I pull one of the diaries from the stack, unlock it, and flip to a random page.

Dear Diary,

I want to leave Ashes & Embers and start my own band with the girls. I know we’ll never be as popular and as good as A&E, but that doesn’t bother me. Asher’s an amazing vocalist, and I know the band is better having just one lead vocalist, not two. He’s the front man of the band, and he wants me up on stage, front and center, next to him. I love it, but I just don’t think it’s good for the band.

I don’t think the rest of the guys like it, either, even though they’re always nice and supportive. I don’t want to be a backup singer, like ever. I think it’s better for us to have some separation too. Not that I ever want to be away from him, but I worry that we’re so close, and together so much, and so involved in every single thing we each do, that eventually it’s going to weaken us rather than strengthen us.

Me and Aria have talked about this a lot and she also thinks that it’s best for me to have my own separate thing, for me. She’s right, I want to feel successful on my own, and I don’t want Asher to constantly feel like he has to take care of me, be there for me, do things for me. I’m worried that he won’t be as good as he can be if he’s constantly trying to carry me with him in his career.

I love that he wants me with him all the time and he wants to share his spotlight with me, but when we started the band, we never knew we’d get this far. I just think it’s time for me to let Asher fly with his career without me attached to it. I’m scared, though. Because if I do this, it’ll be a big step for me, and it’s a risk career-wise. It’s starting all over. It could flop.

If it does, maybe I can do something with my art. Or have a baby and be a stay-at-home mom. I could travel with Asher. I’m not sure. I’m worried I’m going to miss Ash like crazy when we have to be apart. I think I’m going to talk to him about it this weekend and see how he feels. Ugh. Why is life so hard?

Damn. She had no idea exactly how hard life was going to get.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I fucked up.

Pacing the bedroom, gnawing on a red raspberry CBD gummy bear, with the sweet scent of her still lingering on my fingertips, I know I fucked up bad.

I lied to her.

Sex is important to me. With her. I’m starved for that closeness with her. We always had an intense physical bond. It was like we could never get close enough. Ever. No matter what, we were always touching—even if it was only holding hands. We used to kiss for hours—we’d actually kiss until we fell asleep all tangled up in each other, lips still touching. Being with Ember satisfied every single one of my needs and desires mentally and physically. We could go from tender and slow to wild and erotic with zero hesitations. Every moment deepened our love and connection to each other.

Was sex ever the most important thing? Hell no. But as a couple who grew together from teen virgins and knew every single inch of each other’s bodies—knew exactly how, where, and when to kiss or touch—it was an important, comforting part of us.

Now here we are with this wall between us. Stacked up with bricks of awkwardness and confusion and regrets and fears and miscommunication and things we’ve never gone through before.

And worst of all, she thinks I don’t want her.

That’s like saying I don’t want to breathe.

I want her just as much as I always have.

What stopped me wasn’t lack of desire, love, or attraction. It was pure fucking fear of hurting this woman I love more than life itself, whom I watched wither away and almost disappear right in front of me. It almost feels abusive to lie on top of her frail body and start thrusting my cock into her when she’s only recently come out of a vegetative state. I’m afraid I’m going to bonk her head into the headboard and damage her brain. It’s not that I just can’t get pre-accident Ember out of my head, I also can’t get slowly dying, comatose Ember out of my head. Those visions of her, lying in a hospital bed, are burned into my brain.

I’m so fucked up.

I go out on the balcony to get some fresh air, but I can’t stop thinking about my wife, alone in the damn guest room, probably reading journals about her past, which no doubt are going on and on about how happy we were.