He rakes his hand through his hair, still stringy and damp with sweat from lifting weights. He works out every day—sometimes twice—and I wonder if he’s driven by the need to be stronger, to be able to save me, if by some horrific chance he was faced with that tragedy again.

I hope not.

“I’m gonna go shower. You want to meet me in the bedroom in twenty?”

We always play board games sitting on the floor of the master bedroom, in front of the electric fireplace. I think it’s his subtle way of getting me used to being in that room with him, but I don’t mind. Game nights are my favorite because we always end up laughing and teasing each other, especially when he tries to make up silly words for Scrabble. I love his goofy side, and I wish he’d let it out more.

“Ash?” I say, stopping him before he disappears out the door. “What would make all the screaming inside you stop?”

His eyes flash with surprise at my question, and he steps farther into the room, stopping next to the bed where I’m sitting. The muscles of his jaw twitch as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” he asks. “ ’Cause I can only answer that with brutal honesty.”

Intense, coppery eyes bore into mine. Waiting for my answer. Waiting to tell me his answer.

“Yes,” I reply. “I want to know.”

“I want my life back. I want you to have your life back. I want you to look at me like you remember me. I want you to love me. I want you back in our bed. I want to be able to kiss the hell out of you and rip your clothes off without feeling like I’m cheating on my wife. I want my kid to have her mother. I want you to stop talking about yourself like you’re not you. I want to stop hating myself for letting you slip off that cliff. I want to stop hating myself for feeling all the things I just said, because none of it is your fault.”

His broad chest expands with a deep breath, the skull seeming to take on life as it moves with his flesh. Slowly, he shakes his head. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. I miss you—your love and your touch. And I hate missing you when you’re Right. Fucking. Here. It’s destroying me.”

His voice is thick with torment. Every one of his words makes me cringe inside, not only because they hurt to hear, but also because I know how much it hurt him to have said them.

I gulp over the lump in my throat. “Can I respond?”

“Of course.”

“I want my life back too. I want you to have your life back. I also want Kenzi to have her mother. I don’t like feeling so lost. I don’t like living with a stranger. It hurts feeling like I’m some kind of intruder who took your wife away. I hate that I feel like I’m trying to be someone else. I’m trying to figure out who I am and where I belong. When you kiss me, I want to know you’re kissing me for me now, not for the past me. I’m lonely too, Asher. At least you have your memories to keep you company. I have nothing.”

Moments pass as he absorbs my response, which I don’t think he was expecting anymore than I was.

His eyes lock onto mine, searching and wanting. “You have me.”

“You have me too. And we both still feel alone.”

His complexion pales, and his mouth opens as if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Not a word. But his broad shoulders sink, along with his eyes.

He leaves. I don’t go to his room in twenty minutes to play a board game. He doesn’t come back or text me.

The house is quiet—no sounds of a guitar or television drifting from the master bedroom.

Sitting in the middle of my bed, bleakness chills me to my bones.

This isn’t an argument or a fight, because there’s no anger between us.

It’s much worse.

Heartache, confusion, and loneliness so deep there weren’t even any words left to be said.

I may not know a lot about Asher, but I know he’s not the type of man to just walk away and close a door. The journals have shown me that much.

He just did, though.

The buzzing sensation starts in my skull and spreads out through my torso and limbs.

Does he want me to leave?

Are we unfixable?

I clutch the skeleton key necklace and bring my knees up to my chest as tears trickle down my cheeks.

I’m not ready to be over yet. I haven’t gotten to remember my life and my love. I haven’t even finished the first journal.

I haven’t had a chance to live and love.