by Carian Cole
I personally don’t worry about memories of Ember anymore. If I were to remember everything right now, would it change my life?
Not really.
I’d still be right where I am at this moment. In this house, trying to build a life with my husband. Would remembering my past change my future in any way? I don’t think so. Sure, it would be nice to remember the people I love and how we got where we are. But I’m starting to love them all on my own, and they love me.
I’m happy with that.
Finally, I can look in the mirror and be happy with who and what I see. The woman looking back at me doesn’t seem like a stranger anymore. I don’t see a ghost haunting me in the reflection.
I only see me.
I love to paint. Not just pretty scenes on canvas, but the walls of the house. There’s something about the change that speaks to me. The lighter shade covering the dark—the fresh, new mood it evokes. How the room is the same but different.
Refreshed.
As I’m painting the baseboard trim around the living room, I get a text from Kenzi.
Kenzi: Just wanted to say hi. How’s everything?
Me: Good. I’m painting the trim.
Kenzi: Do you want me to come help you?
Me: No, I’m doing good.
Kenzi: Are you sure? I don’t mind coming over.
Me: I’m sure, but thank you. How are you doing? How’s the baby?
Kenzi: We’re good. Just missing Tor a lot. :(
Me: I know how you feel. I miss Asher too.
Kenzi: Just two more weeks. We can do this!
Me: We can! Xo
Kenzi: I feel bad we haven’t seen each other.
Me: Me too. :( I just didn’t want to risk getting the baby sick.
Kenzi: It sucks you had the flu. Are you feeling better? Daddy is worried about you.
Waves of guilt course through me. I feel awful that they’ve been worried about me. I didn’t think taking alone time would be so hard or make me feel like such a horrible person.
Me: I feel a lot better. I’m just catching up on all the stuff I’m behind on.
Kenzi: Same. Feel free to call, text, or come over if you get bored or want to talk.
I wish I could take her up on that, or say that all back to her, but I can’t. Not yet.
I’m not proud of my behavior lately.
Hiding.
Lying.
Avoiding.
Deceiving.
Hopefully, they’ll understand I had to do this for myself, and they’ll forgive me.
Minutes after I kneel on the floor to resume painting, my cell phone chimes once again. Sighing, I put my brush down on the edge of the paint tray and pull my phone out of my pocket. My stomach twists when I see I have a FaceTime video chat request from Redwood.
Dammit.
I accept the chat, and his face, surrounded by a cloud of smoke coming from the cigarette hanging from his mouth, fills my phone screen.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls. “Look at you.”
“I thought you weren’t going to call me. You said you wouldn’t.”
“Obviously, I lied.”
“Obviously.”
“I sense a disturbance in the force, Ember. Thought I’d check up on my little Frankenstein.”
“I’m doing fine.”
“You look better than fine, sweetheart.” He raises a dark eyebrow suggestively.
I glare at the screen.
“You doing all the things I taught you?” he asks.
“Yes. Every day.”
“How’s our favorite rock star doing?”
“He’s still on tour.”
“You didn’t tell him, did you?” he questions.
“No. Not yet.”
“Tsk, tsk, Ember. That’s a naughty girl.” He takes a drag on his cigarette. “I like it,” he says on exhale, his voice deep and throaty.
I sigh and wipe the back of my hand across my forehead. “He’ll be home in a few weeks.”
“My offer stands. If you need a place to stay, my door’s open for you.”
“Hopefully that won’t happen, but thank you.”
He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and stares at the glowing tip. “Do you ever wish I had let you die?” he asks. “Sometimes I wish someone had just let me fucking die.”
“On bad days, yes,” I admit. There’s no sense in lying to him. He would see right through it. “But I think things will get better. For both of us.”
“Your hope is amusing.”
I swallow hard. “I should go. I’m painting.”
“Don’t lose my number, Ember. You might want to disappear for good someday…embrace the dark hole in your mind instead of fighting it.”
“No,” I say. “I won’t want to do that.” My life is getting better. Everything I’ve done is to avoid the hole—not fall into it.
He grins cockily. “If you say so.”
My chin lifts toward the phone in my hand. “I do.”
“Tell me one word that describes how you feel now.”
I look into his blue eyes watching me from the small screen. “Free.”
He nods. “Free is good. It comes with a price, though. Who knows what that might be?”
“Thank you for all your help,” I say, ignoring his cryptic commentary.
“I knew you’d need me.” Twisted satisfaction manifests in his crooked grin.
I end the chat and put the phone down as if it’s on fire.
I don’t care if Redwood’s elevator is stuck somewhere between the third and fourth floors—he was there for me when I needed him. He understands things about me no one else can. I can tolerate his random weirdness.
Kneeling down, I pick up my brush once again to finish painting the trim. Tomorrow the new furniture is coming for the living room and master bedroom, and I can’t wait to see it all.
Later, I’m emptying the dressers in the bedroom so the movers can take them to our storage facility. Not wanting my jewelry box to get lost in the shuffle, I take it into my walk-in closet. As I place it on one of the shelves, one of the tiny jewelry drawers slides open. Nestled on the velvet is a locket with Teddy’s photo on it.
Curious, I lift the necklace to examine it and realize it can’t be opened.
It’s been sealed shut.
Turning the necklace over, my heart stops when I see the engraving on the other side of the pendant.
Teddy: April 1, 1988 - Oct. 30, 2000
I shake my head in confusion as my heart jolts and starts to beat rapidly.
This can’t be right.
These dates are a long time ago. That means that—
Gasping, I cover my mouth with my hand and glance at Teddy lying on the bedroom floor with his toy.
The truth slowly pours over my brain and drips down to my heart.
That’s not Teddy.
My Teddy died a long time ago.
This necklace is a memorial charm. Filled with ashes.
Suddenly, a carousel of quick, sporadic images flash through my brain. Teddy as a puppy with a bow on my sixth birthday. Running and playing. Sleeping on my bed. Me and Teddy growing up. Teddy licking baby Kenzi’s face. Me crying over Teddy.
Me clasping this necklace around my neck, sobbing uncontrollably.
All the memories of my life with Teddy, from the beginning to the end, crash into my brain all at once.
My head throbs. My chest aches.
Tears fall down my cheeks as I carefully put the necklace back in the tiny drawer with shaking fingers. Turning toward the door, I slowly approach the beautiful dog Asher brought home months ago. Kneeling down, I gently pet his head, and he immediately wags his tail.
I think back to the day Asher brought this dog home as a surprise to cheer me up. I’m sure he was hoping the dog would comfort me—maybe bring back memories. Asher never said he was Teddy, but I instantly assumed he was.
I did remember him—all on my own—the moment I saw the happy, golden dog. There wa
s no doubt in my mind he was Teddy.
I didn’t remember that he’d passed away, though.
Nor did I realize how much time had gone by and that Teddy couldn’t possibly still be alive.
I wonder what that means as far as my memory?
Quickly, I push that thought away. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I remembered.
My memories are there.
Asher’s plan may have worked a little too good, but he let me believe this dog was my Teddy. Not to deceive me, but to let me have, and enjoy, the memory. To let me have my beloved dog again when I needed him, rather than telling me the real Teddy was gone.
That would’ve been devastating.
Lowering my face, I kiss the dog on the top of the head. He may not be the first Teddy, but he’s given me hope and memories in a gentle way, and I’m grateful Asher knew this was exactly what I needed.
Chapter Forty-Six
I find Tor sitting outside at a picnic table in a grassy area a few hundred feet away from the tour bus.
“So…” I sit on the bench across from him and put two beers on the table. “We got three shows left. Then we go home.” I pop the top off my beer. “What’d ya think?”
Taking a deep breath, he stares off at the dimming skyline, then shifts his gaze to me. “It’s been a rush. Playin’ on stage with you guys. The music. The crazy excitement of the crowd. I fuckin’ love all that.” He lifts his beer to his mouth and takes a long sip. “But being on the road all damn day and night, being away from Kenzi and the baby, dealing with the grabby chicks, the claustrophobia on the bus… fuck all that. I could never do this shit all the time.”
“Not even to live your dream? Make millions? Travel? Play on stages all over the world?”
He shakes his head and scoffs. “Those were my dreams when I was twenty. Back then, I would’ve fuckin’ loved all this. But now? My dreams are with Kenzi and Tia.”
Right answer.
“I wish I could call you a wuss.”
He leans back and laughs.
I continue. “But as the father of your wife—and thank you again for making shit weird between us—I totally respect what you’re saying.”
“I don’t regret the past few weeks. I’ve always wondered what it woulda been like if I hadn’t left the band way back then. Now I got a taste of it, and it was killer. So, thanks for giving me that.”
I lean my elbows on the table. “I gotta say, you impressed me. The way you were able to just pick up the guitar again and play like you never stopped. Would you do it again?”
He cups his hands around his beer can and cocks his head toward the bus. “Like this? A short tour of small venues? Yeah, I might do it again if you asked. But not more than that. I’d lose my damn mind. And probably my wife.”
“It ain’t easy. It takes a toll.”
“I don’t envy you, bro. I used to. But I don’t know how the hell you’re gonna keep doing this and put your marriage back together.”
Me either. It’s been on my mind nonstop for weeks. My heart’s not with the band anymore—not like it used to be. My heart’s back in New Hampshire.
The tables have turned. Now, I envy him and the life he has.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It was different when me and Ember got into this together. We both wanted it and understood the sacrifices and the chaos, and it was working.” Until she told me it wasn’t anymore. “But now… She didn’t sign up for this. I’m not sure what she wants.”
“And what about you? You finally got your wife back. You really want to risk losing her again?”
His words are like a fist rammed into my chest.
The memory of Ember’s terrified face as she dangled from my arm over the cliff flashes before my eyes.
Right after she told me she didn’t want to live like this anymore. She wanted more of us. More of me.
Does she still feel that way?
Tor leans forward. “I know what you’re thinking, Ash. That wasn’t your fault. But I’d bet money she still doesn’t want this lifestyle.”
“I know Ember didn’t send me off on tour because she was trying to be a supportive wife. She wanted space. For what, I don’t fucking know, but she definitely had an ulterior motive. Which is fine. I’ll let her have that, but we still have a lot to figure out.”
“Kenzi told me she hasn’t seen her in over a month. I was hoping they’d be bonding like crazy glue while we were gone, but Ember’s got herself in some kind of lockdown mode.”
Unease creeps over me like a shadow. The texts and phone calls with Ember every day and night have been great. She’s been happy and flirty and sends me pictures of her painting projects, the dog, and the plants she hasn’t killed yet.
But she has yet to video chat with me or send any photos of herself. Even though I ask. Every. Single. Day.
I’ve run my thoughts ragged trying to figure why, and all I can come up with is that she’s still upset about the iPad folder, and she’s distancing herself from me physically and visually. She’s put a wall up.
There’s a little voice inside me saying I might be wrong about that, though.
My defenses kick in to cover up my own doubts. “She had a bad cold, and she’s been busy painting and redecorating the house. I think it’s important to her—to do it on her own. Like proving her independence and forming her own identity.”
“Yeah.” He eyes me with skepticism. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Every time we talk, it’s been awesome. She seems a lot happier. It just sucks, not being with her. I hate it. I don’t want us to drift apart.”
“Why don’t you just retire or go on an indefinite hiatus?” he suggests. “It’s not like you need the money. Do what Evan’s doing—hire a new vocalist and keep writing the songs in the background. Do some guest appearances once in a while. Catch up on the eight fucking years you lost, and enjoy your life. You both deserve it. Don’t hang on to the band just because you think you have to, man.”
“That decision’s been heavy on my mind.”
“I know it has. I’m not saying it’s an easy one. You think you have to keep the band going for everyone else, but you don’t. The guys will be okay. The fans will be okay. Put yourself first for once, dude. Ember wanted to start over years ago. It doesn’t matter if she remembers that. You remember. Now’s your chance to give her what she wanted.”
“That’s all I want to do.”
“I don’t give a shit if this makes you mad, I’m gonna say it anyway. You need time to decompress and heal. You hafta to unfuck your head, and I don’t think you can do that if you’re trying to see-saw between the demands of the band and an amnesiac wife. You’re gonna snap.”
I meet my best friend’s eyes and nod slowly. “You’re right.”
He tosses his empty beer can into the garbage can a few feet away.
“Listen to your own lyrics: bite the bullet and just do it, baby.”
“Guess what I’m looking at,” Ember asks in a playful, sing-song voice.
I wedge the phone between my shoulder and ear as I zip up my jacket and step out of the bus to talk outside in private. It’s late—the sky is a blanket of black velvet, starless and still.
I smile. “Tell me.”
“Our new bed and furniture.”
“Oh, cool. Send me a picture.”
“No, I want you to be surprised when you come home. I’m not even going to sleep in it. I’m sleeping in the guest room until you’re here.”
I sit on the ground and lean back against the rear tire of the bus.
“Does that mean we’re sleeping in the same bed when I get home?”
My heart pounds a little harder as I wait for her to answer.
“Do you want to?” I catch the hint of vulnerability mixed with hope.
“I do,” I reply. “More than I can put into words.”
“Me too,” she says softly.
“Just a few more days, baby.”
“I can’t wait
to see you, Ash. I keep watching your new videos. The new song you’ve been singing… “Dying for Your Kiss”… Is that—”
“About you?”
“Yeah.”
“It is.”
Her breath hitches. “Wow.”
“Wow?”
“I love it. Your voice…the words…it makes my insides feel all crazy.”
“Good crazy? Or like straightjacket crazy?”
“Crazy as in it’s almost like I can feel you’re inside me, touching parts of me I didn’t even know I had. Whispering words I can feel, but I can’t hear.”
Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and let her voice—her words—sink into me, filling the empty spaces that’ve been there for too long.
“I want to be inside you, Em.” I don’t try to mask the desire in my voice. “More than fuckin’ anything, I want to touch every part of you.”
Whispery and sultry, she asks, “Will you?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes.”
My cock hardens and strains against my jeans with mad need for her. “Then nothing’s gonna stop me.” Nothing is coming between us. Not my screwed-up head. Not the past. Nothing. “That new bed frame better be sturdy, ’cuz it might take a beating.”
“It’s solid wood. I’m pretty sure it can take it.”
My body and mind buzz, intoxicated from the verbal foreplay.
God, I’ve missed her.
“And what about you, sweetheart?” I ask. “Can you take it?”
“I plan to,” she purrs. “And ya know what? I’m going to give it too.”
Breath is sucked out of me like a siphon. I groan as my cock throbs and aches, needing to explode. My brain feels like it’s been flipped upside down.
“Fuck, baby. You’re gonna make me ditch the rest of this tour and come home tonight.”
She lets out a sexy laugh, and it sounds like home. “Three days is feeling kinda long right now, isn’t it?”
“Way too fucking long. It feels like an eternity.”
“It does.” She lets out a breath. “But…we can do this. I’m not going anywhere.”