Asher (Ashes & Embers 6)

Maybe I should’ve asked Asher to stay home. Today’s Sarah’s day off, so I’m here alone, feeling like I’m losing my mind or about to have a coronary arrest.

I could call Kenzi and Tor… But what would I say? “Oh, hi, sorry to bother you, but I had a weird dream last night, and now I feel strange and sick.”

No.

I don’t want to bother them or be the relative across the street who always needs something.

I’m sure the pills will kick in any minute, and I’ll feel fine.

Late last night, after the dream, I scoured the journals, exhausted, poring through pages and pages and years of entries, and yet I couldn’t find one thing that matched up with some of the things the person in the dream showed me.

What does it mean?

Asher must’ve thought I was nuts this morning when he woke to find the leather journals all over the bed between us and on the floor, some of them still open.

He didn’t say anything, though. He just smiled his usual loving smile, closed them all up, and put them back in a neat pile before he went to make us breakfast.

I could tell he knew something was wrong, though. He always knows. I tried to hide it with smiles and kisses, then I rushed him off to Storm’s house. As much as I wanted him to stay, I had to get him out of here.

I needed to be alone to try to hear the voice in my head.

She’s been whispering since I woke up, and I think it’s the person in the dream.

Even now, I can hear her.

Wake up.

Wake up.

I’m still here.

Let me in.

Let me help you.

Ember!

Do you remember?

Stop fighting.

Remember!

It’s right in front of you.

Stop running.

It’s me.

I’m you.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Ember’s car isn’t in the garage when I get home four hours later. I check my cell phone to see if she’s texted me about going out somewhere, but the last text I received from her is two hours ago:

Me: How’s my baby feeling?

Ember: Much better now. xo

Me: Good. I’ll be home soon. I love you.

Ember: I love you too. I can’t wait to see you.

Maybe Sarah borrowed her car, which she does sometimes. I grab the grocery bag off the passenger seat and go in the house through the kitchen door.

“Em?” I call out.

Nothing.

Just Teddy lounging in the hall, thumping his tail against the floor.

When I put the ice cream away, I find a note on the counter. It’s written on paper from a little notepad with music notes and hearts on it that we used to leave cute messages for each other on.

I study the note in more detail than twelve simple words require. Her handwriting is different. Actually, it looks the same as it did before the accident. But it looks different than it has recently.

Holding the note, I go upstairs to our balcony—our special place.

She’s not there, and a part of me is glad she’s not because it’s giving me a spark of hope that I’m almost afraid to let myself think about or believe.

“Ember?”

Turning my head slowly, I listen for any clue that she’s in the house, but there’s not a sound.

Exhilaration courses through me as I practically run back downstairs to check the sunroom, then the studio, then the backyard. Wanting to find her, but not wanting to either.

No, I don’t want to find her here at all.

We really only have one special place, and it’s not here in this house. It’s up in the mountains, on a big mossy rock, near the waterfall.

I could never bring myself to go back up there after she fell, and we haven’t gone there since she woke up.

My brain battles with excitement and confusion as I go back to the kitchen and pick my phone up off the counter to check Ember’s cell phone GPS location.

User cannot be found.

That must mean she’s in a dead tower area, but the last location of her phone, according to the app, is directly on the way to the mountains, twenty minutes ago.

My pulse races with excitement.

Is she really going there? Up to the waterfall?

She is.

Fear comes over me in a quick wave as visions of her falling, and then lying lifeless on the rocks, assault me. She shouldn’t be up there alone.

She could fall again. I could lose her again.

Shaking my head to clear the horrible memories, I wonder why she didn’t wait for me to get home. If she wanted to go back to our special place, why didn’t she want us to go together?

I slip into my leather motorcycle jacket, throw on my earbuds, and jump on my bike. I roar down our street, wishing Ember was on the back and we were on our way up to the falls together, just like we used to. Only this time, we’d ride home together, with her arms wrapped tight around my waist, her chin resting on my shoulder.