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Back Heart of the Sun
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for the novels of Mia Sheridan
  3. About the Author
  4. NOTE TO READERS
  5. Dedication
  6. prologue
  7. chapter one
  8. chapter two
  9. chapter three
  10. chapter four
  11. chapter five
  12. chapter six
  13. chapter seven
  14. chapter eight
  15. chapter nine
  16. chapter ten
  17. chapter eleven
  18. chapter twelve
  19. chapter thirteen
  20. chapter fourteen
  21. chapter fifteen
  22. chapter sixteen
  23. chapter seventeen
  24. chapter eighteen
  25. chapter nineteen
  26. chapter twenty
  27. chapter twenty-one
  28. chapter twenty-two
  29. chapter twenty-three
  30. chapter twenty-four
  31. chapter twenty-five
  32. chapter twenty-six
  33. chapter twenty-seven
  34. chapter twenty-eight
  35. chapter twenty-nine
  36. chapter thirty
  37. chapter thirty-one
  38. chapter thirty-two
  39. chapter thirty-three
  40. chapter thirty-four
  41. chapter thirty-five
  42. chapter thirty-six
  43. chapter thirty-seven
  44. chapter thirty-eight
  45. chapter thirty-nine
  46. chapter forty
  47. chapter forty-one
  48. chapter forty-two
  49. chapter forty-three
  50. chapter forty-four
  51. chapter forty-five
  52. chapter forty-six
  53. chapter forty-seven
  54. chapter forty-eight
  55. epilogue
  56. acknowledgments

Our faces were so close. I had this urge to pull away, worried that my body would act on its own accord regardless of what my mind told me was best. But I’d spent the day struggling to move my mind from the way Emily had felt snuggled against me the night before and couldn’t seem to do it anymore. It was exhausting because all I wanted to do was relive the memory of how we’d fit together so perfectly, how silky her skin was, and how, even though the only shower we’d taken in a week had been far too short and extremely frigid, to me, she still smelled like sunshine. “It’s hard for me to talk about Honey Hill,” I admitted. “It…hurts.”

Her eyes filled with empathy. This woman. She was made up of so many different shades. One minute she was irritating me, the next turning me on, and then she looked at me in a way that pierced my damn heart. It was difficult for me to understand her sometimes because I was so black-and-white. And she fascinated me too, just the same way she always had. She was silly and reckless and reactive and strong and fearless and gentle and sweet. And I never knew exactly which version of Emily would appear and it made me crazy, but I also couldn’t get enough.

The sun lowered, the hush of coming night falling over the woods. Emily reached out and used her thumb to smooth the space between my brows. I blew out a slow exhale, relaxing my face. I hadn’t even realized how tightly I’d been holding myself until she touched me in just that spot.

“I thought you were angry,” she murmured. “When your mother died.”

I blinked, surprised by her words. What had been on my face that had reminded her of my mother’s death? Her expression was wistful, slightly sad.

“But you weren’t mad,” she said. “You were sad but also…you were afraid.” She paused, and I couldn’t move, caught in her gaze, rendered mute by this version of her. Sweet. Tender. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see that. I thought you were angry…at life, at me, at everything. And so, when I didn’t get an immediate response, I ran from you. I left you alone because I thought it was what you wanted.”