Asher (Ashes & Embers 6)

Hope. I’ve been running on hope for years. It better not have an expiration date, or I’m screwed.

I stare down the hall at Ember’s door. “What if she never remembers me? Where do we go from there?”

“You take it one day at a time. Just like you have with everything else.” She smiles knowingly. “And how could she not remember you? You’re a pretty unforgettable guy.”

I wish.

Sighing, Sherry brings her glasses down to the bridge of her nose. “Take a few minutes to yourself. Dr. Simms will be back at eleven to go over a preliminary treatment plan and next steps. Ember, you, and your family have a really long road ahead of you.”

“How does this work? Is it okay for me to even be there if she doesn’t know who I am?” The last thing I need is to be violating some kind of medical privacy policy.

“Of course. You’re her husband and legal guardian.”

“Does she know anything at all? Like how she got here, how long it’s been since the accident, anything?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. When the doctor was with her earlier, she was told she was in an accident. She seemed to understand what he was saying. She panicked and had to be sedated. I do think she needs to know that you’re her husband. Knowing someone is here for her should give her some comfort. Other visitors should be restricted until she’s mentally stronger. Too much too soon will be overwhelming for her.”

My mind spins with all the phone calls I’m going to have to make. To Kenzi and Tor. To my sister-in-law, my parents, my siblings, our friends. The list is endless. But before I even start all that, I agree with Sherry. I need to try to tell Ember I’m her husband.

Panic chases the excitement I should be feeling away, ringing a monstrous bell of reality in my head.

My wife doesn’t know who I am.

My wife doesn’t know who she is.

After Sherry walks away, I lean back against the wall, deflated like a punctured balloon. I knew amnesia was a possibility, but I refused to let myself believe it could happen.

I believed there was no way, no matter what, Ember could ever forget her life or her loved ones.

And especially not me.

Chapter Eight

“I’m back,” I announce casually as I enter her room. As if I ran out to pick up a pizza and my wife isn’t sitting here after waking up from an almost eight-year coma with memory loss.

Act normal, Sherry suggested. Don’t let her see you upset.

Easier said than done.

I feel her eyes on me as I cross the room and sit in the all-too-familiar guest chair that’s still close to her bed.

“I was hoping we could talk, if you’re okay with that. Nurse Sherry is right out in the hall, so if you feel scared or uncomfortable, she’ll come in immediately and I’ll leave. Okay?”

Her forehead creases. “ ’kay.”

“I want you to know you’re safe. I know you’ve gotta be scared out of your mind, and I wish to God you weren’t. But you’re safe.”

She blinks.

My husbandly instincts take over. “Can I hold your hand? I think it might help you feel better. It’ll make me feel better too.”

Her head tilts. “ ’kay,” she whispers.

When I gently take her hand in mine, they tremble simultaneously against each other.

And when she squeezes my fingers, I can’t hold back the sob that catches in my throat or the desperate smile on my lips.

“Do you remember anything? Any...one?”

She moves her head slowly from side to side.

“Do you remember your name?”

She moves her head no again.

Fuck.

“Your name is Ember Valentine. It’s a really pretty name.”

“Em. Ber.” A slight, crooked smile curves her lips, and my heart literally jumps at the sight of it.

“And my name is Asher Valentine.”

I give her a few moments to see if she makes the connection with the last names. I pray for even the tiniest spark of recognition.

There’s none.

I take a deep breath.

“I’m your husband,” I say softly.

Her eyes go so wide, they almost consume her entire face.

Her hand stiffens in mine. No longer trembling. Just completely still.

She blinks, then looks toward the door as if she wants to run out of here.

Away from me.

I wonder how many times my heart can break before it’s shattered into nothingness.

“Do you want me to get the nurse?”

Gripping my hand, she studies me like I’m an alien who fell out of the sky and landed next to her bed. I can’t read her face at all, and it’s making me crazy because I know all her facial expressions. I could always read her like a book.

“You?” she says in her whispery, scratchy voice.

“We’ve been married for eighteen years and together for twenty-one years.”

She gasps and jerks her head back into the pillow.

I can’t tell if she’s horrified, shocked, or thinking she hit the jackpot.