Asher (Ashes & Embers 6)

She’s been giving me great advice all week, as has my therapist via daily video chats, but just now, Katherine’s words resonate deeply in me, stirring up a little spark in my soul.

“Hey, baby.” The sexy, affectionate tone of his voice when he answers my call makes my heart swell with a burst of butterflies.

“Hi.” I move to the window and spot one of Katherine’s visiting couples walking hand-in-hand along the beach under the moonlight.

I want that to be us someday.

“I just finished packing, so I’m ready to leave in the morning.”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too. I miss you.”

“I miss you. And Teddy too.” He pauses, his breathing the only sound between us. “Em, we should talk when you get home. About…everything.”

So much everything. Us. Our future. Our past. Our feelings. Our struggles. Where do we go from here?

I grip the phone a little tighter. “I know. We have a lot to figure out, don’t we?”

“We do,” he says softly. “But I don’t think any of it is insurmountable. I think if we’re patient and keep talking to each other honestly, we’ll get through this. We both have a lot of healing to do, but I know without a doubt, I want to do it together.”

“I do too, Ash. I really do.”

Later, as I lie in bed, fear and worry keep me awake well past midnight. My brain and heart are racing with anxiety. With each day that goes by, I lose hope that my memories—all my memories—are going to come back. I don’t think I’ll ever truly think of myself as Ember Valentine. Which I can accept. I can move on with my new self and the new path I’m on, and I think I can be very happy. The wrinkle is that I want to have a life with Asher, but I’m not sure he’s capable of letting go of pre-accident Ember or separating the images and memories of coma-Ember from me.

I desperately need him to see me when he looks at me, touches me, and says he loves me.

Hours later, I’m still awake, chewing my fingernail down to the flesh. As the sun is rising, I get out of bed and dig the pocket notebook out of my purse. I pull out the black business card still hidden there and stare at it for several minutes.

My fingers tremble as I dial the numbers embossed on the card, and the call is picked up, voiceless, on the third ring.

I can hear him breathing, though.

“Redwood?”

“Ember.”

A shiver ripples up my spine at the sound of his deep voice saying my name. With no question. No doubt.

But with expectation, as if he’s been waiting for this call.

“I was hoping maybe you could help me with something? You said I could call you if—”

“If you need something? Or someone who understands?”

“Yes. I really need to talk to someone who’s been through this.”

A few moments of awkward silence tick by.

“Choose one word to describe what you need.”

What possessed me to call him? I should just hang up, tear his card into little tiny pieces, and get a new plan.

I should do those things, but I don’t.

Taking a deep breath, I pick my word.

“Change.”

He lets out a deep chuckle. “Intriguing. Grab a pen. I’ll tell you where to find me.”

Chapter Forty

Ember should be home from her trip to Maine any minute, and I’ve been standing in front of one of the second-floor windows like an idiot for about half an hour, watching the street and debating with myself on the best way to greet her.

Do I meet her in the garage when she pulls in? Open her car door for her and help her bring her suitcase in?

Wait in the living room, pretending to watch a movie, and casually look up when she walks in the room as if I haven’t been counting the minutes to see her again?

Should I go down to my studio and try to look super busy and distracted if she comes to find me, so I don’t look desperate?

What the hell is wrong with me?

“What are you doing?”

I jolt at the unexpected sound of Tor’s voice.

“Waiting for Ember to come home.” I turn to face him. “What’s up?”

“Kenzi sent me over to snag some eggs. She’s making cookies.”

“Are you kidding?”

“About which part?”

“You don’t have eggs?” I can’t remember a day I didn’t have a carton of eggs in the fridge. “Should I be worried?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs. “Is running out of eggs a sign of the apocalypse or something?”

“No, I just want to make sure my girls are taken care of.”

“You know they are. And they’re my girls, Pops.” He grins and shoves my shoulder. “Why are you staring out the window like a forgotten dog?”

“We left things on a bad note when she took off for Maine. Now I’m not sure how to greet her when she gets here.”