Asher (Ashes & Embers Book 6)

by Carian Cole

  I stretch my legs out in front of me. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “They say time apart is good sometimes.”

  I’ve already had way too much time apart, but I guess it doesn’t count if the other person didn’t realize it was happening because they were stuck in a friggin’ coma.

  “I used to think that, but I don’t know what the fuck to believe anymore.”

  “Life’s a fuckin’ roller coaster, man. There ain’t no way to get off unless the ride stops, right?” He stands and drops his cigarette, smashing it with his boot. “As long as the wheel’s moving, things can change. If it stops? I think that’s the end.” He slaps my shoulder and walks back toward the bus.

  Back in New Hampshire, Ember is probably all settled in her new suite, watching television or reading before she goes to sleep. Today is the first day we haven’t seen or talked to each other, and she’s been on my mind nonstop.

  I wonder if she’s thought about me or missed me at all.

  Before I left for the tour, I surprised her with a new cell phone, and she acted more excited about it than I’ve seen her act over anything. Oddly enough, she remembers what a cell phone is but doesn’t remember ever having one herself. The things she does and doesn’t remember are puzzling. She can read and type, but she can’t tell time. She remembers what things are, like trees and coffee, but can’t remember her own thoughts about those things—like if she likes coffee or ever drank it.

  All day I fought the urge to call or text her so I wouldn’t come off as pushy. I was hoping she’d contact me first, but here it is almost ten p.m., and other than a text from Kenzi earlier, my phone’s been dead silent.

  Is this what dating is like? How the hell do people deal with this?

  Fuck it.

  I type out a quick text:

  Me: Just wanted to say hi. I’m in New York. Hope you had a good day.

  Christ. I sound like a boring basic dick.

  Ember: Hi

  I wait for her to send more.

  And wait.

  Sighing, I stare up at the sliver of moon.

  Still nothing.

  Me: I missed you today.

  Now I sound boring and desperate. Great.

  Ember: I missed you too. I walked across the room today. On my own feet. With the walker.

  I smile at the small screen, savoring her words. She misses me. She walked.

  Me: That’s awesome! I wish I could’ve seen it.

  Ember: No, it was awful. It was hard, but I did it.

  Me: I’m really proud of you.

  Ember: Thank you. Did you sing already tonight?

  Me: No, we go on tomorrow.

  Ember: Then what?

  Me: Then we go to Philly and do it again.

  Ember: Don’t you get bored? Singing the same songs over?

  Her question hits me like a punch in the gut.

  I was born with music in my veins, like my dad. It’s all I know, all I’ve ever done, all I’ll ever do. Giving life to emotions through lyrics and melody is pure magic. Ember used to feel the same—music lived in her soul.

  I shudder. People like us don’t get bored with our craft. Being on stage singing and performing is like breathing. We don’t even think about it—we just know we have to do it to survive.

  It breaks my heart that Ember’s soul has lost its song.

  Me: No. Every time I perform a song it feels different.

  Ember: Oh. Kenzi and your mom are visiting me tomorrow.

  Ember’s first visit with Kenzi was a disaster. Ember had a meltdown and blacked out. Kenzi cried for two days—convinced her mother couldn’t stand the sight or thought of her. Tor went into overdrive comforting her, telling her maybe seeing Kenzi caused Ember’s memories to try to fight through the fog, and Ember couldn’t handle it all at that moment.

  I hope he’s right.

  Since then, Kenzi and a few of my family members have stopped by the hospital for short visits, and things have gone much better.

  Me: That’s sweet of them.

  Ember: Aria said she’s bringing me more of her books.

  Me: :-) You don’t have to read them just because my mom wrote them. Not everyone likes romance. It’s Ok. She won’t be offended at all.

  Ember: I like all the love and the happy endings. It helps me forget everything and fall asleep.

  She has amnesia, and yet she wants to forget what little she’s learned about herself. If that isn’t a huge fucking red flag, then I don’t know what is.

  Me: We can have love and a happy ending too.

  Ember: I don’t know. Do you think so?

  Me: I do. Trust me, remember? :-)

  Ember: I do. But some things just feel impossible.

  Me: Nothing’s impossible if we believe in it and fight for it.

  She doesn’t reply to that.

  Me: I’m gonna head to bed. You can call me or text me anytime, Ok?

  Ember: Ok. Bye.

  Before I go inside, I scroll through old saved images on my phone until I find what I’m looking for—saved screenshots of one of my last text conversations with Ember before the accident:

  Ember: You’re probably asleep but I just wanted to tell you I miss you sooo much and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

  Me: I’m not asleep, silly. I’m sitting in this hotel room thinking about you and what I’m going to do to you when I see you. ;-)

  Ember: Ooh. I can’t wait. xo

  Me: I miss the hell out of you.

  Ember: I miss you too. I’ve been staring at the new picture you sent me all day. You’re so damn beautiful, Ash.

  Me: Stop it. The only beautiful part of me is you. xo

  Ember: So not true. I love you.

  Me: I love you twice. :-)

  Ember: Goodnight, hon. Get some sleep. Can’t wait to hug you.

  Me: Night, babydoll. Don’t forget your lavender. Sweet dreams.

  Letting go of the past is impossible. Ember was everything to me in every way, and I’m starting to hate myself for still missing her so much even though she’s awake.

  I pull up an old photo of her, a selfie she sent me one night when we were both traveling. She’s smiling and blowing me a kiss. Her eyes are sparkling like diamond dust.

  I stroke my finger across the photo. “Where are you, Ember?” I whisper.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “It’s nice to see you breathing.”

  A strange man has come to see me, and I consented to his visit without hesitation because I’m bored and wanted to see who he was.

  But of course, now that he’s in my room, I have no idea who he is or what he wants, and I feel awkward.

  He could possibly be one of Asher’s friends or family. The gothic cross tattooed on his temple has rock star vibes. Asher always tells me when someone is coming to visit, though, and he usually accompanies them in case I have a bad reaction—as I call it. Asher’s still on tour, but I think he would’ve mentioned someone wanting to come see me.

  I suppose he could be a fan or a journalist who remembers me from before and has come to talk to me after somehow finding out I’m awake.

  Whoever he is, he’s watching me from the chair in my tiny living room with an amused grin as I scrutinize him. Tufts of wavy, dark-brown hair peek out from under his black knit hat. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt, black dress pants, black leather shoes. His rust-colored leather jacket with fleece cuffs and collar looks soft as butter and smells expensive. I’m surprised it’s not also black.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” I say. “I have memory loss.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “Oh.” This is a first. “Who are you, then?”

  Although I willingly let him into my small, private suite, a sliver of fear creeps up my spine. I probably shouldn’t have let him in here alone without knowing who he is, even if he seems too good-looking and well-dressed to be harmful.

  “Redwood.”

  “That’s your na
me?”

  He nods.

  “Is that your first or last name?”

  “It’s just my name.”

  “Interesting. Why did you want to see me?”

  “I wanted to see what you looked like without blood pouring out of your skull.” His crystal-blue gaze slowly travels down to my toes, then back to lock onto my eyes. He slowly tilts his head. “I’m not disappointed.”

  Goose bumps raise up on my arms, and not the nice kind I get when Asher smiles at me or touches my cheek. “I’m sorry, I think you’re in the wrong room. I think you should leave and go be weird someplace else.”

  The smirk on his face is an unsettling mix of eerie and handsome. “I’m definitely in the right room.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I should call a nurse or security.”

  “Go ahead. They know me well here.” He leans his head back against the chair. “Don’t look so scared, Ember. I’m not going to hurt you after I saved you.”

  He must be a patient here like me. Someone whose head isn’t working right. I smile politely and tone down my defenses. It’s not his fault if he’s confused and lost and saying crazy things. I know how that feels, and it’s not nice when people aren’t understanding about it.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but you should go.”

  “Did you hear what I said? I saved your life. When you cracked your egg open.”

  Sucking in a breath, I instinctively reach up to rub the back of my head. There’s no crack, no brain seeping out.

  “Were you one of my doctors?”

  He scoffs. “Hardly. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

  What place? What time?

  The edges of my vision blur, bringing the usual throb to the front of my head.

  I squint at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “I brought you back to life—with my own breath—after your husband pulled you out of the river. He was freaking the fuck out while you were slipping to the dark side. Someone had to do something. That someone was me.”

  My mouth falls open. “No one’s told me any of that.”

  “Not surprised.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked and confused. “Well, thank you for saving me, Mister Redwood. I don’t have the words to give enough gratitude.”

  “I didn’t come for thanks.”

  I blink at him.

  “You were Sleeping Beauty for a loooooonnnnng time. Tell me how you are. How’s my breath doing in those lungs?”

  That’s a hard question to answer. I never know how I’m doing. How do I describe the feelings of utter loneliness? The confusion? The feeling I don’t belong here? The fear of falling asleep?

  I settle for the easy answer. “Better. Physically, at least. I still can’t remember anything, though.”

  “I heard.” He taps his finger against his head. “The brain’s a funny thing. Has a mind of its own.” The smirk creeps across his lips again, and he stands, pulling a card from the inside pocket of his jacket.

  “Here’s my info. Call me if you ever need anything.”

  Taking it from him, I glance at the matte black card that has nothing but a big black R embossed on it with a tiny phone number. “Like what?”

  “I’ve been where you are. As nice as people try to be? They’re never going to understand how you feel. What you need. I do. I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be needing anything.”

  “You say that now…” He gives his hat a little tug farther down his forehead. “But once you leave here? That’s a whole ‘nother story.”

  He exits as abruptly as he came, leaving me staring at the door, wondering if anything he said was true.

  After a few minutes pass, I make a note in my notebook of things to remember to not let any future uninvited men into my room if I’m alone.

  Then I tuck his card in the back flap of the notebook.

  Just in case.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The vibrating of my phone wakes me, and I glance at the small clock in my bunk as I reach to answer it. My breath catches when I see Ember’s name and picture flashing on my screen.

  I swipe to answer. “Ember?”

  There’s a long pause, and I pull the phone away from my ear to check if I lost the call. “You there, Em?”

  “I’m sorry…it’s late,” she whispers.

  “Don’t apologize. You can call me anytime. Are you okay?”

  “Yes…I couldn’t sleep…and I think I maybe remember something…but I’m not sure.”

  I’m instantly awake, excitement coursing through me like a live wire. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  According to the doctors, we’re not supposed to force her to try to remember things, and if she does, we should act casual and not elaborate on the details unless she asks us to.

  “Yes,” she answers. “But it could’ve been just a dream I was thinking about. It’s hard for me to tell the difference between a dream I had and what might be a real memory.”

  “You can describe it to me,” I offer. “Maybe I can help.”

  I’m going crazy wondering what she might’ve remembered and if it means her memories are coming back. Fuck the rest of the tour—I’ll jump off this bus right now and take the first flight back to New Hampshire to be with her.

  “Music…” she says. “I remember faint guitar playing while I was with the butterflies…and I could hear singing too. And—and it made me feel better, I think. I felt safe.”

  She has no idea how she’s making my heart pound and how hard it is for me to keep my voice calm. “That sounds really nice.” I jump out of my bunk to hunt down a guitar in the lounge area. “Do you remember the words to the song at all?”

  “A little…I can’t sing it, though.”

  She can. Ember has an amazing voice. She can sing anything effortlessly. “That’s okay. You can just tell me some of the words if you want.”

  “Okay. I’ll try.” She pauses, takes a nervous breath, and recites the words in a soft, wavery voice. “Up…up in the sky…that’s where we’ll fly…me and you…you and I…”

  My hands shake as I balance the guitar on my leg and softly sing along with her as I strum the melody that’s so simple but as much a part of me as my fingerprint. “Way past the trees…up to the clouds…that’s where we’ll be…me and you…just you and me…”

  Emotion crackles through my voice, but I continue to sing with her. “We’ll follow rainbows and butterflies across blue skies, and our love won’t ever die, I promise that’s true. Because I love you, and you love me, and you’re the reason why…I said I do.”

  “Asher, that’s it! You know the words. And your voice…it’s the voice I heard.”

  The happy excitement in her voice wraps around my heart, squeezing my breath away. I’d do anything to see the smile on her face and have this moment with her in person.

  “I wrote you that song when I was eighteen, and I played it for you over the phone the morning of our wedding. It was just a silly little song to make you laugh, but you loved it. Whenever we were apart, you always asked me to play it for you while we were on the phone before you went to sleep.”

  “I don’t remember those parts. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I played it for you while you were in the coma. Almost every day, I’d sit next to your bed and play songs for you. I always played this one last.”

  “Do you think I remember hearing you playing while I was in the coma?”

  “It’s possible.” I put the guitar to the side and grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator. My hand is still shaking as I pop the top off and gulp half the bottle.

  She remembered something—something special. More special than she even realizes.

  It might not be a memory from before the accident, but it’s still a real memory.

  “Sometimes I wake up, and I miss the music. I try to hear it in my head, but it’s not the same. It so
unds too far away…and then I get sad.”

  “Baby, I’ll play and sing for you every night. I’ll even record it for you so you can hear it whenever you want.”

  “I think I’d like that.”

  I squeeze past Razz, the drummer, in the narrow hall and jump back into my bunk. “Em…I’m glad you called me.”

  I’ve been on the road for almost a month, and this is the first time she’s ever reached out to talk to me on her own.

  “I was afraid to at first. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I always want to hear from you. No matter what. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. Call me, text me, send me a messenger pigeon—I don’t care how you do it—I want it.”

  She laughs. “Okay, if you’re sure. I usually have nothing to talk about.”

  “You can just say hi, tell me about your day, tell me about the book you’re reading. As long as you’re talking to me, I’m happy. For years I listened to old voice messages you left me, just so I could hear you.”

  I don’t tell her that I still do.

  “I’m sorry, Asher. I forget sometimes that there’s more to…this for you.”

  Annnnd there’s the wrecking ball.

  Closing my eyes, I run my fingers across my forehead, at a loss for what the hell I’m supposed to say or feel in reply to that.

  “It’s okay,” I finally say.

  An awkward silence blooms between us, and I wait for her to blurt out a quick goodbye like she usually does.

  “It’s not.” Her voice is soft and sad. “It’s not okay, and I know that. I can tell when you’re hurt, and it makes me feel bad. That’s why I avoid you.”

  “Ember…” Emotion wells up into a ball in my chest. She rarely talks about how she feels, and never about me. “I don’t want you to feel bad. None of this is your fault. Not one bit of it.”

  “It feels like it, though. I keep hurting you because I’m not Ember anymore. I don’t do or say the right things. I don’t have the right feelings.”