispered how much he loves me and oh my God he’s soooo sensual. He was totally sweet and caring afterward too. We took a nap together and he held me in his arms and I didn’t ever want to leave. It was just like the movies only better.

  And holy moly his body is bonkers naked. He and Tor work out every morning before school and they don’t look like high school boys. At all! I can still smell his cologne on me and I don’t even want to shower because I love having part of him all over me. Every time I think of his voice and him kissing and touching me my insides quiver. I wonder if he’s thinking of me the same way? I hope so.

  We said we wouldn’t do it again after this. Not until we’re older. We love each other so we can wait. But all I can think about is his lips, how his muscles felt when I touched him, his hair in my face, how amazing it felt to be one with him, the look in his eyes when he says he loves me. Asher Valentine is a damn God of love.

  My eyebrow tilts up at all this cute yet sexy detail, and my insides are now quivering thinking about how it felt when he kissed me—slow, sweet, and sensual—last night under the stars. Yes, it was amazing, but way too much for a fifteen-year-old to be feeling. Seems like Asher has always been quite the romantic—even as a teen. At least my first time sounds like it was good and not some jabbing quickie hit-and-run situation. But seriously, fifteen? That’s just way too young to be having sex. How dumb could we be? Where were my parents?

  Sighing, I turn the page.

  Dear Diary,

  I’ve been afraid to write but it always makes me feel better so here goes.

  I’m pregnant.

  I gasp and almost drop the journal. Pregnant already! I want to crawl through these pages back in time and slap Ember. And Asher while I’m at it. How could they do this?

  That was so hard to write. :(

  I’m scared and disappointed but I can’t lie…I’m also happy. We love our tiny baby so much already because she’s part of us. I don’t even know how it happened. We made love just once and we really thought we were being careful enough. We thought he could just pull out. :(

  It’s not like we weren’t trying to be careful. We really were. Now I’m not sure what’s going to happen. We want to keep the baby no matter what. We know it’s gonna be hard but we know we can do it. My parents are going to go mental. I’m afraid to tell them but I know I have to. Soon.

  We already talked to Asher’s parents and they were very nice and understanding. They were surprised and a little disappointed because we’re so young, but they didn’t yell or scream or go psycho. They said they’ll do anything to help us. They even said they’d come with me to tell my parents. They actually seemed happy about having a baby in the family.

  Why can’t my parents be like that? We know they’re going to be the total opposite and act like the gates of hell have opened and swallowed me up to burn forever. Not that having a baby while I’m in high school is a good thing but it doesn’t have to be the apocalypse either.

  Jesus, Ember! You’re in high school! Why on earth do you want a baby? I grab my glass of orange juice, shaking my head between sips. They barely knew each other. They’ve only slept together once. They’re too young to be making all these decisions.

  We.

  Me.

  I got pregnant and had a baby at fifteen years old.

  No wonder my brain has forgotten all this.

  Dear Diary,

  I haven’t written in weeks because so much has been going on. I told my parents I’m pregnant and they went crazy. My dad put his fist through the dining room wall and my mom screamed and cried about rape and whores. I felt so awful and dirty. I didn’t mean to hurt them and I wish they would just try to understand that Asher and I love each other and we want our baby and we’re going to get married when we can.

  My parents want to send me to a relative in CA who I only met once in my whole life! They want me to have my baby and then give it up for adoption then come back home and pretend it never happened. No. I will NEVER EVER EVER do that. Asher and I want our baby. I’m not going to give our baby to strangers just because we’re young. We’re going to love her and take care of her no matter what.

  Yes, it’s a little girl! For now I’m living with Asher’s parents and his family. My parents didn’t even care, they just gave their permission for me to go live with someone else. They haven’t called me and they don’t even want me to visit them because they said it makes them sick to see me pregnant by that “hippy scumbag.”

  Can you believe it? Asher is the most loving, caring, intelligent, talented guy in the world. I’ve never felt so incredibly hurt and unloved by my own family. They just threw me away like I’m garbage. They hate my baby and she’s not even born yet. She’s just an innocent baby! I can’t believe how horrible they’re acting. I wonder if they ever loved me at all.

  I’ve been crying a lot and I can’t eat or sleep. Thankfully, Asher’s mom and his gram have been very good to me. They bought me clothes and baby care books and they spend a lot of time with me. I’m so grateful for Ash and his family. They all love me and my baby unconditionally and have showed me what real family is. I will never, ever treat my baby like my parents have treated me. I’ll always love her and be here for her no matter what.

  Ember’s heartache bleeds through her words, and it’s contagious. How could her parents treat her that way and be so cruel? She was only fifteen years old.

  I was only fifteen years old.

  Everything Asher told me while I was still in the hospital is true—despite our ages, we really did love each other, and we wanted our baby. I don’t think those are decisions we should’ve made at such a young age, but at least we stayed committed to each other and the baby for our entire lives.

  I mark my spot in the journal with a bookmark and lock it with the tiny key necklace. Not because someone else might read it, but because I like the soft, satisfying click of the miniature lock.

  An odd, anxious feeling stirs in my stomach. From where I’m sitting, I can see the framed black-and-white photos of a toddler-aged Kenzi hanging in the hall leading to the kitchen. She’s smiling in every photo, radiating pure happiness.

  The ache in my stomach slowly drifts up to the center of my chest, spreads to my throat, then blurs my eyes with warm tears.

  Even though I can’t remember her, that’s my baby. The one I promised I would love no matter what.

  I realize I haven’t been very good to Kenzi since I woke up. For reasons I can’t understand, I’ve refused to acknowledge that she’s pregnant, and anytime she’s visited me, she’s covered herself in baggy clothes to hide it. For me.

  I’ve treated Kenzi almost as awful as Ember’s parents…my parents treated me—and I’m not okay with it. Is this feeling of sudden care and guilt some kind of motherly instinct? Memories? Just me trying to be a nice person? I have no idea. That’s one of the things about amnesia—I don’t even know what my feelings and thoughts are most of the time.
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br />   I grab my cell phone and find Kenzi’s number in my history and hit CALL.

  “Hello?”

  I swallow. “Hi. It’s Ember. From across the street.”

  She laughs. “You don’t have to say that. I know who you are. Are you okay? I saw Dad’s car leave earlier.”

  “I’m okay. Sarah is here. I-I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh.” Her tone lifts with surprise.

  “I’ve been reading the journals. You know the journals?”

  “Yes, I remember you writing in them.”

  Taking a breath, I focus on trying to take ownership of my past, which is even harder than re-learning how to walk.

  “I promised to love you and be a good mom. When you were just a baby.”

  “Yes, and you always were. You were the best mom ever.”

  “But I haven’t been since things happened, and I’m sorry.”

  A few moments of silence pass, and I wonder if she’s hung up.

  “Ember, please don’t worry about that. It’s not your fault at all.”

  “I’m not mad about your baby. I just thought you were still the baby. It’s confusing.” I grapple for the right words, which always seem to jumble up when I think too much or feel upset. “But I like you, and I’m happy for your baby. You don’t have to hide anymore. I want to meet her when she comes.”

  “Oh.” Her voice crackles just like mine does sometimes. “I’d really like that. Tor and I both would like that. My due date is soon.”

  I didn’t go to her baby shower. I watched Asher from the window when he carried presents and balloons across the street to the party. There were lots of cars in their driveway and parked in front of their house—all her closest friends and relatives toting boxes wrapped in shades of pink.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t go to your party.” I have no excuse to add. I wasn’t busy or not feeling well that day. I was just afraid of the stares and the questions and the sea of faces I wouldn’t recognize but would recognize me.

  I think that’s been one of the hardest parts of this whole situation for me—people looking at me and seeing someone they know, but who really isn’t there anymore. It’s like wearing a mask that, to be honest, I don’t want to wear.

  “I understand,” she says. “Tor and I love the crib and the baby monitors you and Dad gave us. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Before I go back to reading more of the journals, I need to know something. “Were you happy as a little girl? You had such young parents, and I just can’t imagine that for anyone. Were you treated well and taken care of?”

  “Wow, no one’s ever asked me that before.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be rude—”

  “No, it’s not rude at all. I can understand why you’d ask. Two teenagers raising a baby isn’t exactly an ideal situation. I’m totally nervous about having my baby and wanting to be a great mom to her. There’s no way I could be ready for this as a fifteen-year-old in high school. It blows my mind that you and Dad did it.”

  I hum in agreement.

  “But,” she continues. “I think you and Dad were terrific parents. Gram and great-Gram helped a lot. They were always trying to spoil me, but you and Dad tried to curb that. I remember you guys took me everywhere with you. You didn’t take me to school with you, thank God, but you took me to all your band practices, then to most of your concerts. I loved the tour bus when I was young. Everyone helped take care of me. You never really treated me like a baby or a little kid, though. You always talked to me and treated me like I was a miniature friend, I guess.” She lets out her lighthearted, feminine laugh.

  I sigh with relief. “That makes me feel better.”

  “You never did anything irresponsible like forget me at a mall or put me in a car without a car seat, if that’s what you’re worried about. You taught me how to read and to be nice and polite. Dad would sing to me all the time and play learning games with me. I think I was lucky. I felt very loved and taken care of. Always.”

  Tucking my legs under me, I pull the soft throw blanket over my lap. “I’m glad. That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

  “It was hard when you were gone, though. I missed you. I was only fourteen, so I think it was just a hard time to not have my mom. Daddy became very withdrawn. He was still a great father, but I could tell he wasn’t happy anymore. That was hard for me because you and Dad were always laughing and hugging and kissing each other. Our house used to be such a happy place, and then suddenly it was just so quiet. If that makes sense?”

  “Yes. It does.” The quiet is something I can definitely understand.

  “I’m ashamed to say I didn’t visit the hospital. I didn’t like seeing you that way. I didn’t really visit much until I was like eighteen or nineteen. Then I’d sit by your bed and talk to you about my life and stuff.”

  “I don’t think you should’ve been there. That’s no place for a young girl to be.”

  “I still struggle thinking about it. I wish I had gone more.”

  The accident was like a bolt of lightning. It struck me first, but then branched out, searing everyone close to me with its electric shocks.

  “I’m really glad you called me,” she says. “Anytime you want to talk, or ask questions, I’m here. We can talk on the phone, or I can come over there. I want to help you if I can.”

  “Thank you. Today after reading the journal, I felt like I had to tell you that I’m here for you too. No matter what.”

  Don’t worry, Ember. I’ll try to keep some of your promises. It’s the least I can do.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A few years ago, my cousin, Lukas, gave me a three-foot-high metal-and-bone hourglass that’s perched on a marble stand in our foyer. He told me the bones were from an ancient warrior who died protecting his family. It’s filled with sand and pulverized diamonds and supposedly takes exactly twenty-four hours to trickle down. I’ve never tested it to see if that’s true because I wanted to trust that time ticks by as it’s supposed to. It doesn’t change.

  But it seems sometimes, like the sand sitting in the bottom of my hourglass, time actually does stand still and waits until something or someone comes along and makes it move.

  So much has happened, and not happened, in the past two months.

  My beautiful granddaughter, Tia Nevaeh Grace, came into the world with eyes and a smile that could effortlessly persuade me to sell my soul.

  I wrote twenty new songs.

  Ember gained enough strength to ditch her cane.

  But she’s still staying in the guest room, and no new memories have surfaced.

  Our therapist tells us to give it time. Give us time. Be patient, let things happen. I’ve heard it all a hundred times.

  Time is supposed to heal all wounds—of the heart, of the body, of the mind and soul.

  But fuck, I feel like the rest of the world is moving forward, and we’re stuck waiting for time to get back to us.

  I turn away from the huge hourglass when I hear Ember coming down the stairs, and I meet her at the last step with her light leather jacket draped over my arm in case she wants it. Tonight, her blonde hair is pin-straight, falling over her shoulders like a shiny curtain.

  “You ready for our first family dinner?” I ask.

  Her lips curve into an uncertain smile. “I think so.”

  Ember has never been to Kenzi and Tor’s house, and she hasn’t seen the baby since they brought Tia over to our house after Kenzi was discharged from the hospital.

  “Don’t be nervous. We’re gonna have fun.”

  “What if Kenzi doesn’t want me around the baby after what happened?”

  “Kenzi isn’t like that. Everyone understands, and we all love you. Tor and Kenzi want you to be in Tia’s life. You don’t have to worry about it at all.”

  “What if it happens again? I’m so embarrassed.”

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing,” I answer softly. “You had a flashback when you held Tia. T
hat’s all. You didn’t kidnap the baby, Em. You were only holding her.”

  None of us could’ve known that placing a baby in Ember’s arms would bring on some kind of overwhelming sudden memory in her mind. She cried and held on to Tia, shaking uncontrollably and sobbing that the baby was hers. She cowered against the wall, begging us not to take her baby.

  It was one of the most heartbreaking scenes I’ve ever witnessed, but I have a strong suspicion Ember was having memories of herself as a pregnant teen when her parents wanted her to give our baby up. Ember had nightmares all throughout her pregnancy of people taking her baby from her. She woke up crying almost every night. Even after Kenzi was born, Ember lived in fear that someone was going to come and take her away.

  “Maybe it’s too soon… Maybe we should go next week?” Her eyes dart toward the living room, then back toward the stairs. Anywhere but the front door we should be heading for.

  “Em.” I touch her cheek, and it brings her focus back to me. Light affection usually grounds her. “You heard the therapist. You have to keep pushing forward, even if you feel scared sometimes. The flashbacks are good—they mean your memories are there. The doctor wants you to start going out and interacting with other people.”

  I’m guilty of enabling her to remain in the safe bubble of our house. We’ve put off visits from friends and family who have practically begged to come over. That’s going to have to change soon.

  Tilting her head into the curve of my hand, she frowns. “I like being with you and Sarah. And I talk to Kenzi on the phone a lot.”

  “It’s important to expand your world.”

  She laugh-snorts at my repeat of her doctor’s exact words. “Okay, but I don’t want to hold the baby. I’ll just look at her.”

  “That’s totally fine.”

  “Will you stay with me the whole time?”