Page 1 of Firefly Embers

PROLOGUE

“They say I changed a lot; I said a lot changed me.” —Derez De’Shon

White-hot searing pain scorches its way through the flesh of my back. Even though the pain is imaginary, it feels as real as any physical touch. As many times as I will my mind to block out the pain and reminder of my accident, my body refuses to forget. I close my eyes, begging my body to follow my mind into oblivion and give me the reprieve I crave. Of course, with my rotten luck, I am trapped in this cycle of agony.

I can feel the bite of the bullet as it pierces my skin, tearing through the flesh of my back as if it were nothing thicker than paper.

My mind still forces me to relive the terror that swept over me as I fell, my legs heavy and unable to move.

The doctor’s words, “never ride again,” were a haunting refrain in my mind, reminding me of the life I could no longer live. A life I had built, brick by painstaking brick.

Anger, fiercer than any before, poured in through my scars, raced within my blood, and boiled ferociously through my veins, filling my body with an untamed fire.

Every night, it’s the same song and dance, a constant cadence of agony tangoing with anger. The crescendo, a gut-wrenching pain that threatens to overtake my senses, draws me further and further into the darkness of my grief.

Under the cover of darkness, I beg my body to forget the feeling, the sound, the anguish. I’m silently pleading with my mind, hoping to quiet the ceaseless churning of dark thoughts. I drown the pain in alcohol, constantly trying to lighten the weight of oppression that these memories hold over me.

The nightmare plays out in the dark recesses of my mind. I am lost, drifting out to sea with no life vest to keep me afloat. Kicking my legs, their stillness an icy tendril of remembrance.

I desperately try to scream, but no sound emerges from my throat. The waves crash over me, drawing me farther and farther from the surface as darkness threatens to consume me, to pull me under.

Looking skyward, I can see the sun. Its rays are a beacon of hope and warmth, beckoning me to keep trying, keep kicking. I stretch my arms up, reaching for the surface, but my fingers fall short of breaching the inky depths. I’m drowning.

I refuse to surrender to the darkness, but every second I’m stuck under, I find my resolve weakening. I don’t know how much fight I have left before this relentless grief swallows me whole.

WADE

I watched as everyone around me toasted their drinks to the radiant bride and groom, a profound sense of sadness flooding my weathered soul.

Sure, I was happy for my brother and his new wife, Stella, as they accepted their well-earned congratulations with beaming smiles permanently etched on their faces. They deserved this. They had been through hell and back for their happy ending.

I was happiest, though, with the glass of top-shelf bourbon resting against my palm, its cool bite a reminder that I could feel something, anything. The warmth of the amber liquid pooled low in my belly, radiating out to every inch of my skin, burning away the one fuck I had left to give.

Hell, I was even happy sitting back and watching my best friend, Ray, flirt with every single warm-blooded man in attendance. Well, maybe I wasn’t happy about that one. I was indifferent; that was the most accurate way to put it.

The indifference was new; normally, the thought of Ray with another man would have sent me into a blind rage.

Lately, all I could feel was the emptiness left by my losses—a hollow reminder of what life had taken from me. There was a pivotal piece of my soul missing. Like a phantom limb, I felt the ache of a piece of me I wouldn’t ever get back. That reminder was the catalyst for my ever-present bad mood.

The searing pain of a bullet narrowly missing my spine had become a recurring nightmare. That was about the only thing I felt in excruciating detail; everything else was shrouded in a haze of indifference.

The reminder that I would likely never get on a horse again brought with it a crushing realization I had been forced to accept.

Though the word “never” still tasted like acid on my tongue. I wanted to see it as a challenge, but the alternate reality of becoming a quadriplegic should something go wrong wasn’t a reality I wanted to entertain.

Here, at what should have been one of the most joyous moments of our family’s life, I felt the scrutiny of societal standards, being that I was the last single Daniels man.

I guess being thirty and a perpetual bachelor loses its appeal when your twin brother settles down and becomes a stepdad all in one fell swoop.

Although everyone was breathing down my neck, wondering when I was finally going to get hitched, I couldn’t find it in myself to take a step in that direction.

Realistically, I couldn’t force myself to make a move in any direction.

After all, who wants to date a washed-up cowboy with an alcohol dependency, a fucked-up back, no job, no house of his own, and debilitating trauma he refused to acknowledge?

Yeah, I sure sound like a fucking catch.

I swirled the amber liquid around my glass before taking a hearty swig. The bourbon burned its way down my throat, pushing down the bubbling anxiety threatening to overtake me.