Fuck it.

I type out a quick text:

Me: Just wanted to say hi. I’m in New York. Hope you had a good day.

Christ. I sound like a boring basic dick.

Ember: Hi

I wait for her to send more.

And wait.

Sighing, I stare up at the sliver of moon.

Still nothing.

Me: I missed you today.

Now I sound boring and desperate. Great.

Ember: I missed you too. I walked across the room today. On my own feet. With the walker.

I smile at the small screen, savoring her words. She misses me. She walked.

Me: That’s awesome! I wish I could’ve seen it.

Ember: No, it was awful. It was hard, but I did it.

Me: I’m really proud of you.

Ember: Thank you. Did you sing already tonight?

Me: No, we go on tomorrow.

Ember: Then what?

Me: Then we go to Philly and do it again.

Ember: Don’t you get bored? Singing the same songs over?

Her question hits me like a punch in the gut.

I was born with music in my veins, like my dad. It’s all I know, all I’ve ever done, all I’ll ever do. Giving life to emotions through lyrics and melody is pure magic. Ember used to feel the same—music lived in her soul.

I shudder. People like us don’t get bored with our craft. Being on stage singing and performing is like breathing. We don’t even think about it—we just know we have to do it to survive.

It breaks my heart that Ember’s soul has lost its song.

Me: No. Every time I perform a song it feels different.

Ember: Oh. Kenzi and your mom are visiting me tomorrow.

Ember’s first visit with Kenzi was a disaster. Ember had a meltdown and blacked out. Kenzi cried for two days—convinced her mother couldn’t stand the sight or thought of her. Tor went into overdrive comforting her, telling her maybe seeing Kenzi caused Ember’s memories to try to fight through the fog, and Ember couldn’t handle it all at that moment.

I hope he’s right.

Since then, Kenzi and a few of my family members have stopped by the hospital for short visits, and things have gone much better.

Me: That’s sweet of them.

Ember: Aria said she’s bringing me more of her books.

Me: :-) You don’t have to read them just because my mom wrote them. Not everyone likes romance. It’s Ok. She won’t be offended at all.

Ember: I like all the love and the happy endings. It helps me forget everything and fall asleep.

She has amnesia, and yet she wants to forget what little she’s learned about herself. If that isn’t a huge fucking red flag, then I don’t know what is.

Me: We can have love and a happy ending too.

Ember: I don’t know. Do you think so?

Me: I do. Trust me, remember? :-)

Ember: I do. But some things just feel impossible.

Me: Nothing’s impossible if we believe in it and fight for it.

She doesn’t reply to that.

Me: I’m gonna head to bed. You can call me or text me anytime, Ok?

Ember: Ok. Bye.

Before I go inside, I scroll through old saved images on my phone until I find what I’m looking for—saved screenshots of one of my last text conversations with Ember before the accident:

Ember: You’re probably asleep but I just wanted to tell you I miss you sooo much and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

Me: I’m not asleep, silly. I’m sitting in this hotel room thinking about you and what I’m going to do to you when I see you. ;-)

Ember: Ooh. I can’t wait. xo

Me: I miss the hell out of you.

Ember: I miss you too. I’ve been staring at the new picture you sent me all day. You’re so damn beautiful, Ash.

Me: Stop it. The only beautiful part of me is you. xo

Ember: So not true. I love you.

Me: I love you twice. :-)

Ember: Goodnight, hon. Get some sleep. Can’t wait to hug you.

Me: Night, babydoll. Don’t forget your lavender. Sweet dreams.

Letting go of the past is impossible. Ember was everything to me in every way, and I’m starting to hate myself for still missing her so much even though she’s awake.

I pull up an old photo of her, a selfie she sent me one night when we were both traveling. She’s smiling and blowing me a kiss. Her eyes are sparkling like diamond dust.

I stroke my finger across the photo. “Where are you, Ember?” I whisper.

Chapter Sixteen

“It’s nice to see you breathing.”

A strange man has come to see me, and I consented to his visit without hesitation because I’m bored and wanted to see who he was.

But of course, now that he’s in my room, I have no idea who he is or what he wants, and I feel awkward.

He could possibly be one of Asher’s friends or family. The gothic cross tattooed on his temple has rock star vibes. Asher always tells me when someone is coming to visit, though, and he usually accompanies them in case I have a bad reaction—as I call it. Asher’s still on tour, but I think he would’ve mentioned someone wanting to come see me.