5. Ember
Chapter 5
Ember
The smell of sawdust and metal fills my nostrils as I step through the automatic doors of the local hardware store. Christmas music plays through the store, the cheerful notes strangely out of sync with the heavy thoughts swirling in my mind.
Rows upon rows of practical necessities line the shelves, decorated with glittering garlands and the occasional plastic holly berry. But all I can focus on is filling the void at the end of my driveway where my pine mailbox stood.
It was quaint, a small log cabin that held more than mail; it held my hopes and dreams for this new life I was trying to build here. I bought it because it was so endearing, a perfect little piece that seemed to say, Welcome, you belong here.
I run my fingertips over the cold, impersonal steel of the replacement options in front of me, each one sturdier than the last. These mailboxes feel like armor, devoid of charm but built to withstand anything. My former mailbox, so cute and delightful, is now a memory, a charred remnant left in the wake of the Demons. It’s a cruel reminder that remnants of my past life in Las Vegas still linger, even here. Back there, my identity was confined to a number on a post office box, secure and anonymous, something no one could reach. But here, in this small town, I’m vulnerable. I’m exposed to people who don’t care that I’m a living, breathing person with dreams and a desire for peace.
Edward warned me about this. He’s lived with the knowledge that his ex-wife will do just about anything to get rid of him, even if it means tormenting me. Perhaps that’s why he always seems so grumpy, as if he’s built himself into a fortress of solitude to shield those he cares about from the chaos that follows him.
But beneath that rough exterior, his undeniable protectiveness draws me in. It does something to my heart. The way his eyes scan the horizon when he steps outside, looking for hidden threats—it’s as if he’s carrying the weight of every shadow that’s ever touched his life. And somehow, knowing he’s watching, ready to protect, gives me a sliver of comfort, even if I shouldn’t depend on it.
And that kiss… His taste still lingers on my lips, a phantom heat that refuses to fade no matter how much I try to push it aside.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a revelation. Edward’s lips on mine, warm and urgent, woke something deep, something I thought was buried under years of disappointment and self-preservation. His kiss held a need that mirrored mine, and for those fleeting moments, it was as if the world righted itself just for us.
But then, he pulled away.
The way his eyes darkened as he muttered his apology is etched in my memory, replaying on an endless loop. The words he spoke—“It was a mistake”—felt like a door slamming shut, but the emotion in his gaze told a different story. His steel-gray eyes held regret, a hesitance that hinted at his battle between wanting me and fearing what might come of it.
I bite my lip, letting my hand fall to my side. His rejection shouldn’t sting as much as it does. But with Edward, it’s not just physical; it’s emotional. He sees me in a way no one else has, and for a moment, he let me see him too. That’s what makes this ache unbearable—the knowledge that there’s something real between us, and he’s too afraid to let it take root.
I shake my head. Now isn’t the time to get lost in what-ifs and unspoken desires. There are practical matters to attend to, like replacing my mailbox and ensuring I don’t give the Demons another easy win. Still, as I lift the heaviest, sturdiest box into my cart, I can’t help but wonder if Edward’s heart is as guarded as this unyielding steel—and if I’ll ever find a way to break through.
We’re both vigilant in our own ways, and he’s been teaching me how to use a shotgun, showing me how to stand tall and steady when facing down an enemy. But we both know our defenses aren’t foolproof, that the looming threat of Edward’s ex-wife and her new boyfriend will not be easily dissuaded. Their hatred for Edward has spilled over onto me, turning me into nothing more than collateral damage in their war. It’s ironic—Edward’s ex is using her lover’s motorcycle club to torment the man she once vowed to honor and love until death parted them. She’s thrown away a man who possesses more honor and integrity than her new boyfriend ever will, yet she continues to hurt him from afar, using me as her weapon.
“Ember?”
The voice pulls me from my reverie, and I turn to see Malcolm, the store clerk, a gentle concern etched into his features.
I try to smile, embarrassed at being so caught up in my thoughts. “Yeah? Oh, I’m sorry, just... thinking.”
“Take your time,” Malcolm says with a comforting smile, his kindness a reminder that light exists even in a world filled with threats.
His patience is strangely comforting, a reminder that not everyone in this town is a source of danger.
“Thanks,” I murmur, my gaze settling back on the row of steel mailboxes. They may lack the warmth of my previous one, but they hold a promise of endurance.
Choosing the heaviest, most unyielding model, I decide to let it stand as a testament to my resolve. Let them try to set this one on fire. The thought brings a tight smile to my lips, one tinged with defiance. Yes, they’ve burned down a symbol of my new life, but they haven’t touched my spirit. Not yet.
The weight of the mailbox anchors me to the present, to this moment of choosing resilience over despair as I carry it to the counter. And in the back of my mind, I feel Edward’s tacit approval, his silent vow to stand beside me in the face of our shared adversaries.
I’m putting my change in my pocket when someone prods my shoulder with a pokey finger. The abruptness snaps me out of my determined haze.
“Excuse me, but I don’t think we’ve met?” The question is edged with a sneer, not the usual small-town courtesy.
As I turn, my gaze lands on a woman about my height, blonde hair cascading in perfect waves, her beauty marred only by the malice in her eyes.
“Ember, right?” she drawls, emphasizing my name like it’s a curse. “Eddie will never love you like he loved me.”
My eyebrows quirk. Rebecca. It has to be her, Edward’s ex. Her presence hits me like a hot gust whipping through the Vegas streets, all bluster and heat. I stare at her, absorbing the venom in her gaze, trying to process how someone who once claimed to love him could hate him this much.
“Edward isn’t my boyfriend,” I reply, my voice steady despite my quickening pulse. “He’s my neighbor. And if you were still so into ‘Eddie,’ maybe you shouldn’t have crashed your marriage for a guy who thinks soap is optional.” My words are calm, but inside, I’m reeling. This woman’s anger and jealousy are toxic enough to make my skin prickle.
Her hand whips up, aiming for my face, but it halts mid-air, seized by an iron grip. My breath catches as I follow the arm to its owner. Edward stands there, his frown fierce enough to stop a charging bull. His presence is like a shield built to withstand her venom.
“Rebecca,” he says, his tone flat, “you made your choice. Now live with it.”
She recoils from him as though he’s slapped her, trying to regain ground with false sweetness. “Eddie, baby, you know I miss you.” Her voice softens, her eyes pleading in a way that makes my stomach churn.
“Enough.” He doesn’t shout, but his command slices through the air.
I grab the mailbox as Edward turns to me and takes my free hand with a firmness that brooks no argument. “Let’s go.”
As we walk away, her voice scalds our backs. “You’ll pay for this! Both of you!”
I glance at the shotgun in Edward’s other hand. How much more will we have to endure before peace is more than a distant dream? I hate her. I hate her boyfriend. I hate that they think they can destroy my property and harass us without paying a price for it.
“Are you okay?” Edward’s voice cuts through the silence as we step out into the crisp air, the weight of his concern almost tangible. His gaze is on me, studying me as if he can sense the tremor of frustration hiding beneath my attempt at calm.
“Sure,” I lie, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “It’s just... I sometimes wish I’d never moved here.” The words spill out before I can stop them, slipping past my guard like a confession I didn’t mean to make.
I catch the flicker of pain on Edward’s face, the way his jaw clenches, and I scramble to soften the blow. “But there are good things about this town,” I admit, allowing myself a small truth. “Like unexpected friendships.”
We walk back to our cars, side by side but wrapped in our thoughts. Edward gives me a look before he climbs into his truck, a look that says a lot, before he hides it away. It was an apology, an attempt to ask me not to leave, an appeal that asked me to stay. Words he can’t say.
I smile and slide into the driver’s seat of my car. Usually, I’m happy to see him, and I’m grateful he was there when I needed him, but having to buy another mailbox, having to come face to face with the reason I needed that mailbox, it was too much. I want to be alone for a little while.
When Edward comes over later that evening, I’m back to my usual self. I won’t let Rebecca or her boyfriend ruin my friendship with him. I busy myself cooking dinner, a simple act that feels curiously intimate as Edward sits at the kitchen table—especially after our kiss last night.
As the garlic and herbs waft through the kitchen, Edward sits silently at the table, his roughened hands clasped in front of him. The air feels heavier than the aroma of dinner, and I know it’s not just my encounter with Rebecca that lingers.
“Dinner smells amazing,” he says, breaking the silence, his deep voice steady but laced with something unspoken.
“Thanks,” I reply, stirring the pan. “It’s nice to do something normal after today.”
His lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Normal is good. We could use more of that.”
I turn, leaning against the counter, watching him. The lines on his face are deeper tonight, etched with worry. “What happened earlier—Rebecca... that wasn’t normal. Or fair. She’s... angry. And I can’t believe she left you for him.”
He nods, the movement slow, weighted. “Rebecca and I were married for three years. At first, it was... good. Or at least, I thought it was. We had plans, a future. But somewhere along the line, I stopped being enough for her. Maybe I never was.” His voice is rough, edged with a bitterness he doesn’t bother to hide.
“Edward—”
He shakes his head. “Let me finish,” he says, his eyes locking onto mine, steady and resolute. “Razor came into the picture toward the end. I didn’t know who he was at first. Just some guy she started spending time with, calling him a ‘friend.’ But it didn’t take long to figure out the truth. By the time I confronted her, she was already halfway out the door.”
I swallow hard, my throat dry. “And she went to him.”
“Straight into his arms,” he confirms, his lips twisting into a humorless smile. “Razor gave her something I couldn’t—a life of excitement, danger, power. She always said I was too predictable. Too safe. Guess that’s not what she wanted after all.”
The pain in his voice cuts deep, and I cross the room, placing a hand on his shoulder. “That doesn’t make what she did okay.”
He covers my hand with his, his touch warm but hesitant. “I know that now. Back then? It crushed me. And when I found out what kind of man Razor was, it got worse. Drugs, weapons, extortion. The whole gang is rotten to the core, but he’s the heart of their darkness. I didn’t just lose my wife to another man, Ember. I lost her to a world I wanted no part of.”
I sink into the chair across from him, my appetite forgotten. “And now she’s using him to get to you. To hurt you.”
Edward nods, his expression grim. “She’s always had a vindictive streak. It was one of the reasons we argued so much. But this... it’s a whole new level. She hates that I didn’t fight for her. Hates that I’ve moved on, even if it’s just to this farm, this quieter life. And now that you’re in the picture—” He stops short, his words hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
“She’s targeting me,” I finish for him, my stomach twisting.
“I’m sorry, Ember.” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “If I’d known how far she’d go, I would’ve?—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, reaching for his hand. “Don’t apologize for something that’s not your fault. She’s the one making these choices, not you.”
He studies me, his gaze softening. “You’re stronger than you realize, you know that?”
I smile faintly, squeezing his hand. “Maybe. But I’m stronger with you.”
A silence stretches between us, not heavy this time, but filled with an unspoken understanding. When I finally speak, my voice is steady. “Edward, you deserve more than what Rebecca gave you. You deserve someone who sees the man you are and appreciates every part of you.”
His eyes meet mine, a flicker of something—hope? Gratitude?—sparking there. “Maybe I do,” he murmurs.
I clear my throat, breaking the tension. “Talking of deserving more, I’ve prepared far too much chicken pot roast, so you’re about to get extra portions.”
Edward grimaces, patting his gut. “Not like I need extra portions.”
His eyes meet mine, a flicker of something—hope? Gratitude?—sparking there. “Maybe I do,” he murmurs.
I clear my throat, breaking the tension. “Talking of deserving more, I’ve prepared far too much chicken pot roast, so you’re about to get extra portions.”
Edward grimaces, patting his gut. “Not like I need extra portions.”
“Don’t even start,” I tease, crossing my arms and leaning back. “You call it extra; I call it fuel for all the work you do around here. Besides”—my gaze softens as it flickers over him—“I like you exactly as you are.”
He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Exactly as I am, huh? Even the dad bod?”
“Especially the dad bod,” I counter with a grin, pointing my finger at him. “It’s... distinguished. Rugged. And it’s all part of the package that makes you, well, you.”
Edward chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve got a way with words, sweetheart.”
“Just telling the truth,” I reply, my cheeks warming at his endearment.
We keep the conversation light through dinner, with Edward telling me about the farm. He talks about the early mornings spent checking on the livestock and the satisfaction of seeing the fields thrive under his care. His voice holds a quiet pride as he mentions the two farmhands he employs—Tommy, a college kid who works part-time, and Nate, a seasoned hand who’s been helping him for years.
“They keep things running smoothly,” Edward says, his tone warm with appreciation. “Though Nate likes to remind me every chance he gets that he’s better with the tractor than I’ll ever be.” He chuckles, a deep rumble that carries the contentment of a man who’s found his purpose in hard work and the land.
“I think it’s great,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve built something solid here. It’s not just a farm—it’s a way of life.”
Once we’ve finished dinner, Edward helps me clean up, and we move to the living room and sit on the squishy sofa with our mugs of coffee.
“I see you got some new decorations put up. I like them.” Edward says, looking out of the living room window.
I nod, watching the lights I strung along the porch flicker in the darkness. “When I saw Santa and his reindeer, I couldn’t resist. Or the wire chicks with their little scarves. And you know I had to put a giant snow globe out there with the fake snow blowing inside.”
I sip at the hot tea I made after dinner, moving to stand at the window with him. They’re just things, but they bring a sparkle of normalcy and festivity that makes me smile.
“Looks great,” Edward says, nodding toward the festive display.
“Thanks,” I respond, barely registering his compliment. I’m too preoccupied with the warmth emanating from his body. I want to be closer to him, closer than I should be. In my mind, I imagine curling up next to him, tracing the lines of tension in his shoulders, the strength in his arms that so easily deflected Rebecca’s venom.
But he remains rooted to the opposite end of the sofa, a barrier of resolve keeping us apart. His sense of duty to protect and maintain distance is a wall I’m unsure how to climb. I shouldn’t even want to climb that wall, but I do.
Maybe one day. I tell myself, my heart aching with the hope of something more.
Maybe one day, he’ll see beyond the role of protector, and we’ll find solace not just in shared struggles but in each other.
Maybe.