Asher (Ashes & Embers 6)

“Are you poor?”

His lips curve into a smile. “Do I look poor?”

I nod. “Kind of. You need a haircut. And...” I lick my lips nervously. “All those inks. I think maybe you’re a bad guy.”

“A bad guy?” he repeats, attempting to hide a grin, but failing. “You mean like someone who was in prison?”

“Yes,” I whisper, suddenly feeling afraid. What if the nurses and doctors don’t know he’s a bad guy? What if he’s the one who made me be here?

“Ember,” he says softly. “I’m not a bad guy at all. I’ve never broken the law or been in jail. I’ve never hurt anyone. I promise you that’s the truth.”

Bad guys lie, so who knows if he’s telling the truth?

“If you say so.”

“Do you want to know a little more?”

“I guess, yes.”

“We—you and I—are musicians. We’re not poor at all. And you’ve always loved my long hair. You’ve begged me to never cut it.”

Ridiculous. Fibs.

“No. I don’t believe that. Or the hair. I don’t like any of it.”

“It’s all true. Look...” He stands and walks around the bed to take a photo off the wall. I haven’t looked at the photos since the last time he handed me one. “Here’s you and I on stage when we had a band together years ago.”

I’m afraid to look at the photo when he hands it to me, but I force myself to. A man and woman are on a stage with their arms around each other with bright lights shining down on them. The man is definitely him.

The woman is the same from the photo he showed me with him and the little girl. In this photo, she’s wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in them and boots with high heels. Her hair is long like his.

Warmth floods over me, and that odd zapping pain stings my head.

Scared by the sensations, I thrust the photo back at him. “That can’t be me.”

“It is.” He returns the frame to its place then sits on the bed again. “Are you okay? I don’t want to upset you.”

“I—I don’t know.” I rub my temple. “Sometimes my head is hurt.”

His eyes go darker and sadder. “Is the pain bad? Should I call the nurse?”

“It’s when I try to remember, I think?”

“Maybe your brain is trying too hard to remember. It’s been resting for a long time.”

“I don’t want to remember that picture. I don’t like how it makes me feel.”

“Okay. No one is going to force you to do or like anything.”

“I hope not. My life is scary.”

“I’m sure it seems that way, but you were actually very happy.”

I would like to feel happy.

“With you?” I ask. “And the little one? With music?”

“Yes. We were very happy and in love. We both loved our life together. We always said we were living our dream.”

Happy. Love. Dreams. All seems so very odd.

“I don’t feel any of it. I feel...nothing.” I’m afraid to tell anyone that all I mostly feel is fear and anxiety.

“That’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see.”

His eyes are like miniature televisions. I can see everything in them, and he’s not okay with any of this.

In fact, his head might be hurt worse than mine.

Chapter Eleven

“Where are the people?” she fires at me when I return to her room after sneaking out for lunch while she took a nap. Now she’s wide awake and full of curiosity.

“Which people?”

A flash of confusion wrinkles her forehead.

“My people. Family? Friends?”

“You have a sister, Katherine. And our daughter, Kenzi. They both want to come visit you, but I wanted to ask you first. To make sure you’re ready to meet with them.”

“I think I am.”

“I’ll tell them they can visit. They’re both excited to see you.” I clear my throat. “Our friend, Toren, will probably stop by too. He’s been our friend since high school. You two were very close. You have more friends who’ll come once the doctor gives the okay for you to have more visitors.”

I’ll attempt to explain the more difficult details about Kenzi and Tor to Ember later. First, I have to tell her our daughter is almost twenty-two years old.

“Good. I want to see other people. I’m a little bored with just you.”

I could just lay here in your arms forever and never want or need anything, or anyone else...

Nodding, I bury the memory back in the graveyard of my mind with all the others that keep trying to crawl out to haunt me.

“Yeah. I guess I’m not very exciting.”

“Is she nice? The little girl?”

I sit on the end of the bed. Underneath the blanket, she moves her feet a few inches away from me.

All these subtle, yet glaring, actions are like knives plunged into my chest. One after the other, each one cutting deeper than the last.

“I think you’ll like her a lot. But she’s not a little girl like in the picture anymore. She’s twenty-one years old now.”