Page 82 of Meet Me on Blueberry Hill

He’d figure it out. Find some place to hole up where nobody knew or cared who he was.

He jammed the last of his clothes in his duffel, zipped it closed, then glanced around the hotel room to make sure he’d gotten everything.

The unmade bed with blankets twisted spoke of his night of very little sleep. At least nightmares hadn’t unleashed their wrath.

His dad did that on his own.

He tossed a few dollar bills on the dented pillow for housekeeping and spied a stray sock on the neutral carpet that blended with the beige-lined wallpaper. Nothing in the room stood out. It was as if the room itself was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Asher got it. He wanted nothing more than to blend in.

Swiping his phone off the dresser, he slung his duffel over his shoulder and headed for the door. Ensuring he had his key card, he turned the knob.

And found his uncle Terry standing in the doorway, his fist poised to knock.

Asher took a step back. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you. Mind if I come in?”

“Mom told you where I was.” Once he’d settled in his room, he texted his mom, told her where he was staying, and promised to meet her for coffee before he headed out of town.

“I was about to check out, but I have a few minutes.” Asher stepped aside and let his uncle pass. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Uncle Terry glanced around the room, rested a shoulder against the wall next to the bathroom and shoved a hand in his front pocket. “You should’ve stayed at the party. We missed you.”

“Define ‘we.’”

“Your mom tried to put on a happy face for everyone else, but she was hurting. And your sister was upset you left before she got there.” Terry leveled him with a direct look. “How longare you going to let this feud between you and your old man continue?”

Asher tossed his bag on the bed and sank onto the mattress next to it. “When we’re together, it’s always the same thing. He only respects me if I do what he wants, not what I want.”

Terry pushed away from the wall and pulled out the office chair at the small desk next to the dresser. He sat and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “What do you want, Ash?”

Man, that was a loaded question.

So many things…

Asher rubbed his forehead, then looked at his uncle, who acted more like a dad than his own father. Grief and years of being outside had etched deep lines in the man’s face. His dark hair, streaked with silver, had been combed off his forehead. His blue eyes radiated something Asher longed for.

Peace.

Asher stared at his own hands, nicked and calloused from months spent working with the horses. Months of trying to escape his past mistakes. His throat thickened as his vision blurred. He ran a hand under his nose.

“I want to be enough.” The whispered words tore at the wound festering deep inside him. “I want to be redeemed from past mistakes. To make up for everything I’ve messed up. I keep feeling like I’m just…failing…and falling into this pit with no way of climbing out.”

“Wasn’t your fault, Ash.”

Asher shook his head against the same song and dance. He looked at his uncle. “My bus. My fault.”

Terry stood and moved to the window, his back to Asher. “I wanted it to be. I wanted to lash out and blame someone for my boy’s death. Maybe then it would keep the pain in my chest from crippling me, from destroying my wife, from crushing mydaughter. I wanted someone to take the blame so I could feel better.”

“Then blame me.” Asher jumped to his feet and pounded a fist against his chest. “I’m the reason Jared is gone.”

Terry looked at him, his eyes glittering and a tortured expression on his face. Then he reached out and placed a meaty hand on Asher’s shoulder and shook his head. “No, son, you’re not.”

Son.

He didn’t deserve to be anyone’s son. Especially his uncle’s, who lost his own flesh and blood.

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