Asher (Ashes & Embers Book 6)

by Carian Cole

  “Fuck!” The man goes down hard, then rises again a few seconds later. I’m dumbstruck as he scales the fence at the end of the alley and disappears.

  The other guy turns, putting his hand out to help me stand. “You okay, man?”

  “Think so.” I snap my head to the side and crack my neck. “What the hell just happened?”

  “That motherfucker tried to knock you out and mug you.”

  “Shit.” My heart races with alarm and shock, adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Wow.” Did this guy just save my life? Or at least from a trip to the emergency room? “Thanks…for what you did.”

  “No problem.”

  “I was just standing here—” I begin to explain.

  He smirks. “You were standing in the wrong place. Not from around here, are ya?”

  “Not really.”

  I run my hands through my hair, over the back of my head, searching for blood or gashes. I don’t feel anything, not even a bump.

  “He didn’t hit ya that hard, he heard me coming, and it threw his aim off. You weren’t even unconscious. It just stunned you for a few seconds.”

  “Good to know.” Could this night possibly get any worse? What’s next? Maybe I’ll get run over crossing the street as an encore.

  “You got a light?”

  Blinking back to reality, I turn to the guy who just beat the shit out of someone who actually could’ve made my night a whole lot worse. “Think I lost my lighter,” he says as he searches his jacket.

  I reach into my pocket and toss him my box of my wooden matches. I won’t need them since right before I got hit in the head, I smoked what will be the last cigarette of my life. After tonight, I refuse to soothe my pain with bad habits.

  “Thanks.” He strikes the match and cups his tattooed hand around his mouth to light the Camel hanging from his lips. He’s surprisingly calm, like he fights in alleys on the daily.

  I nod at him. He could easily be one of my roadies. Thirty-ish. Faded jeans and scuffed work boots. Lots of ink. Longish hair. Short beard. Tired eyes.

  “You need directions someplace? A ride? You look lost,” he says.

  I let out a chuckle. “Just having a really shitty night. I wasn’t ready to go home yet.”

  I miss Ember, and I’m worried sick about her, but I’m too fucked in the head to see her or talk yet. The last thing I want to do is blow up in front of her again.

  “I’m in the same boat. I was just headin’ to a bar my buddy owns down the street. Gonna have a drink, maybe shoot some pool to clear my fuckin’ head. Want to join me? You stand here much longer, you’re probably gonna freeze to death or get mugged again.”

  I pull my cell phone out to check the time and realize my battery is dead. Shit.

  “Ya know what?” I slide my phone into my back pocket. “Why not. I owe you a few drinks.”

  Grinning, he shoves his hand at me. “Name’s Jude Lucketti. My friends call me Lucky.”

  I shake his hand. “Asher Valentine.”

  His eyebrow shoots up, and he narrows his eyes at me. “The singer?”

  I lift a weary shoulder. “On some days.”

  “Not today,” he says, as we head down the dark street. “Today you’re just a guy going to have a drink.”

  The bar is dark and dingy. So small you’d never find it if you didn’t know it was there. The place is empty except for the bartender and two old guys who don’t shift their attention from the tiny TV mounted on the wall.

  It’s exactly the kind of place I want to hide in for a while.

  “Hey, Lucky. What’ll ya have?” The bartender looks about as old and unkept as the bar. Long, snarly beard, wire-rimmed, smudgy glasses, and an unraveling black knit hat on his head.

  “Give us two long islands!” Jude yells back as we sit at a table in the back. “Good for you?” he asks me.

  I nod and unzip my jacket. “I’m easy.”

  I’m not a drinker, but I could use something to dull the edge after the night I’m having. My mind keeps wandering back to Ember—wondering if she went home and if she’s okay. Is she thinking about me? Does she miss me? Does she understand why I felt blindsided? I ache to hear her voice, to feel her lips on the back of my head, kissing all this bad shit away.

  Wordlessly, the bartender puts our drinks in front of us and returns to his station two feet away from the dust-coated television screen.

  “That hits the spot,” Jude says after he takes a long swig.

  I nod in agreement. The liquid burns my throat and stomach. I’m exhausted and starving, but there’s no way I could sleep or eat, even if I tried.

  “So where’s home?” Jude asks.

  “Small town in New Hampshire.”

  “Really? Me too. Lived in Brookline my entire life.”

  Interesting. After seeing him fight like that, I figured he grew up in the city.

  “Small world,” I reply. “I got some friends in Brookline.”

  He tips his drink at me. “Now you got another one.”

  “Can’t have too many friends.” I lean back against the cracked leather booth. “You work here in the city?”

  “Rarely. I’m in construction. Most of my jobs are local.”

  I glance over at the old bartender skeptically. “And he’s your buddy?”

  Jude laughs. “Nah, he’s my uncle Al. I wander in here a couple times a month. Check in on him. Play some pool or darts, get a few free drinks. It reminds me I don’t want to end up like them.” He cocks his head toward the three old men. “Lonely. Drinking all day. Nothing at home. Fuck that.”

  “I hear ya.” I eye the wedding band on his hand. “You married?”

  “I guess you could say that. My life’s a mess, man. And I don’t even know how the fuck it got that way.”

  Join the club, pal.

  “That’s usually the way it happens.”

  He shakes his head. “Ever just have a chick totally haunt you? Like no matter what, you just can’t get her out of your head? Out of your veins?”

  I take a swig of my drink. “Yup. Been living that since I was fifteen years old. I wouldn’t change it, though.”

  Even after what happened tonight.

  “This girl is doing my head in. I’ve never felt like this.” He leans forward and whispers, “She’s only eighteen. Eight-fucking-teen. What the fuck? I gotta be sick, right? To feel that way?”

  Hello, flashbacks.

  “And how old are you?”

  “Way older than eighteen, obviously.”

  Closing my eyes, I let out a low laugh. “If you’re just chasing after a piece of ass, then yeah, I’d say it’s wrong. Really wrong in every way.”

  He frowns with disgust. “I’m not interested in a piece of ass. I mean yeah, she’s cute as hell, but, man, I think I’m in love with this girl. We fuckin’ click in all the right ways. I just want to take care of her, spend my life with her. Like your songs, man. You get what I’m talking about. She makes me feel like I’m worth something.”

  I swirl the ice cubes in my drink. Not all love songs are about love. Sometimes they’re about not having love at all. “Sounds like it could be love.”

  “Can a chick that young even know what love is? She’ll probably break my heart and hand it to me on a platter while she’s walking off with a younger guy someday.”

  I don’t know what this dude’s story is, but his gray eyes, the tiny wrinkles around them, and the scar across his forehead tell me he’s had a rough life.

  “Lemme tell you a little story, Jude,” I say. “About my best friend and my only daughter and how age doesn’t always matter.”

  We go through another round of drinks and a bowl of pretzels as I tell him about Tor and Kenzi. I even tell him about Ember. Suddenly I’m a faucet, pouring everything out. He’s a good listener, never interrupting. He just nods and absorbs every word. Not judging, not taking sides.

  “I’d kill for that,” he says, smearing his finger through the condensation on his glass.
“A love like you have, like your friend and your kid have. A best friend to go through life with. That’s what it’s all about. You don’t just walk away from that, right?”

  “No,” I reply, missing my wife something fierce and wishing with every cell of my being I’d stayed in that apartment with her. “You don’t. You hang on to it, fight for it. No matter what.”

  He stares at the silver ring on his finger. “I’m gonna tell her how I feel,” he says with finality. “I’m gonna stop pushing her away.”

  “What about your wife?” I ask. “You better end that before you do or say anything. You seem like a good guy. Don’t be a cheater. You’ll get yourself in a bigger mess.”

  Blowing out a sigh, he finishes off his drink and plunks the glass back on the table. “It can’t get any messier than it is. The girl? She is my wife.”

  So much for my notorious intuition.

  I didn’t see that one coming.

  I raise my hand to get Uncle Al’s attention. “Can we get two coffees?”

  We’re gonna be here for a while.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  I’m always happy to come home, but I’ve never been happier to walk up to my front door than I am this morning.

  After sitting in a bar for hours talking to my new BFF, who saved me from a bat-wielding idiot, we slept in his car until he was coherent enough to drive us home. I invited him inside to crash in the downstairs guest room, but he declined, wanting to get home to his own bed. We exchanged numbers, and I gave him an open invitation to our Friday night barbecues.

  I tried offering him money and concert tickets—anything—to show my appreciation for him taking out the mugger, but he didn’t want anything except to hang out and talk. Hopefully, he won’t turn into a babbling psychopath like Redwood.

  I’m starting to have quite the odd collection of friends.

  My house keys, along with my cell phone charger, are in my suitcase, which I hope Ember brought home with her from the Airbnb.

  If she’s home.

  If she’s not, I’m going to slip into major worry melt-down mode, which I’ve been trying to prevent myself from doing.

  I press the doorbell, feeling incredibly dysfunctional.

  Saying shitty things.

  Storming away from my wife.

  Smoking with rats in an alley.

  Getting hit with a bat during a botched mugging.

  Drinking in a seedy bar with a guy ironically named Lucky, who’s anything but.

  Sleeping in a car.

  And now getting dropped off at eight a.m., hoping my wife is home and willing to let me into our house.

  My head throbs just thinking about it all. It’s like I spent the last eight hours in some strange alternate reality.

  On the other side of the door, Teddy barks, and finally the door swings open.

  By Sarah.

  My smile and my hope falter.

  “Asher! I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I was down the hall.”

  I step inside and close the door behind me before there’s a chance of Tor and Kenzi seeing me. “Don’t apologize. I don’t have my keys.” I pet Teddy’s head. “Is Ember here? Did she get home okay?”

  “She’s been home a little over an hour. She showered and fell asleep on the couch in the sunroom. She’s fine but exhausted, and if you don’t mind my saying, you don’t look well yourself.” She scrutinizes my face. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Breakfast? Aspirin?”

  The only thing I want is my wife.

  I gaze down the hallway, wondering why it suddenly appears wider, and then realize it’s the new, lighter wall color and throw rugs.

  That’s right. Ember spent most of the last two months redecorating.

  “No… Thank you, Sarah. I just want to check on her and go shower.”

  “Asher.” She grabs my arm as I walk away. “I know this isn’t my business, and you’re welcome to say so.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “Ember had a plan, with nothing but good intentions for herself, and for you. Unfortunately, she didn’t execute it well. She’s devastated that she hurt you. I’m worried this could create a setback for her… If she feels like there’s no way for her to express herself, be herself…”

  I nod, understanding what she’s hinting at. “I’m worried too. I’m not happy with how I reacted. I was a total asshole. But I’m going to make it right.”

  “And what about you? Are you going to be all right?”

  Flashing her a reassuring smile, I tell her I’m fine. Nothing to worry about here.

  Maybe the smack on the head knocked some sense into me, because I’m not mad or upset anymore. I temporarily lost sight of what was important, but my vision is ultra-clear now.

  I find Ember in the sunroom, napping with a soft blanket over her. My heart cinches at the sight of her hand clasped around her cell phone. I don’t wake her, but I take a few minutes to quietly study her.

  In the natural light, without makeup on, the changes from the surgery don’t look as drastic as they did last night. Tor had it right—she still looks like herself, but with Kenzi’s nose. Her lips are slightly fuller, her cheeks a little less gaunt. She actually looks like how I’d picture another daughter or sister of hers to look, but with dark hair.

  She’s beautiful.

  Careful not to wake her, I lean down and touch my lips softly to her forehead before I go upstairs to shower and scrub last night’s debauchery off me. The last thing I want is for her to see me looking disheveled and unhinged, reeking of smoke and alcohol.

  Moving through the house, I smile at all the little changes she made, subtly transforming the house with new wall and trim paint, artwork, throw rugs, a few furniture pieces, lamps, and light fixtures. The kicker is the master bedroom. It stops me in my tracks when I enter the doorway. The new furniture is kick-ass—like something out of a gothic movie. I walk around the room slowly, gliding my hands over the furniture, the new bedspread, and curtains. Surprisingly, I don’t feel a sense of loss over the memories that were attached to the old items. Those memories can live on in my heart.

  They don’t need to be front and center anymore.

  Ember is staking her claim, making this life hers, and not only do I understand it, I like it. It’s what we both need.

  After I take one of the longest, hottest showers of my life, I wrap one of the new towels around my waist and pad into the bedroom. I’m startled to see her standing there.

  “Em…” Our eyes meet and lock. My mouth suddenly goes dry.

  She works her teeth into her lower lip. “Hi.” Her voice is soft, with a questioning lilt. She doesn’t move from where she’s standing near the bed.

  “Hi.” I swallow hard.

  The dark hair has turned her eyes to an even deeper, captivating green.

  “I like the towels.” My brain is derailed by the way her gaze slowly travels down to my lower half. “And the new furniture is awesome.”

  Her gaze lifts back to mine as I ramble nervously.

  “I love all the changes you made,” I say. “Everything’s perfect.”

  Incredibly, undoubtedly, perfect.

  Tears glisten in her eyes. “I was hoping you’d like everything. If you don’t…we can exchange it. I can change it again. Get something you like better.”

  Her hesitant tone and the questioning in her eyes aren’t about furniture and decor. It’s about the changes to her.

  “I love it all.” I slowly close the space between us. “I wouldn’t change anything.” I reach out and caress her cheek, relieved it feels the same. Her skin is still soft and smooth, fitting perfectly against my palm like it always has. “There’s nothing I’d ever like better.”

  “Ash…” Her eyelids flutter closed, and she leans into my hand, melting my heart. “I’m so sorry.”

  I rub my thumb across her lips, reveling in their softness. “Please don’t say that. I’m sorry. Last night—”

  She touches my hand, gently removes it from her face, but holds o
n to it. “We don’t have to talk about it.” Her tongue skims across her lip. “I really don’t want to.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, but I do.”

  Her breath pauses for a beat as she peeks at me from behind long, dark lashes, and her jaw tenses, like she’s preparing for me to continue my tirade from last night.

  Silently cursing myself, I push my hair out of my eyes.

  “I said some horrible things last night, Em. I’d take them back if I could.”

  She holds my gaze, but I catch the quiver of her chin. “It was wrong for me to do that to you. In hindsight, I realize it wasn’t exactly a good surprise for you. You had every right to be upset and mad.”

  “No,” I rebut. “I didn’t. Not like that. Seeing you—different—was unexpected, but it doesn’t excuse the things I said or the way I acted. I don’t usually blow up. Or storm out.”

  “I know,” she says quietly.

  “I think I just snapped. Everything kinda hit me at once. I knew all along something was going on. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Shame drops her shoulders. “I should have just been honest with you.”

  “I understand why you didn’t tell me and why you wanted to change. Why you needed to.” I touch her hair, sifting it through my fingers. The shine and silkiness of it is almost impossible not to touch. Blinking, I gently brush it behind her shoulder. “I do understand.”

  She nods, still staring at me with those huge eyes of hers, and I’m getting lost in them, like I always do. I’m not sure why I’m talking when all I really want to do is push her against the wall and kiss her.

  I clear my throat. “After I left the apartment, I went and bought a pack of cigarettes and chain-smoked in an alley. I talked to Tor and watched a rat crawl around a dumpster. I don’t know what the fuck I was doing, Em. I was pissed and upset. I felt betrayed. I was mad at you and even madder at myself. I was just so fucking done with feeling confused.”

  I take a breath and bring my voice down a notch. “I saw you in the club. I didn’t know it was you, but I felt something. It rattled me, ‘cuz you’re the only woman on the planet I’ve ever felt drawn to. I felt scared and guilty. Intrigued. I wanted it to be you. I only ever, always, want it to be you. Turns out it was. You’re it for me, baby. No matter what, my heart, my body, and my soul always gravitate back to you.”