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I may have carried her out of that fire, but the truth was, Bree saved me.
From The Embers, an all-new not-to-be-missed, standalone catastrophic romance from USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez is available now!
In the aftermath of tragedy, it’s strange the things you remember. The deafening boom as the house exploded. The paralyzing fear as I searched for my wife. The blinding smoke burning my eyes as I carried her out.
But carved into my soul for the rest of my days would be the earth-shattering realization that the woman in my arms wasn’t my wife.
Bree and I were the only survivors—not that either of us were truly living after that night. As a single dad with nowhere else to go, I moved into her guest house. And somehow, through the guilt and grief, we forged an unlikely team.
It took years, but I watched the gradual return of her smile—slow and life-altering. The two of us could sit outside for hours, talking about nothing, and it filled the massive hole in my chest with new life.
I may have carried her out of that fire, but the truth was, Bree saved me.
As we healed, the secrets and lies of the past smoldered in the ashes, threatening to ignite again.
Our love was born from the embers, and together we would go up in flames.
Using my arm to block my face, I carried her lifeless body to the door. The knob seared my palm as I yanked it open, but the pain didn’t even register through the adrenaline. The sound of my feet pounding down the driveway echoed in my ears as the fire crackled behind me. Our closest neighbor was over half a mile away, but there was no way they hadn’t heard the explosion. The fire department would be there soon. Once I got Jessica safe, I’d go back for Bree. They’d find Rob. Everyone would be okay. “Eason,” she croaked in my arms. My feet were still moving as I sprinted away, but time stopped as her voice permeated my senses. It wasn’t possible. She was covered in soot, and my eyes were caked with ash and what I would later learn to be blood, but I could still make out the large flowers on her yellow— “Uh, no. It’s my dress that your wife borrowed and I had to do an entire Tom Cruise Mission Impossible thing to get it back last week.” Oh, God. I kept running until the wind changed direction, clearing the smoke. With my heart in my throat, I prayed that my still ringing ears had deceived me. I set her down and used the inside of my shirt to clear my face. “Eason,” she croaked. But once again, she wasn’t my wife. “Oh, God,” I breathed, watching as she rose on unsteady legs. Tears carved twin riverbeds through the ash on her cheeks. “What happened?” Bree asked, her green eyes focused on the blazing inferno behind me. Acrid guilt devoured me. “I…” I saved the wrong woman. I left the mother of my child in a burning building. My final broken promise to the woman I’d vowed forever to was, “I’ll be right back.” Bile crawled up my throat. “I don’t know.” I glanced back at the house, the heat of the roaring fire scorching me even from yards away. Overwhelming grief hit me as I realized there was no
way I could get back through those flames. Oh, God. Jessica. In the middle of tragedy, it’s strange the things that become engrained into your memories. Years later, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how long it took the firetrucks to get there. I couldn’t tell you what time it was or what I had been wearing. But I would never be able to forget the absolute devastation on Bree’s face when she realized we were the only two standing outside the burning house. “Where’s Rob?” she rasped, her voice sounding like it had traveled over a mile of gravel before exiting her throat. “And Jessica. Where are they?” She took an urgent stride toward me. “I tried…” I doubled over into a fit of coughing. It was probably for the best. There was no way I could have finished that thought.
About Aly Martinez
Originally from Savannah, Georgia, USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez now lives in South Carolina with her husband and four young children. Never one to take herself too seriously, she enjoys cheap wine, mystery leggings, and olives. It should be known, however, that she hates pizza and ice cream, almost as much as writing her bio in the third person. She passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a super-sized tumbler of wine by her side.
What a fantastic read. A tragedy brings two heartbroken people together. My heart screamed for these two. All emotions rolled out in this one. I went from sad to happy, from crying to laughing. The pain in this book is real and all the feels will complete your heart. Bree and Eason are wonderful together and their story is absolutely fantastic. Definitely one of my favorite books of the year.
They call me the reaper.
Saying I have no soul.
A heart that's charred black.
I tell them it's true,
because it is.
I've been hiding in the shadows.
Stealing secrets, destroying the lives of those who deserve it.
But there's one story to be told before this book closes.
My story.
Don't be fooled, it's not a fairytale.
I'm no prince.
And I certainly don't want a princess.
With me, she'd never get a happily ever after.
I'd break her heart in two then serve it on a platter with a smile on my face.
I told her to stay away.
Forced her on her knees. Made her beg. Made her cry. Yet, she still wants my help.
Everything I do comes with a price.
They call me the reaper.
And she'll give me a soul.
Even if it's hers I take.
Cover Designer: Y'all. That Graphic. Photographer: Michelle Lancaster
Rachel Leigh overuses emojis and lol. Coffee is her guilty pleasure, paired with a book and a pair of leggings. Writing is her passion. Her goal is to brighten at least one person's day with the worlds she creates between the pages of her books.
A Naughty Book Fling 