Asher (Ashes & Embers 6)

“Feel the strings and the vibration.” His mouth is close to my ear, warm and whispery. The only thing I feel is a flush of heat between my thighs and the urge to kiss him.

“Close your eyes… Your fingers might remember the movement.”

I do as he says—closing my eyes and leaning back against his chest as he moves my fingers.

He wants me to remember this part of our lives so bad, and I wish I could. For myself, for him, for my family, and for all the fans who loved me and my band.

But I don’t feel anything at all.

The guitar feels clunky in my lap. My fingers don’t move gracefully. Nothing resembling a beat or a melody drifts into my mind, begging for life on the strings. No lyrics haunt me.

I pull my hands away. “I’m sorry. It just feels weird.”

He takes the guitar away and leans it against the wicker table in front of us.

“It’s okay,” he says, but there’s a shade of disappointment in his voice. “Maybe I could give you lessons a few times a week? That might help get you back into it.”

The last thing I want is another weekly appointment with anyone.

“That’s sweet, but I really don’t have an interest in it. At least not right now. Maybe someday…”

“But you love to play. I’m sure it’ll come natural to you again once you just get the basics down—”

“Asher.” I take a deep breath and lick my lips. “I don’t love to play. Maybe I used to… but not anymore. I don’t even know how.”

“I think it’s still there, babe. You’re like me—born to sing and play music. You had so much talent, such a unique voice. I don’t think that just goes away.”

My chest tightens. Either Asher has incredible hope and faith, or he just suffers from an epic case of denial.

“What if it is gone?” I ask. “Does that change things between us?” I stand and walk a few feet away to stare at my painting, anxiety churning in my stomach. “Can you be married to me if I’m not a musician? Not part of that world? What if I just want to paint now, or who knows, something else?”

I turn toward him and lean back against the deck railing. Behind him, the sun is setting, and the sky looks just like it does in my painting—fiery splashes of color.

“Of course I can be married to you. I didn’t marry you because you loved music. I married you because I love you. Music was something we bonded over, and it became our lives. It meant a lot to you, so I thought you’d want to try to reclaim that part of your life. That’s all.” He comes over to stand in front of me. “I just want you to be happy, Em. No matter what that means or what you do.”

“I really, really want to believe that.”

“You can believe that.”

“I’m tired of trying to be Ember. And before you say it,” I hold up my hand, because his mouth is already open, “I know I’m Ember. But I don’t feel like that person. I don’t know that person. I might not ever be the Ember you remember. It’s been months, and yes…I’ve had memories here and there. Maybe this is it. I might just get bits and pieces of my past here and there for the rest of my life. But I think I want to stop trying to remember and just move forward with a new life. I don’t want to be Ember who has amnesia or Ember who used to do this or that. I just want a clean slate without the ghost of Ember following me around.”

He stares at me, unblinking, for several moments, and I can almost hear his heart cracking and breaking. Nodding once, he looks down, takes a deep breath, then looks back up at me.

The sadness in his eyes makes me want to remember every little thing about Ember Valentine, wrap it all up with a big red bow, and give it to him.

I would, if I could.

“I understand,” he says softly. “It’s hard. Because all those things you can’t remember? I can’t forget them. Our memories mean everything to me. They’re my life. It’s hard to let go of all that.”

“I don’t think you have to let go or forget. But for us to move forward, we have to focus on the present. Who we are now.”

“You’re right.” His voice is deep and raspy from holding back emotion. “I’m really tryin’, babe. I’m not usually so out of sorts with things. I’m the one who everyone comes to for advice, and now it’s like I’m this guy who keeps messing up.”

“No, Asher.” I wipe at the tears brimming in my eyes. “You’re not messing up. I know you’re trying to help me, and you just want life back to normal. I do too.” I suck in a deep breath. “I wish things weren’t like this for either of us.”