Page 75 of Ashes to Ashes

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rae

EPILOGUE

** Two Years Later **

“Rae!Rae! Over here! Who are you wearing?”

“More like what are you wearing?” Ash growled in my ear as he set his hand on my lower back and guided me down the red carpet. I’d chosen a shimmery dress that was business in the front, but a complete party in the back. Well, that was, if there had been a back. Given how little material actually existed on this thing, it weighed aton.

“Hush,” I said with a smirk. “You love this dress.” Turning to the reporter, I said, “Bianca Lopez. It’s an original. Youlike?”

The reporter whistled and asked me to turn so the cameraman could shoot the back. “Wow,” she said, when I wheeled back around. “That’s stunning.”

I stroked my hands down the front. It really was. “Thank you. I’ll tell her you saidso.”

Ash and I moved on to the next reporter, a wolfish smile splitting his lips. “One thing’s for sure. I can’t complain about its easy access,” he said, dropping his fingers down beneath the loose fabric at the base of my spine to stroke the cleft between my ass cheeks.

I yelped, and a few eyes turned our way. Before they could see what had caused my outburst, Ash’s hand was back where it belonged. “I guarantee every dude in this place is holding his breath, praying that tiny little clasp around your neck comes undone.”

I giggled and rolled my eyes. There was no way in hell that was happening. Bianca and I had put the diamond and emerald brooch through the ringer. The only way it was coming undone was if someone took an axe to it. That, or if Ash flipped all the carefully concealed locks embedded in the design.

“Chase Triggs isn’t,” I said, notching my chin toward a too-cool-for-school twenty-four year old pop star who had an Amazonian model draped on each of hisarms.

“Yeah, maybe not,” Ash agreed, eyeing the women appreciatively before turning back to me. “He looks like he has his handsfull.”

And that was exactly what Chase wanted everyone to think. We’d been in rehab together and had formed an unlikely friendship not many knew about. I had no problem talking to Ash about my experience with rehab, but there was no way I’d ever tell him about the people I’d met there in more than an abstract way. The truth was, Chase’s whole sex god thing was all an act. He was actually gay, and very much in love with his childhood best friend. Unfortunately for Chase, said friend was as straight as they came, and had no clue his friend had been harboring a lifelong crush on him. Hence, how he’d ended up in rehab. The stories we had shared about all the stupid shit we’d done trying to numb our pain would make your head spin. Maybe someday when Chase settled down and found happiness, I would introduce him to Ash. Until then, I raised a finger, catching his eye. He smiled and rolled his eyes, as if to say, “Can you believe this shit?” I shook my head and blew him akiss.

“What was that?” Ash asked as we strolled to our next stopping point in the press line. Flashbulbs clicked, momentarily blinding me, but I kept a smile glued to myface.

“Nothing. Just trying to itch in my nose without actually touching it. I don’t want someone to take a picture and it look like I’m picking mynose.”

Ash reached out and scratched the tip of my nose. “Better?”

“Um, now it’s going to look like you’re picking mynose.”

He bopped me on the nose with the tip of his finger. “No one is going to see a picture of me touching your nose and think I’m rooting around for boogers.”

I chuckled. “No, they’ll probably think you’re wiping coke from it instead.”

Ash glared at me. “Not funny, Rae.”

I shrugged. “No, it’s not. But likelytrue.”

He continued glaring through the remainder of our photos. Ash had that whole silent and mysterious thing going for him, so not many would question the dark look in his eyes. And those who did would take one look at his bio and nod knowingly. My husband was a fucking bad ass. “It’s been years,” he said out the side of his mouth when we stepped down into the holdingarea.

“And people have long memories,” I countered as we followed an usher to our seats a few rows back from the stage. Being seated effectively ended our conversation, which was fine byme.

For the next hour, we sat through a handful of awards and performances. And then, during a commercial break, we slipped away and made our way backstage to a dressing room where we encountered Bianca waiting with a different dress I’d wear on stage when I performed.

“Turn, chica,” she said, twirling her finger. I did as she commanded, and she worked the intricate clasp free. From behind her, one of her assistants tossed Ash a white t-shirt.

A few minutes later, I had on a short silver sequined skirt topped by a plain black tank. It was actually one of Ash’s that Bianca had tailored to fit me like a glove. She could have made one for me in a few minutes, but I loved the idea of wearing something of his while singing about our life together. And the juxtaposition of hard and soft, glam and laid back, looked so cool. As a last step, I pulled my hair from its high bun, and it cascaded down my back in caramel waves.

The stagehand passed me my guitar, while another delivered Ash’s to his. And then we took to the stage, side by side—me standing, Ash perched on a stool—and everything went silent for one calm beat before a fluttering of whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd. I smiled down at an acquaintance in the front row who looked at me agog. Our secret wasout.

Two weeks after Ash got out of the hospital, I pulled him into the studio and played him a new song. It wasn’t about Ford, or drinking, or fucking nameless, faceless men. Well, it kind of was. It was about how Ash had come into my life and then surreptitiously worked his way into my heart. I’d long said I didn’t believe in fate, but lately I was rethinking that stance. There was no way to explain our coming together that second time. Ash was supposed to be in my life, and I was supposed to be in his. We were two halves of the same coin. Two broken pieces that when pushed together formed a mended whole.

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