Asher (Ashes & Embers 6)

He’s already sitting on our usual old wooden bench, tossing seed to the birds. He has a thing for birds and won’t throw trash or people-food at them. Nope. This guy actually makes little bags of mixed seeds and dried fruit for them. When I sit beside him, we watch them in silence as they peck and hunt.

His text surprised me this morning, and as usual, his timing sucks. It’s been months since I last heard from him. Every day of silence made me wonder if he was dead.

But here he is, and here we are.

“Eight years,” he says in his deep, gravelly voice. “Can you believe it? Eight. Fucking. Years. That’s some crazy shit.”

I nod.

“How do you feel? In one word, tell me how you feel.”

“Grateful.”

He pulls a silver box from the inside of his leather jacket, taps a cigarette out of it, then lights it up with a wooden match. “Grateful,” he repeats, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “That’s a good word. You waited a long fuckin’ time for her.”

“I’d wait forever for her.”

“Understandable. She’s beautiful. Especially awake and talking, sans all that blood gushing out of her head. Although that stuff does tickle my fancy.” His unnaturally bright-blue eyes fixate on me as he takes a long drag, waiting for my reaction. I refuse to entertain him.

Not today.

“And when exactly did you see her?” The calmness of my voice completely masks the rage boiling inside me.

“When you were on tour. She didn’t tell you, did she?”

“No.”

His mouth curves into an evil grin. “That’s interesting.”

It is. Why didn’t she tell me someone new came to visit her? Ember’s never been the type to keep secrets or not share interesting parts of her day with me.

“She had no idea I saved her life. In fact, she didn’t know anyone saved her life.” He puts his hand over his heart. “I’m deeply hurt, Asher. That doesn’t seem very grateful to me.”

“Stay away from her, Redwood.”

“You should at least invite me over for dinner.”

“Not gonna happen.”

He leans back against the bench and crosses his legs. “I’m just not feeling the gratefulness.”

With mounting irritation, I glance at my watch. This little rendezvous is throwing a monkey wrench into my whole day.

“I’ve thanked you a thousand times. And since you obviously told her who you are, I’m sure she thanked you too.”

“She did.”

“So let’s just leave it at that.”

A squirrel approaches, also looking for food, and he glares menacingly at it until it squeaks and runs back up the tree it came from.

“She and I have a lot in common,” he states.

I shake my head. “No. You don’t.”

“Her waking up doesn’t change our deal.”

If only I could be that lucky. “I didn’t think it would.”

“We share a bond. She and I. Stronger than you and I do. Maybe even stronger than you two do.”

A couple walks by with matching paper latte cups in their hands, leaning into each other as they talk and laugh. I wish Ember and I were walking through the park enjoying our morning instead of me having to endure Redwood’s incessant taunting.

“I want to talk to her some more. She has a nice voice. Sultry and sweet.”

This lunatic talking about my wife—even thinking about her in any way—is making my blood boil. Sometimes it makes me sick to my stomach that his lips once touched hers.

But if they hadn’t, she wouldn’t be alive. And he knows damn well how much that torments me.

“Don’t fuck with me, Redwood. She’s off-limits. Period.”

He barks out a laugh. “I don’t need to fuck with you. I put a bullet in my own head. I wouldn’t think twice about putting one into yours if I wanted you out of my way.”

I laugh right back at him. “Shut the fuck up. You’re not gonna kill the closest thing to a friend you have.”

The cigarette dangles from his grinning mouth, smoke tendrils wafting up into his eyes. “True,” he agrees. “Disappointing, but true.”

I spend the next hour listening to his latest gruesome secrets in grave, gory detail. Sordid tales that no doubt will give me nightmares for months to come.

His confessions. A form of penance.

That’s what he asked for when I offered him anything to show my gratitude for saving Ember’s life. Money. Concert tickets. A sports car. A house. Anything he wanted, I would’ve gladly handed it to him. But he chose this.

He made me his priest.

Someone he could trust unconditionally with all his horrifying sins. Someone to be the friend he would never have. Someone whose moral code he could enjoy fucking with, safe in the knowledge that I’d never turn him in.

Finally, I stand, feeling nauseated and dirty. I’m tempted to pour bleach into my ears to unhear everything he just told me. “I gotta go, man.”

Squinting up at me, he shoves his hands into a pair of black leather gloves. “Where’s my stuff?”