Page 48 of The Billionaire's Catch

“That’s not what this is about, is it? It’s about your parents.” His expression softened. “You blame yourself for their death.”

Dara’s head shot up. “What? Of course not.”

“Not at all? Not even a little?” His gaze remained even. “I’m not saying it was your fault, but I’ve always wondered if perhaps you thought it was.”

Dara thought about it, and there deep down, a seedling of guilt festered. That fateful day rose like a phoenix from the ashes. “They wanted to stay in,” she said quietly. “My dad didn’t like driving in bad weather, but I wanted to go to the movies. So I convinced them to go.”

Liquid sadness blurred her vision, as memories of the stormy night replayed, first the laughter, the joy. Then suddenly two bright lights out of nowhere and an explosion to rival a volcano. Then such eerie silence as senses dimmed, before bright lights, screaming sirens, and then she was screaming. But them… they were so quiet. And then, no more mother to kiss her, no more father to hug her.

No, that wasn’t true. They were always with her.

“If I’d listened to them, they’d still be alive.”

Pat grasped her shoulder. “Dara, you can’t think like that. Going for a drive during a rainstorm isn’t dangerous. The problem wasn’t you – it was the driver who had three times over the limit. That could’ve happened on the most perfect day.”

“But still–”

“But nothing.” Her uncle remained firm. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She’d heard the claim before, even from herself, but for the first time she actually considered it. For once, she gave herself permission to believe it. And even if she couldn’t completely accept it, a smidgeon of weight lifted from her shoulders, a burden she hadn’t even realized was there.

For the first time in so very long, she felt lighter, freer. At peace.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she said softly. “I’m not to blame.” She took a deep breath. “And neither is Jason. I pushed my guilt on him, blamed him for a crime he never committed. I’ve been treating him like he was a criminal. But he’s not. It wasn’t his fault.”

“I told him that exact same thing.”

It didn’t surprise her. Her uncle was a wise man.

“Jason is a good man, far better than he’d have anyone believe. I know all about his charity work, and believe me, you don’t know the half of it.” He paused, clearly debating his next words, but finally spoke, “It’s about time you know the truth of what happened the night of Alan’s accident.”

Her breath hitched. “I already know what happened.”

“No, you don’t.” Pat lifted a glass paperweight, with golden swirls obscuring its clear center. “Jason is like you, willing to take blame for something he didn’t do. I won’t let him sacrifice his life – or yours – any longer. The newspapers got it wrong. Jason didn’t give Alan his keys. Alan stole them while Jason was calling for a ride. Before he got back, Alan had already taken the car.”

“What?” Reality stopped, shifted. Truths disappeared, replaced by new ones? “That’s impossible. Jason was in the car with Alan. There are pictures.”

“Yes, but not because they were joyriding together. Jason raced after Alan to stop him. He managed to get in the car, but Alan refused to pull over, driving erratically in his alcohol-induced haze. He almost hit a school bus, but Jason screamed at him to stop. Unfortunately, Alan overcompensated, leading to the accident.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Alan was injured, but many more were saved.”

“I don’t believe it,” she breathed. All this time, she’d blamed Jason when he’d been a hero. “He risked his life to rescue Alan and ended up saving a busload of kids. Why didn’t he say anything? Why let everyone believe he encouraged Alan to drink and drive?”

“Who knows?” Pat shrugged. “Guilt is a strange beast. Maybe he thought taking the blame would help Alan in some way. Or perhaps the guilt was so strong, he didn’t want to be absolved of it. He’s refused to let us set the record straight.”

“He thinks it’s his penance.” She shook her head. It wasn’t fair. Jason was a good man and didn’t deserve guilt over something he didn’t do. Somehow, she would help him see that. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“He thinks you’re wonderful, you know.”

The words brought more satisfaction than she would ever admit. Yet likely her pinkened cheeks already did. “He’s wonderful, too.”

Pat cocked his head to the side. “Then what’s the problem?”

Dara opened her mouth, stopped. What was the problem? She’d come up with so many excuses, but the truth was she loved him. Had fear stopped her all along? “I don’t think there is a problem,” she said slowly.

Pat clapped his hands together. “Fantastic. Then I trust you will be staying in town. Aunt Mary will be so pleased. Let us know if there are any arrangements we can help with.”

Dara put her hands in front of her, grinning through watery eyes. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

Pat winked. “Am I? Sorry.” Yet his tone wasn’t the least bit sorry as he squeezed her hand. The love he’d showered on her since she was a little lost girl shone brightly, far better than ginger cookies.

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