Ashes of Him

Ella Grant had been on dozens of talk shows, but this one felt different.Ella Grant had appeared on dozens of glitzy talk shows yet this particular gig felt eerily offbeat somehow. Not because of sheer numbers surrounding her or surveillance cameras that were utilized rather sporadically. Bright lights bounce off sleek floorboards in studio. Shelley Crane was known for smiling sweetly while drawing blood with considerable finesse as host of rather morbid events. She was a woman who gutted her subjects on air with reckless abandon and dubbed it cathartic excavation. Ella adjusted her navy dress hem subtly and crossed one leg over the other precisely as instructed by her publicist beforehand. Her heartbeat thudded loudly deep behind ribs pretty vigorously.“And we are back with Ella Grant, bestselling author of Ashes of Him,” Shelley said, turning toward the camera. “Critics are calling it your rawest, most emotional work yet.”

Ella offered a tight smile. “It was… personal.

“Clearly,” Shelley said, her voice shifting. “There’s been a lot of buzz about the male lead, ‘Lucas’ a small-town firefighter who lost the love of his life and never moved on. It was supposed be just another promo flashing a laugh and sipping from a mug emblazoned with weird branding somehow.“Is it true he was based on someone real?” Ella’s spine stiffened.and she offered a tight smile downstairs.“I...I draw from emotion but the characters are fictional.”Ella said carefully.

“Sure, sure,” Shelley said with a rehearsed chuckle. “But there’s been some digging. Shelley spoke clearly her voice shifting awkwardly. It was deeply personal. A lot of hullabaloo surrounds Lucas a rugged small-town firefighter still stuck on love lost tragically years ago. Shelley leaned forward with eyes glittering brightly now under flickering dim light in a rather tense atmosphere suddenly. Ella's spine stiffened suddenly as she asked if he was loosely based on some actual person. That hadn't been listed on prep sheet originally. Offstage her publicist sat with brows knitting and looked up slowly. Ella spoke with deliberate slowness saying I draw from deep emotional wells.“I don’t” Her voice cracked.

“He was your high school boyfriend, wasn’t he?” Shelley pressed. “Your first love? Shelley said sure with a sly grin obviously masking her true feelings. Characters in her story were entirely made up anyway. Someone's been digging pretty thoroughly though. Mason Carter's name surfaced recently somehow. Blazing infernos are battled daily by rugged individuals proudly donning that revered title firefighter with utmost fervor and grit.“It’s just that people are saying this book isn’t fiction at all,” Shelley continued. “That it’s a confession."Ella’s hand trembled. Rosewood sprawled lavishly across hillsides beneath a sky turned perpetually orange. Silence swathed studio suddenly. Ella blinked once slowly under bright lights. It happened twice under rather mysterious circumstances.“Is that true, Ella?” Shelley asked, eyes narrow. “Is Ashes of Him your way of reaching out?”

A second passed.Her hands turned glacially cold suddenly beneath her sleeves. Her voice cracked suddenly on those hesitant words I don't. Shelley pressed her with a query about his past connection being her high school beau wasn't he? "Ella?” the host called behind her.Your first flame? You left her without so much as a whisper? Audience members shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

Several people leaned forward awkwardly. Ella's parched throat felt utterly desiccated suddenly. A static hum filled her ears and her vision blurred slightly. People are whispering this tome isn't fiction at all Shelley continued fairly awkwardly. Ella's hand trembled quite violently as she murmured that it was a confession. She strained upward vigorously for water glass on table but her fingers flailed about uncooperatively. Her mind went back to when she stood alone beneath a dim streetlight at eighteen with a suitcase gripped tightly in her hand and tears welling up heavily. She reread Mason's letter obsessively, that one she had never gotten around to answering. She was jocked back to memory by Shelley's next question."is that true?".Shelly asked with a wicked grin in her mouth.A beat elapsed silently and eyes locked intensely. Was Ashes of Him some twisted attempt at reconnection somehow? Suddenly another one emerged rather quickly again. Ella stood up quietly, yanked off her microphone and laid it down gently beside a glass on a cluttered table nearby. The host called out Ella's name behind her very loudly. Ella kept moving forward stubbornly instead of turning back. She strode offstage amidst a sea of whispers and camera phones rising simultaneously in a burst of frenzied excitement.

Sheets of rain lashed down heavily on Rosewood Highway twelve hours later. Ella's rental car lurched violently once then let out a deafening pop and slowed down pretty quickly. She muttered a vicious oath under breath and steered sharply onto shoulder just in time for engine dying completely. Steam seethed violently from under hood with a deafening noise. She violently slammed both palms against worn steering wheel with considerable force and frustration suddenly overwhelming her frazzled nerves. Perfect she muttered under her breath pretty recklessly as her phone lay dead in a studio dressing room somewhere. Her luggage had been tossed haphazardly into back of vehicle with utter disregard for its fragile contents.

Last exit sign had read “Rosewood – 2 Miles” weirdly enough and she hadn’t intended going that far down dark deserted roads. A plan was hatched slowly to vanish into some dingy motel room far across state lines under cover of night. Her hands moved mechanically on some dimly recalled route her heart vehemently disallowed. She stood precariously on edge of one place she'd vehemently vowed never again to set foot. She stepped out awkwardly from beneath car door with considerable haste nearby. Rain drenched her locks and shoes rapidly in mere seconds soaking shoulders thoroughly.

A bolt of lightning lit the sky.

Then… headlights.A pickup truck roared toward her from the opposite lane, slowed, then turned sharply, splashing water as it stopped just ahead of her.

Her pulse quickened.

The door swung open.

And then,there he was.

Mason Carter.

Taller than she remembered. Broader. Drenched in a firehouse windbreaker and looking like a storm himself.Their eyes met through the rain.He didn’t say her name. Didn’t move toward her.Just stared.And somehow… that silence hurt more than any words could have.Her knees buckled.The last thing she saw before the world tilted was Mason’s eyes—still burning.

Still angry.

Still beautiful.