Page 36 of Branded Souls (Ember Hollow Romance #3)

Skye

I didn’t go back to the bed-and-breakfast.

Instead, I drove aimlessly through the sleepy morning streets of Ember Hollow. The soft-gray sky allowed wisps of light to filter through. A few people were out walking dogs or heading to work, but it all felt distant.

I hadn’t looked at my phone. I couldn’t. It buzzed twice with new texts from Fox while I was still in the sheriff’s office, but I never opened them. Eventually, I turned the phone off entirely. I couldn’t take another word of comfort. Not from him. Not from anyone.

I ended up at a small public park outside town—a place I barely remembered from childhood. The parking lot was cracked with potholes, the swing set had rusted through the years, and a couple of picnic tables sat under a sagging pavilion. It wasn’t much, but it was quiet and empty .

I pulled into a space and turned the engine off, but didn’t move to leave the vehicle. I wrapped both hands tightly around the steering wheel and pressed my forehead against it.

I was so stupid.

I had wanted it to be her.

That bracelet. I had been so sure it had been the one I’d made for my mom.

But I was wrong.

The bracelet in the evidence bag had looked similar in the grainy photo, but in person it was totally different.

How had I been so wrong?

I unclipped my seat belt and curled my knees up onto the seat, wrapping my arms around my middle, as if I could keep myself from unraveling. My ribs ached as I gasped for air. My throat felt tight.

Why did this hurt so much?

She had left me when I was seven. She’d been gone for most of my life.

Why did it feel like I was losing her all over again?

I sucked in a breath, then another. But it didn’t help. It wasn’t a panic attack, not exactly. It was something deeper. Slower. Like grief had been hiding under my skin for years, and it was clawing its way out.

I rested my forehead on my knees, sobs racking my body. Ugly, gasping sobs that I couldn’t stop.

I didn’t know why it mattered so much that Jane Doe wasn’t my mom.

Maybe I’d been holding on to some last shred of hope that I hadn’t been abandoned. Maybe I’d been wanting to believe my mother was better than she was, so that I could have hope that someday, I’d be able to be a good mother, too.

That hope was gone now. And in its place, there was this gaping, open wound I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying.

I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. Until my throat was raw and my cheeks were chapped and my ribs hurt from the force of it.

Maybe it wasn’t just about her, either.

Maybe it was everything. My mother. My father. Fox. The baby I lost. The life I could’ve had, the version of myself that never got to exist.

Maybe I thought I was strong enough to come back here and do this. But maybe I was wrong about that too.

Eventually, the tears stopped. I dragged my head up. My hands shook as I wiped my face, trying to pull myself together.

The park was starting to come alive now. A couple of cars had pulled in. A woman was unloading a toddler from a car seat. I couldn’t sit here anymore.

I couldn’t go back to the bed-and-breakfast either. Not yet. I wasn’t ready.

So I turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the space, heading in the only direction I could think of.

Home.

My childhood home.

The last place I ever saw my mother.

A sh didn’t answer the door right away.

I stood on the porch, arms wrapped around my middle, rocking on my heels. A morning breeze tugged at my hair, cool against skin that still felt raw from crying.

This was the last place I’d seen her. My mother. And if anyone needed to know the truth, it was Ash. I had to tell him that Jane Doe wasn’t her.

But as I continued to stand there, waiting, I realized I didn’t even know if Ash was home.

I started to turn around, scolding myself for showing up unannounced, when the door finally creaked open.

Ash stood there, sleep still clinging to his features, his dark hair a mess and a mug in his hand. He started to smile when he saw me—until he took in my expression.

His whole face shifted.

“Skye?” He stepped forward. “What happened? Are you okay?”

I opened my mouth, tried to find words, but nothing came. Just a tight, trembling breath that made my chest ache.

“It’s not her, Ash,” I choked out.

He blinked. “What?”

I didn’t have the strength to say more. I stood there, crumbling all over again.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice tight. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“It’s not Mom,” I whispered.

His body stilled.

Brow furrowing, he searched my face. “Come in,” he said, voice low. “Please. ”

I didn’t hesitate this time. I walked past him into the living room that had changed so much since we were kids. He led me to the couch and sat beside me.

“Tell me what’s going on.” He set his mug on the coffee table.

I wiped my face, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Detective Whize got permission to let me see the evidence box,” I explained. “From the Jane Doe case.”

His brows lifted. “You went this morning?”

I nodded. “I thought I’d recognize something. I thought the bracelet…I thought it was hers.”

“The one you made,” he said quietly.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t rush me. He merely sat there, listening.

“It wasn’t.” I shook my head. “I was so sure when I saw the photo. I’m not even sure why I wanted it to be her so…desperately.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “I used to pretend she was dead.”

I looked at him sharply.

“It was easier,” he said, not looking at me, “than believing she didn’t want us.”

My heart shattered behind my ribs.

“I think I needed her to be Jane Doe,” I whispered. “I needed to believe there was some reason. Some tragedy. Because otherwise, it’s just…abandonment.”

Ash’s hand tightened around mine. “I get it.”

A beat of silence passed between us, full of grief and resentment, but understanding, too.

“Have you told Fox?” Ash asked, breaking the silence .

I shook my head. “He’s texted, but I turned my phone off.”

Ash frowned. “Why?”

“I can’t talk to anyone right now,” I said. “Not even him. I needed space.”

Ash nodded. “Does he even know you’re here?”

“No.” I leaned back into the couch, blinking back tears. “I don’t even know why I came here. I guess I…wanted you to know.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said simply, reaching over and giving my knee a gentle squeeze. He gave me a small, thankful smile. “I’ve missed you, Skye. I’m really glad we’ve gotten this time to reconnect.”

My gaze fixed on his hand. I was glad, too. When I looked up into my brother’s face, I managed to return the smile.

Our brief moment of connection was disrupted by the sound of a phone vibrating. Ash’s face fell. He pulled back and reached for his phone in his pocket.

He glanced at the screen, grimacing.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, standing from the couch. “I need to take this. Make yourself comfortable.”

He turned and disappeared into the kitchen, speaking low as he answered the call.

I stayed on the couch for a few seconds longer, picking at my cuticles. The pain had settled into something duller now. Heavier. Less like a jagged scream and more like a quiet, steady bleed.

I glanced around the living room—Ash had made it into a home. A real one. The kind we never had growing up.

I fidgeted in my seat, glancing over toward the kitchen. I couldn’t hear a thing from Ash if he was still in there .

The silence started to press in. I stood, needing to move. My feet padded across the laminate floor. I wandered toward the hallway where the bedrooms were, almost without thinking. It was darker down there—narrow and windowless, like when we were kids. The shadows clung to the corners.

I hesitated at the threshold, staring down the hall.

My father’s old room was at the very end, the door shut tight. A chill slid down my spine just looking at it.

Closer to me, my eyes landed on another door. One I knew well. My old bedroom.

I’d stood in that room as a child with scraped knees and bruises on my arms. I’d curled up under the covers and wished myself away more times than I could count.

But I’d also laughed in that room. I’d dreamed there. I’d fallen in love with Fox Ramsey for the first time right in that room.

I thought of the night he’d climbed through my window when I was too sick to sneak out. He hadn’t said a word, simply laid beside me and held my hand. He stayed all the way until morning.

I took a small step forward.

What had Ash done with it? Maybe it was an office now, or a storage room.

I glanced behind me. Still no sound from the kitchen. What was taking him so long?

My gaze returned to the door, and I noticed it was cracked open.

A strange feeling stirred in my chest. A flicker of…dread, perhaps. Or ma ybe curiosity.

I moved before thinking better of it, my fingers brushing the edge of the door as I leaned closer. There was something inside, something on the far wall. I squinted.

It was a picture.

My pulse quickened as I nudged the door open enough to get a better look.

Then, the world fell out from under me.

I pushed the door the rest of the way open, heart hammering. I took one step inside.

I couldn’t breathe.

Every wall of the room—every inch—was covered in images. Of me.

Pictures were printed out and thumbtacked to corkboards, taped directly to the walls, and tucked into frames. Some I recognized. Press stills. Screen captures from my show. Instagram selfies.

But others…others I’d never seen before in my life.

Candid shots. Grainy images of me walking down the sidewalk, caught mid-step. Leaving the studio. Getting into a cab. From behind. From a distance. One looked like it had been taken through the damn window of my apartment.

My knees almost gave out.

“No,” I whispered.

No. No. No.

I stumbled further into the room, toward the large desk in the corner. Three computer monitors sat side by side, all dark now. Below them, multiple towers blinked silently with standby lights. I scanned the mess of items on the desk—a tangle of wires, notebooks, pens. I froze.

There, right beside a worn leather mousepad, sat a tiny black camera.

It looked identical to the ones we’d pulled from the cabin .

My stomach knotted and bile crept up the back of my throat. My skin turned ice-cold.

This wasn’t just my old room.

It was a shrine.

I backed away slowly, heart pounding in my ears. My mouth was dry. The walls felt like they were closing in, pressing down, trapping me with the truth I didn’t want to see.

This couldn’t be real.

Ash—my brother. The only family I had left.

It couldn’t be him.

But the camera on the desk. The photos.

I gazed around the room, terror seeping into my very bones. I wasn’t safe alone in this house.

I needed to get out.