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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

My clothes had been filthy and damp. I’d stunk like a pig, my tongue stale and meaty in my mouth.

Bloodlust.

I blinked. The cow was walking slowly toward the side of the road. Still no cars on the road. I could hit it, but the urge had passed. I crept the car forward, honked. The cow made it safely into tall grass.

My dress shirt was damp at the back, clinging to my skin. Why had I been so out of control as a teenager? I’d had this desire to drive too fast with my headlights off; to run through the woods in full dark, no worry of tripping on a root or impaling my eye on a branch; to tear things apart.

What the fuck had been wrong with me?

49

49

HEATHER

With Emily and Sawyer at school, I backed out of the driveway. As I drove down Winding Way, a silver Infiniti passed me.

I stopped in the road and peered over my shoulder.

The Infiniti pulled to the curb in front of my house. Desiree’s boyfriend’s brother got out of his car. Brandon. He rang the bell. Stood on the curb with his hands in his pockets like he was just a nice guy.

What did he want?

As he walked back to his car, I drove away.

I told myself I was headed to the grocery store right up until I found myself parked in front of Holly’s driveway.

The front door was open. The hallway beyond the screen was dark. I knocked, and her dog went wild, his nails scraping and sliding across the floor. He bumped his nose against the screen, and I startled when the screen door opened an inch before slamming shut on his nose.

“Diesel. Get back here, you big goddamn baby.” Diesel was a rottweiler. Holly shuffled down the hall, said, “He’s super sweet. Come on in.”

When I hesitated, she opened the screen as if we were friends, as if we were family, we were, and let the dog go after me. I pushed the dog away and followed her into her kitchen.

Her house was dingy, but smelled good. Freshly brewed coffee, the rich, silky stuff.

“Your timing’s perfect, for once,” she said. “I just made coffee. I splurged and got Starbucks beans. Diesel, go lay down.” He listened, curling up in an oversized bed.

“Take a load off,” she said, nodding at the kitchen table and shoving aside a pile of envelopes, bills, magazines. She picked up a carafe and poured into mugs. “You said you just moved here, you had to be here for your dying mother-in-law. Where do you usually call home?”

“We live in Chicago.”