by Carian Cole
I tap Tor’s number.
“Dude, I’ve been calling you,” he says when he picks up. “Where you at?”
“I’m sitting in an alley smoking a pack of cigarettes.”
He sighs. “We’ll turn around and come get you.”
Just what I need—a busload of people witnessing my meltdown. “No. Don’t do that.”
“You okay?”
I laugh into the phone. I don’t even know what okay means anymore.
“Not really,” I admit. “My wife rearranged her face. And hid it from me for weeks. My brain is totally fucked. I don’t even know what to say, man. My life’s turned into a Twilight Zone episode.”
“Ember called Kenzi after you left, and then Kenzi called me. She’s really upset.”
“Who’s upset?”
“Both of them, but mostly Ember. Kenzi said she was hysterical on the phone.”
My heart clenches, despite the anger still simmering in me. I could never bear to see Ember cry—and now I’ve become the ultimate cause of it.
“She had to know this was gonna go down like this, Tor. She was at the club, and I didn’t even recognize her. Then I meet her for what I thought was a romantic night after not seeing her for two months, and she shows up looking like a totally different person. Do you know what kind of mindfuck this is?”
“I do. I get it. But she’s been mind-fucked since she woke up. You don’t recognize her? How do you think she felt with all of us? She’s got you calling her your wife, she’s got Kenzi calling her Mom. She didn’t even recognize herself in a mirror. I don’t blame her for wanting to level the field.”
My jaw twitches. “What the hell? Whose side are you on?”
“I’m not on any side. I love you both, and I can see both sides of this. You two are in a totally jacked-up position. I’m surprised things didn’t blow up long before this.”
“She changed her face, Tor. Do you understand that? That was the last part of Ember I had.” I choke on the lump in my throat. “She shouldn’t have done that. Now she’s gone. I just keep losing her over and over and over again. I can’t take it anymore.” A sob rushes out of me, and I don’t even try to hold it back.
“Ash.” He softens his voice. “C’mon, man. You haven’t lost her. She’s alive. You’ve been happy. You talk about her all the time. Maybe she’s not the same, but sometimes change is good, right?”
I light up my sixth cigarette. But who’s counting? “I honestly don’t even know anymore. My head is so messed up.”
“I can see that.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You either take the second chance you were given and move forward, or you end it. If it were me? I wouldn’t give a shit what Kenzi looked like as long as I could be with her. I always thought you were the same way. Was I wrong?”
“No. You know I’m not like that. I don’t care about her looks. This goes way beyond that.”
“Do you still love her?”
“Fuck yeah, I do. That’s never changed.”
“Then what the hell’s your problem? Your wife just surprised you with a smaller nose, a bangin’ body, and a bunch of tattoos. Big fucking deal. People do this shit every day. There’s worse things in life, ya know.”
I can feel myself turning green with jealousy over the body comment, and I know he’s purposely pushing my buttons.
It’s working.
I clear my throat. “You saw her?”
“She sent Kenzi a picture, and then she sent it to me. And, yeah, I saw her in the back of the club. I didn’t know it was her until I pieced it together. I think she looks great—like if she had a younger sister with dark hair. She had her nose done to look like Kenzi’s, so they’d look related. That’s gotta mean something, right?”
I don’t remember seeing that at all. Everything was a blur. The hair. The face. The tattoos. The body. Right now, I’m so angry and upset, I can’t even bring a vision of the new her up in my mind.
Scrubbing my hand across my face, I wonder if the shock made me overreact, and the changes she made really aren’t that drastic.
Tor keeps talking. “She wants her own identity, Ash. According to what Kenzi said, she wants to feel loved and wanted. You gotta remember, she’s falling in love with you now. She wants to feel loved now. To her, there is no before. I think that’s where you guys are bumping heads. You’re stuck on a past that doesn’t exist in her mind, and she’s tired of competing with it. And you’re stuck on her being who she used to be. It’s not gonna work like that.”
Groaning, I suck smoke out of the cigarette like it’s a lifeline. “I’m not stuck.”
“Wanna bet?”
Hard to admit, but a part of me knows he’s right. I just don’t know how to get unstuck.
“I guess I’m a little stuck,” I finally say, flicking ashes to the damp asphalt. “You just have no idea what this is like. Any of it.”
“You’re right. But I’m trying to help.”
“I know.”
“I’ll send you a bill next week.”
I laugh. “I’m sure you will.”
“What’re you gonna do? You coming home?”
A rat squeaks and scurries down the alley toward a dumpster, reminding me I don’t belong here.
“Not sure yet. I just want to think for a few minutes. I need time to calm down.”
“Alright. Call me if you need anything, and let us know if you plan to stay there so Kenzi doesn’t worry. And stop smoking.”
“You got it. Thanks, Tor.”
I end the call, and more text messages from Ember light up my screen.
I scroll past them and send a text to Kenzi:
Me: Just talked to Tor. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.
Kenzi: I’m worried about both of you. Please talk to her. I know you’re mad. I was shocked and upset too when she sent me pix. But after talking to her, I understand. I think you will too. I love you, Daddy.
Me: Love you too. I’ll talk to her.
A streetlight flickers above me. A car horn blares in the distance. The wind is picking up, sending chills up my spine. I want to get out of this dark, dirty alley, but I don’t have the mental and physical energy to move.
Because moving from this spot means making a decision about where to go.
Home…or to Ember. And I have never, ever, not wanted to go to Ember.
As I blow a perfect smoke circle and watch it float away, I realize now is no different. Despite the anger and betrayal bubbling in me like lava, I still want nothing more than to be with her.
I flick my thumb over Ember’s name in my message app and read through her messages. Each message is like a brutal punch in my gut. All of them are apologies. Asking me to forgive her and come back.
Wincing, I squeeze my eyes shut, mad at myself for diminishing the self-confidence she obviously worked so hard for. The way she strutted down the hall earlier, rocking that lingerie, holding my gaze hostage, was incredible to see. She used to love surprising me with new lingerie. She’d creep down to the studio late at night wearing it to lure me away from work. Most times we never even made it back to the bedroom.
Now that I’ve calmed down, there’s no way I can ignore how she made me feel beneath all the shock and confusion.
Weak. Hungry. Breathless. Enchanted.
Those feelings were fleeting—quickly buried under everything else—but I can’t deny they were there. Just like they used to be.
I play the most recent voice messages, and her soft voice fills my ear:
“Asher… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done this without you. I just wanted to make my own decisions. Be confident and strong. I didn’t want to see a stranger in the mirror anymore. I don’t know what else to say other than I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I thought this would help us start over. I feel so stupid now. That’s all. I’m sorry.”
A text comes in just as the voice message ends.
Ember: I hope you’re okay. I’m worr
ied about how you left. I wish you’d come back and talk to me. I don’t know what to do. If you’re still in the city, please come back and stay the night. You don’t even have to talk to me. I don’t want to be here without you. I’ve been dying for your kiss too. :-(
Fuck.
My eyes burn with hot tears.
We connected in the club, even though I didn’t know it was her. It was there, and it was undeniable. She was there, singing the lyrics with me to a song I wrote about us. She was even wearing my leather jacket—the one I gave her way back in high school. The teenage symbol of commitment. The thing that said, she’s my girl. She hardly ever took it off. How the hell didn’t I know that the pull I felt to the intriguing, dark-haired girl could never be with anyone but Ember?
I tap one last cigarette out of the pack and toss the rest in a dumpster on my way back to the street.
Gram was right.
Ember was right there, right in front of me, and I wouldn’t let myself see it was her, even though every part of me was being pulled to her.
I should’ve known—she’s the only woman I’ve ever felt any kind of spark with.
Years of not being able to communicate, forgotten memories, and altered appearances can’t change that our hearts always, always, find a way to beat together.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Asher didn’t come back.
It gets later and later, the room grows quieter and quieter, and my heart feels emptier and emptier.
I force myself to stay awake until the sun comes up—pacing around the small apartment and staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. I cry until my throat is raw and my eyes swell. Several times, I peek out into the hallway, hoping he’s out there, still angry, but wanting to be close.
He isn’t there.
I cling to my cell phone, checking it every few seconds for a message or incoming call. My last four text messages to him remain unread, and now his phone is going directly to voice mail. Twice, I called our house land line, but that wasn’t picked up, either.
He hasn’t called or texted me since he walked out the door almost seven hours ago.
What have I done?
The pit of my stomach burns from worry and hunger. My eyes are gritty from crying and not sleeping. My head is throbbing to the point that I feel dizzy.
I’ve fallen into a deep panic over him completely shutting me out. I never could have imagined this would happen. I thought we could talk about anything—overcome anything—no matter what. We don’t fight or leave each other. I read about it in the journals. Asher’s told me that himself. We’ve had some bumps over the past few months, but we never shut each other out. Asher always wants more time together, more talking. Never less. And never nothing.
This sudden total absence of communication is terrifying.
It feels like he’s given up and thrown in the towel.
Maybe he didn’t just leave this apartment. Maybe, he left me.
Honestly, I’m not sure I can even blame him. Everyone has their breaking point where they just cannot take anymore, and they have to shut down.
I think I pushed Asher too far.
I stare at the vase still on the floor in the hallway, in broken pieces just like us. My breath hitches as those moments from last night play over in my mind. I’ve never seen his eyes so dark or heard his voice so full of pain.
He said I took his wife away and destroyed him.
I know it hurt him to say those words just as much as it hurt me to hear them. Asher doesn’t say things impulsively out of anger.
Somehow, I’ve made a terrible mess. I convinced myself I was doing something that would be good for me. That it was important I make decisions on my own and claim Ember as my own new identity. I assumed Asher would accept my behavior, and the changes I made, because he’s so caring and supportive. But I didn’t foresee how much it would shock and devastate him to “lose” his wife’s facial features. I completely miscalculated the depth of how fragile his own psychological state is and how it’s so connected to all things Ember.
Like me, he’s still recovering, and I slammed him with too much, too soon.
As his wife, and the woman who loves him, I should’ve been more considerate of how my decisions would affect him.
Ember—the first, real Ember—never would’ve done this to him. She would have seen all the signs I’ve missed. She would know he’s still traumatized over everything that’s happened over the past eight years. She wouldn’t have gone behind his back and deceived him with shitty lies like having a cold and not knowing how to work the laptop camera. She would know exactly what to do, and what to say, to make him feel happy, loved, and secure.
I’m a defective replacement.
That’s why he left…and why he hasn’t come back.
My fingers tremble as I pick up my phone and refresh the message app, praying for it to chirp with a reply or at least show that he’s read my last message. I just need one tiny sign that he’s all right.
At this point, I’d settle for the three little dots on the screen, indicating he’s typing. I’d accept it if the dots disappeared and no message came. I deserve it. But at least I’d know he’s there.
There’s nothing.
I’m trapped in this waiting game, shaking then sobbing, envisioning every worse-case scenario, wishing something would happen to make it stop so I can calm down and catch my breath. Since I came home from the hospital, Asher’s wrapped me in a bubble of safety and comfort. This is the first time I’ve been upset or alone, unable to talk to him.
Oh, no.
My heart sinks even further when I realize this is how Asher must have felt when I avoided him for days as I was recovering from my plastic surgery.
This is how Asher felt for almost eight years when I was in a coma.
Lonely. Trapped. Heartsick. Scared. Frustrated. Helpless. Agonizing over every second that ticks by with no answers.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I can’t stop the tears that keep brimming in my eyes. I feel as if I’m drowning in a sea of teardrops and regret.
I never, ever, wanted my sweet husband to feel that kind of hell again. But I practically pushed him right back into the fire.
This can’t be the end of us, can it?
Swallowing my pride, I call Sarah’s cell phone.
“How’s Teddy doing?” I ask, trying to sound calm and casual after we say hello.
“He’s doing great. Missing you, of course.”
“I’ll be home soon,” I reply. “Would you mind going to find Asher for me? He’s probably down in his studio and can’t hear the phone.”
“He’s not here. He didn’t come home last night.” She pauses. “I thought he was in the city with you.”
My chest constricts. My fingers tighten around the phone.
“He was…” I swallow back the brewing tears. “But things didn’t go well after he saw me. My face. You were right, Sarah. I should’ve told him.”
“Oh, Ember, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“No…I mean yes, physically, I’m fine. I just feel terrible about everything. He was so upset. And furious. He couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I really messed up.” I suck in a worried breath. “I haven’t heard from him since he left. I’ve called and sent texts. I don’t know where he is or what to do.”
“Have you talked to Kenzi or Tor?”
“They called me last night to check on me, and I told them I was staying here to wait for him. Tor said he talked to Asher for a while. I haven’t told them he hasn’t come back, though. I don’t want them to worry.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” she assures. “Men need time to be alone and blow off steam. Even a man like Asher. Try not to worry. Everything will be okay.”
“I hope you’re right. I’ll be home soon.”
“He’ll probably be home by the time you get here. If I hear him come in, I’ll send you a text.”
“Thanks, Sarah.”
As soon as I end the call,
I burst into more tears, burying my face in the starchy pillow and hugging his leather jacket. I can still smell his special scent on it, even after all these years.
I miss him. I’d do anything to feel his arms around me. I want to snuggle into his chest and feel butterflies. I want to go home and see Teddy and thank Asher for bringing Teddy’s memory alive for me. I want the happy, hopeful feelings back for both of us.
Last night, I thought I was a sexy, confident woman who was in control of her life and could make serious decisions all on her own, and everything would be okay. How could I have been so wrong?
It turns out I’m not as in charge of my new life as I thought I was.
I’m still just a woman who fell off a cliff and lost everything she loved.
Chapter Fifty
Whack!
Someone turned the lights out.
On the entire world.
Stumbling to the ground, I grab the back of my skull, stars flashing behind my eyes in a dizzying twirling motion.
The fuck?
Where did up go?
Huge rats scuffle around me, gnawing on each other, grunting and growling.
Something metal thunks and rolls.
Shaking my head, I force my eyes open to a bright light in a black ceiling.
Confused, I blink rapidly, and my vision gradually refocuses.
I’m flat out on the cold ground, staring up at a streetlight.
Wincing, I slowly sit up and turn to the ruckus of the rats farther down the dark alley.
Only it’s not rats. It’s two guys in a fight, wrestling in a tangle of arms legs and obscenities, until one is standing over the other, holding a long object, with his boot planted on the guy’s face.
What the—
“Get the fuck outta here, asshole,” the guy standing says. “Or I’m gonna kill you with your own bat.”
The guy slowly rises and runs toward the other end of the alley, and I watch as the other guy hurls the bat at him from at least twenty feet away. It flies and spins through the air, heading straight for the running man like a torpedo until it nails him in the back of the head.
