Page 3 of Burning Ember

I knew the police would find them to discuss the accident within a couple of days, so I didn’t feel the need to remind them. My job was to do everything in my power to keep people from harm, but Kit’s kind words were nice to hear.

Accidents sucked, but unfortunately, they were a part of everyday life. My job was to help people walk away from such a tragic incident. I was proud to do it, but I had compassion for those who lost loved ones. Sometimes, things made no sense.

Chapter One

Jordan David “JD” Horn

Sitting on the front porch of Kit and River’s little beach house was a treat I hadn’t expected, nor did I believe I deserved. Watching the sunset was soothing, and being alone outside their home was a gift, but it was time for me to move out. I was cramping their style, though they were too nice to say anything.

It had been three months since the accident that took our friend and band brother, Hardy Boyer. Staying with River and Kit since Hardy’s funeral had been a huge help for me—though I suspected it was a pity gesture from them because I had nobody else. I accepted their invitation because I didn’t know what else to do, especially since my hand was fucked up to the point I might never be able to play bass again.

The fact that I’d survived the initial impact of the crash with minimal bumps and bruises was a goddamn miracle. Where I fucked up was when I thought I could put my left fist through a tempered glass bus window instead of popping the latch as I’d been shown by Kit.

I’d gone through two surgeries to date, and my hand surgeon speculated I’d need at least one more before I could start rehab. I likely wouldn’t be able to play guitar for at least another three months after my next surgery.

When the accident occurred out of nowhere, it fucked up all of us. None of us had been prepared for that fucking surprise, and none of us knew what to do in the aftermath.

In the chaos of the crash, I’d panicked and smashed metacarpals two through five in my left hand trying to bust the window. It was a preventable outcome, but I couldn’t think straight in the moment. I’d never been in a car accident before, and my fight-or-flight instincts had hit hard and fast.

The possibility of nerve damage was high, and I’d been told I might not regain complete dexterity in my hand, which would prevent me from playing bass ever again.

River stepped in front of me with a hopeful smile. “How about you walk down to the shore with me? Kit wants to surf, and I thought I’d bring my guitar. Maybe we can get inspired and write something?”

I sighed. “I don’t know—”

“JD, Lerner called me today to see how we’re all doing. I think they’re anxious to know when we’re going to finish the summer tour and get back in the studio. I suspect Sound Wave is pressuring them to honor our contract.”

Two more years under that damn contract that didn’t take into account that our tour bus was T-boned by a fucking petroleum truck and one of us died. Heartless bastards.

River handed me an open can of beer as he placed a bamboo mat, a blanket, and a small cooler in the wagon they used to take things down the beach. Everything inside me wanted to scream “no.” I didn’t want to go to the beach. I didn’t want to do anything.

I’d pushed back against the group grief counseling sessions Lerner tried to schedule for us. My grief for my good friend was my own, and I wasn’t sharing it with the rest of them.

Arlo and River were brothers, and I suspected Arlo and Goldie had something going on they weren’t telling anyone about. I was just the son of River’s father’s former bandmate. I wasn’t family or a lover to any of them.

I took a sip of the nice, cold lager before I stood from the steps and slid on flip-flops, prepared to go inside and lock myself in the guestroom where I slept. Kit stepped out of the house in his wetsuit and picked up the surfboard mounted on the exterior wall.

“Come with us, JD. You’re spending a lot of time alone, and I know Riv misses your company,” Kit said. “Once you get the last surgery and lose the splint, I’m going to teach you and River to surf. I’ve gotten him to come out with me a few times, but you guys with your slender, muscular bodies can get your feet under you a lot easier than me.”

I laughed. “One flaw in the plan, Kit. I can’t swim. Ripper wasn’t around enough to teach me, and Franny is deathly afraid of water, so I never got to learn. I don’t mind watching you surf though. You got a job coming up soon?”

Ripper and Franny were my parents, and we didn’t see eye to eye on much. Ripper had played rhythm guitar and sung backup for From the Ashes, the band that Riv’s father had been the lead singer and drummer for back in the nineties.

The band retired a few days ago, turning over control of some of their music to our band, which was a plus for us. Ripper and Franny moved to Oregon for the quiet life in the country, which didn’t appeal to me at all.

Of course my parents had come to SoCal after the accident and tried to talk me into going home with them. I thanked them and explained that I needed to stay in SoCal, and they didn’t argue.

Hell, I was twenty-seven. I wasn’t going to live with my parents again. I had to pick myself up and figure out what the fuck to do with my life.

“I don’t have anything scheduled for the truck. I’ve got enough going on with the charter business, but I’ll go back out when the band is ready. Riv was going to use the bathroom, so I’ll take the wagon with me. I’ll see you guys on the beach.”

He pulled the wagon behind him as he carried his surfboard and took off across the sand. The man was absolutely unlike anyone I’d ever met.

River came out of the house with his acoustic, and the two of us walked through the sand to the shoreline where the wagon was parked. Kit was kind enough to spread the bamboo mat for us and place the blanket on top. They were lucky to have found each other.

Riv sat on the mat staring into nothing. “So, I’ve been thinking about writing a song in Hardy’s honor. Have you talked to Goldie or Arlo? I texted them to see if they wanted to get into the studio, but they haven’t responded. I’m kinda worried about all of us.”

“I know you were the one who wanted to get a grief counselor to meet with us, but I’m not ready.” I exhaled. “God, it’s hard to get my head around writing anything.”