Ashes & Embers Series Collection (Books 1 to 4)

by Carian Cole

  I nod slowly, too stupefied to speak.

  “And I don’t want you beating yourself up that you just cheated on Michael. I needed to show you what it could be like because you really have no fucking idea.” Once more, he kisses me, soft and deep. A lover’s kiss, filled with a silent desperation and urgency. My entire body is trembling from the impact of it. He lifts one of my hands to his lips and kisses it softly before letting it go.

  For once, I have no idea what to say.

  He hands me my coffee again. “Looks like you need this.” I take it from him and sip it absently. I can’t shake the feeling of his kisses. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to just lie here all day and kiss him, to pull his clothes off and touch him everywhere. I know he would be an amazing lover. He knows exactly how to kiss, where to kiss, and the places to touch. Michael lacks all of that. That’s just sex, though. That’s not love and commitment. I do not want to be one of his toys, no matter how good he can make me feel. As much as I don’t want to, and as wrong as I know it is, I know I’m falling hard for him. But I also know I will just end up hurt, and even worse, utterly alone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SOMETIMES IT’S EASY TO SLIP INTO denial about what’s going on in life. It’s safer and easier to exist within the confines of what is comfortable than to venture out and allow yourself to experience new things that might shake the foundation that has become your safety net.

  I think most people settle for what’s safe at least once at some point in their lives, but a person who suffers from anxiety or depression will almost always run away from goals, dreams, and new life adventures to avoid the possibility of feeling anything new and somewhat scary. It’s better to live with the known, than face the unknown. Or at least that’s what I’ve told myself for most of my life. That mantra kept me steady, unchanged, consistent, comforted.

  I have lived vicariously through my best friend Amy since I was five years old. She is a risk-taker, the thrill-seeker. My window to the world I am afraid of experiencing. She has been my rock since the first day of kindergarten, when two other little girls were making fun of me for crying after my mother kissed me goodbye and left me at the door to the school. I was afraid she would never come back and I would be abandoned forever. And while it didn’t happen on that day, eventually, it did happen. Amy took my hand, told those two little girls off, and walked me into the school, never leaving my side.

  “Ev, you need to listen to me.” I am listening to her. I just don’t want to hear what she’s saying. We’re at a small restaurant in town, having lunch to celebrate my feeling better and not being fired during my first week back at work.

  “Amy, you don’t understand . . .”

  She taps her manicured finger on her wine glass and lifts her ice blue eyes to meet mine. “I do, honey, and you know I do. I’ve been through this many times. I’ve dated a lot of men. You haven’t. You’re scared. But this guy really seems to like you. These texts he sends you? I wish men would text me nice things like that, just to ask me how my day is and to say goodnight. Instead, I get this bullshit asking me to bring them cigarettes and telling me to wear a black thong.”

  “Well, you do have a fabulous ass,” I tease.

  “I know, but I would still like to have a man treat me like a lady once in a while. You’re getting texts like this from a rock star, for God’s sake. I’m getting wet just thinking about it!”

  “Amy!”

  She flings her platinum hair back off her shoulder and sips her wine. “What? The guy is sex on a stick, Evelyn, and he’s got it bad for you. If I were you, I would not hesitate. Go directly to his bed. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”

  “There’s more to life than sex.”

  She raises her eyebrows at me. “Is there?”

  “I want more than that, Amy. You know that.”

  “Ev! He’s giving you more than that! He’s been sending you cute little text messages with smiley faces for two weeks! Who the hell does that? He took care of you while you were sick with the flu and looked like ass! He’s making a big effort here, and trust me—that is rare, honey.”

  “Yeah, but why is he doing it? Don’t you think it’s an act?”

  I push my salad around on my plate, my appetite still not back to what it was a month ago. I’m not sure if it’s from being sick or just my nerves being shot to hell.

  “I don’t think he would go through this much effort just to put on an act to get down your pants. What would be the point? He can pretty much get any girl he wants. The dude dates models, actresses, and porn stars. If he didn’t really like you, he wouldn’t be wasting all this time, now would he? Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

  Ugh. Models, actresses, and porn stars. Like I needed to be reminded of all of that.

  “Evelyn, let’s get serious for a moment.” She pushes her plate away from her and leans her elbow on the table. “You know I love you like a sister. I love Michael, too. But you guys seem to have outgrown each other. He doesn’t make you laugh or take you out. He’s never home anymore. He’s completely thrown himself into work and playing golf. And that’s okay. He has every right to follow his goals. But what about your goals and dreams? You want to get married and have a baby. You want someone who makes you laugh. You want someone who will snuggle on the couch with you and watch funny movies. You need someone who will take care of you and be patient with you, but also be able to get you out of your own head. And, after years of boring, unfulfilling sex, I think a part of you is waking up and wanting a little more. Some adult romance. Some wild sex.”

  “Amy!” I look around at the tables near us to make sure no one is listening to our conversation.

  “It’s true, Evelyn.” She finishes off her wine. “This isn’t easy for me to say, but I have to because I love you. And I hope you don’t take this wrong because it will kill me, sweetie. I think a big part of you is holding on to Michael because he was there with you when your parents died. Your parents knew him. They liked him. I think the thought of being with a man your parents never met scares you. I think you’re scared to move on. I know it’s frightening for you to let go of someone else, Evelyn. You’ve dealt with a lot of loss. But I think you might have to be brave and let go of the security you feel with Michael and give someone else a chance, or else you are going to end up miserable. I know your mom would never want you to be in an unhappy relationship. She would want you to be with someone who excites you, and takes care of you, and sends you cute little smiley faces.”

  I let out a big sigh and fidget in my chair. I hate that she’s always right.

  “You’re right . . . I know you are. I’m just scared. It’s so hard to picture starting over, giving up twelve years, just so much change. I love Mike, and I know he loves me, but you’re right; we’ve become more friends and roommates. I’m not even sure when or how we got like that. I really thought we would get married, have a family . . . and now, my head is all twisted up with Storm. I mean, I’ve only known him two weeks, but we just have this connection.” I take a sip of water and shrug. “But honestly, Amy, how am I supposed to even think about being in a relationship with someone like him? He travels, he sleeps around, he has money, he has women crawling all over him, and he’s amazingly sexy. He’s practically living on a different planet compared to me. How do I fit into that? I’m just little, boring me. I can’t see it lasting . . . but he’s just so persistent that we should give it a try. I don’t know what to do.”

  I can’t look at her because I know I will start to cry, and I’m afraid I might not be able to stop. She reaches across the table and holds my hand.

  “I’ll always be here for you, Ev. You’re not going to be alone, I promise you. No matter what happens, I will be right here and go through it with you. Stop stressing out so much and thinking you’re not good enough for him or that you won’t fit. He’s a big boy. He knows what he wants.”

  “How did I get so lucky to have you as my best friend?” A tear
slides down my cheek and I quickly brush it away.

  “We’re both lucky. You’ve gotten me through the worst shit ever, too. Now, I want you to get your head together, okay? Allow yourself to find happiness. And ya know what? It might not last forever, and that’s okay. The important part is that you’re happy and not spending your life in hiding. Now, I have to get back to work, but I can’t wait ‘til New Years to see the band play and finally meet Storm in person. Maybe he’ll autograph my boob.”

  “That’s not even funny.”

  I have a text from Storm waiting for me when I get back to my car.

  Storm: Can you call me?

  Me: No. I have to get back to work.

  Storm: How was lunch?

  Me: Good. We had a nice talk. She’s looking forward to your show. She wants you to sign her boob

  Storm: LMAO I wouldn’t do that.

  Me: I hope not!

  Storm: I wouldn’t mind signing yours tho ;)

  Me: I think I can pass on that. ;-)

  Storm: Can you call me tonight? On your way home maybe?

  Me: I’ll try

  Storm: Try hard. I miss your voice.

  Smiling, I stash my phone back in my purse and head back to the office. Today is my last day before the holiday, and then I have five days off for Christmas. We usually go to Michael’s mom and dad’s house for Christmas dinner, and I can’t say that I ever enjoy it. They just watch television and eat, argue with each other, exchange a gift or two, and then we leave. I try to get along with his mom and sister, but they are not overly friendly, so I usually occupy myself at their house by doing the dishes or reading his mom’s gossip magazines.

  Growing up, my family had wonderful Christmas dinners. My mom loved the holidays. She would decorate the house while my dad would string lights all over the house and yard. He would put up those plastic lit reindeer and snowmen. As a little girl, I loved it, and I couldn’t wait to grow up and have my own house to decorate.

  On my way home from work, I stop at the grocery store so I can pick up some things to cook for the next week. I’m going to bake cookies, an apple pie, and make a ham for Michael because that’s his favorite. He promised he would be home for a few days, and I want to use this time to see if we can reconnect, before I make any decisions about what I want to do. It takes two to tango, so if something is wrong in our relationship, half of it is my fault, too. Maybe, if I show him more attention, he’ll come around and show me that what we have is real and worth staying in.

  My phone beeps as I’m driving home, so I check it when I stop at a red-light.

  Storm: Hey, I was hoping to talk to you. I’m at the studio, but I can talk for a few.

  Frowning, I throw my phone back into my bag. I’m not going to reply or call him right now. I have a car full of groceries I just bought to make all of Michael’s favorite meals over the holiday. I need to stay focused before I can make any decisions.

  I beat Michael home and have almost all the groceries put away when he walks in.

  “Hey.” He throws his coat over the kitchen table. “What’s all this stuff?”

  I turn and smile at him as I put the last of the canned goods into the cabinet. “I stopped at the grocery store on the way home, which was a total zoo, but I got everything so I can make our favorite dinners, since we’re going to be home for a few days for the holiday. I got ham, and I’m going to make an apple pie and a pot roast—”

  “Evelyn, I told you I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to take time off work.”

  I stand there like an idiot holding a twelve-inch salami in one hand and a block of cheddar in the other. “But you said you were going to put a request in.”

  “I know, and I talked to my boss about it, but it’s not a good time.”

  My heart is sinking as he stands there eating one of the apples I bought for the pie. I can already see where this conversation is going, and I wish I could press the pause button and just make it stop. Disappointment is like a snake. It slithers in slowly. You can see it coming out of the corner of your eye, but you fear looking directly at it. Like, if I don’t look at it, maybe it will turn and slither the other way—away from me. It doesn’t, though. It comes straight-on, its tongue snipping out quickly, and attacks.

  “I have to go out of town. I’m sorry, Evelyn. There’s nothing I can do. I tried to get out of it.”

  I grab the frying pan off the stove, haul it back, and slam it into the side of his face. He crumples in a heap and drops the apple I had gently inspected in the produce aisle earlier, hoping to make him the perfect pie.

  I shake my head. He’s still standing there, chewing. My quick fantasy of acting out my wrath on him dissipates.

  Anger and disappointment are still there, though.

  “Michael, it’s Christmas.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I talked to my mom. She said she would still love to have you. You don’t have to be alone. And I’ll be back the day after Christmas. The meeting is on the twenty-third. I’m not going to even attempt to travel on the twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth, so I had the agent book me back on the twenty-sixth. It will probably still be a nightmare, but at least we’ll have the day after Christmas together.”

  Oh, yeah. At least there’s that.

  I would rather ram a pitchfork up my ass than spend Christmas alone with his family. I will sit here by myself and watch Halo as he plays with the ribbons on the wrapped presents and attempts to knock the tree over. I may even let him, just for the sheer entertainment of it. And cleaning it up will give me something to do.

  Michael pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “Ev, I know you’re upset and I’m sorry. You know how important this is. I really tried to get out of this, I swear to you. I’ve just worked so hard on this project and securing these contracts. I want the commission. It will help us so much. Please, understand.”

  I encircle his waist and hug him back. I do know how important it all is to him; I’m not blind to how hard he works, how driven he is. I admire it most of the time, thankful he’s not lazy or an underachiever. I just hate how it has slowly torn us apart.

  “It’s all right, Michael. I’m just disappointed. I was looking forward to a few days of real quality time with you. But you’re right. I’ll see you after Christmas, and we can celebrate our holiday then.”

  “Good. Thank you for not throwing a fit over it, babe. I can’t deal with any more stress right now. I’ll have a really nice present for you when I get back.” He squeezes my ass and lets go of me to grab a soda from the fridge.

  “I think I’ll stay home, though,” I say. “I’d rather not go to your parents without you. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Okay, I’ll let her know. She’ll probably be glad to have two fewer people to have to cook for. We’ll visit them during the week or something.”

  I nod, hoping he forgets that visit. “All right.”

  “So, New Year’s Eve. We’re still going to the VIP show for the band, right?”

  I roll my eyes. I have never seen or heard Storm’s band play. I didn’t even look them up online. I want to be surprised when I finally hear his music, get to see him on stage doing what he does best. I want to enjoy every moment of what he does. Michael, however, has been a fan of the band for five years, unbeknownst to me. He can’t wait to see them play live, and I feel guilty and sick about it. How would he feel if he knew one of his favorite guitarists was chasing after his girlfriend?

  “Yes, Storm told me it’s all fine. We’ll be sitting with his cousin and his date.”

  Apparently, the show will be at a private club, one of the first they played at before they got big, with very limited access to guests. Storm assured me it would not be a crazy, packed mess of screaming girls or headbangers and people standing all over the place. Being claustrophobic, I am not a fan of concerts at all, but I’m pretty sure I can get through his show without a panic attack. At least not a panic attack that is crowd-induced. Panic over the situation I’ve
gotten myself into is another story entirely.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE, I drag the fake tree out of the closet and assemble it. I debated not putting up any decorations, but they actually do make me happy because many of them belonged to my mother and seeing them out, lit up and pretty, reminds me of her. So I embark on putting the tree up, decorating it, and then setting a few small decorations out around the living room. My favorite is a small, ceramic gingerbread house and Christmas tree that lights up, which I’m pretty sure my grandmother made at a ceramics class.

  Hours later, the decorations are up, but the living room is a mess. I put away the storage box and get out the vacuum, then figure while I have it out, I should vacuum the couch because Michael is always eating on it. I yank off the cushions and something catches my eye. I turn off the vacuum and pick it up. It’s a gold bracelet with green gems. I stare at it for quite a long time, as if it’s suddenly going to sprout lips and tell me who the hell it belongs to. It’s definitely not mine. I don’t wear yellow gold. Ever. Not since the eighties. I inspect it closer and realize the clasp is broken.