Talon (Ashes & Embers 4)

I stare at her blankly. I don't want to eat or shower or leave our home. Or breathe or live.

All I want is him.

Chapter 41

Asia

This is just a pause.

I'll be okay.

Not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But I will be.

Someday.

It won't always be this bad. This pain isn't my forever.

This is just a pause.

There's more waiting for me, somewhere, down the road of my life.

Chapter 42

Talon

Lukas's number is flashing across my screen. I turned the ringer off on my phone because the sound annoys me. Now, it just flashes and vibrates, which is also annoying.

I pick it up, swipe the screen, and hold it against the ear I can still hear out of.

"Yeah?"

"I got a text from Asia."

My heart hurts just hearing her name. "And?"

"She moved out." I close my eyes for a moment and let it sink in. My wife is gone. Sometimes, my mind is so confused that I think she left me. It’s like I mentally blocked the fact that somehow the crazy switch flipped inside me and I left her. Every time I listen to her voice mails and text messages, my heart seizes. I’ve spent hours at the punching bag, beating out my aggressions, pretending I’m punching myself. What the fuck did I do? Why didn’t that nitwit Dr. Hollister smack some sense into me? Couldn’t she see that I was batshit insane? Why didn’t I just sit Asia down and force her to talk?

"Good. Living in Gram's guesthouse is making me fat. She's feeding me way too much." I can't tell Gram, but her cupcakes don't compare to Asia's. Neither does any soap I use. Or any lotion. Or any smoothie. And I can't even look at another woman. Or cats. I hate cats now.

"Do you need a ride home, or are you able to drive? How's the vertigo been?"

"I think I can do it. Did she say where she went?" I ask casually. I can’t stand not knowing where she is. Where she’s sleeping. Where Pixie is. I wish I could close my eyes, open them, and have them here with me again.

"She said she found a town house."

"Did she say where?"

"Tal? If you care, why don't you call her and let her tell you?"

I chew my lip. "No. She's better off this way."

"You know my feelings on this. And she doesn't seem better off. She asked me if you were okay."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her you're a fucked-up, stubborn mess."

"If you did, I'll kick your ass."

"I told her you were fine. Happy now?"

"No, but I don't want her dwelling on me."

"Dude, I think dwelling on someone and being in love with someone are two different things."

I go into the bedroom and grab my bag so I can start packing my stuff to go back home today. "I don't want to talk about it, Lukas. Thanks for letting me know. I'll see you in a few days for my appointment."

It takes me triple the amount of time to drive from the White Mountains back to my town. The drive up the day I left Asia was a horror show, but the drive back down the winding roads is even worse. The pressure in my ear is incredible, and the vertigo has broken through the meds I took. Three times I have to pull over on the side of the road to get sick.

I literally want to kiss the ground when I finally pull into my own driveway and park in front of the garage. But as I walk down the walkway to the front door, I'm not sure why I wanted to come back here.

The inside of the house is dark, with only the foyer light on, and it's eerily quiet. Even with being half deaf and having that constant whoosh in my ear, the silence follows me like a ghost.

I throw my bag on the floor and slowly walk through the house, memories of us flashing through my mind as I stare into each room. Every corner, every piece of furniture, every damn thing reminds me of her. I can hear the little teasing fights we had echo through my mind. I can still see her sitting at the breakfast nook with her goofy purple glasses on, looking adorably fuckable with Pixie perched on the table next to her.

Fuck. I miss them. I ruined our family. I let the disease win.

I walk into her craft room, and it's completely empty. This was her favorite room, and we spent so much time in here, designing clothes and fucking on the table. And on the floor. And against the shelves. Even next to that creepy fit mannequin I hated.

I open the refrigerator and feel like I've been punched when I see she's stocked it with all my favorite foods, even the things she used to bake for me, and labeled all the Tupperware containers with names and dates in her tiny, perfect writing. And of course, there are cupcakes.

Shit, jelly bean. Why did you do this?

I go upstairs so I can complete the emotional assault of not having her here all in one fell swoop.

Our wedding picture is gone from where it hung on the wall in our bedroom. It was actually my favorite picture—from when I tickled her to make her laugh and kissed her before she could turn away. Honestly, I don't deserve to have it, and I don't need it. That image is burned in the photo album of my mind forever.

Everything is clean and in its place. All my laundry is put away, her side of our shared walk-in closet empty. She vacuumed before she left, all traces of Pixie fur gone.

Next, I wander into the bathroom and there's a small box of all my favorite soaps and lotions she used to make for me. It all smells like her, which is why I loved it. I don't know if she left this stuff here to haunt me, or if she left them here to give me the things she knows I love just to make me happy. I know her, though, and I'm pretty sure she did this in an attempt to welcome me home with the things she knew would make me the happiest. Because she loves me.

Or, she used to. She must hate me now, for the things I did and said.

I didn't think she would put up such a fight the day I left. I thought she would be relieved to get rid of me. I thought the first few messages and texts were just out of shock and anger over the abrupt ending of our relationship. But four weeks and over two hundred messages later, it's become pretty clear to me that she didn't jump onto Danny like I assumed she would. My brain was so clouded with anger that day, I honestly believed she wanted him. Now, I don’t know what happened. I fucked up bad, and it hurts like hell.

I sit on the bed, suddenly feeling dizzy and tired, and that's when I see the T-shirt I left for her to sleep in when I was on tour folded up neatly, with her wedding band on top of it.

Fucking ouch.

I pick it up and twirl the tiny band between my fingers, then unclasp the necklace around my neck and slip the ring onto the chain, watching as it slides down, stopping when it hits my own wedding band, her ring fitting perfectly inside mine. I reach behind my neck and reclasp the chain. At least our rings are together.

r /> I pull my phone out of my pocket and debate for a few moments before bringing up her number and typing a message.

Me: Thank you for leaving me my favorite food and soap.

Asia: So this is your new cell number? Don't worry, I won't bother you. You made your point.

I changed my number when I couldn't stand to see the texts from her anymore, or hear her voice mails that alternated between crying and begging, to telling me to go fuck myself up the ass. I regretted it immediately afterward because I missed getting new messages from her, knowing she was still thinking about me, even if it was in a bad way.

* * *

"Hey! He's back!" Everyone yells when I step onto the tour bus. I take my usual seat and pop a few of the new pills the doctor gave me, and pull out my e-reader to read a book.

A few hours into the trip, I feel tired and cranky, my ear still muffled and ringing. I wish I had stayed home.

"You doing okay?" Asher's slid into the seat next to me. "You're a little bit green."