Winstead, Ashley - In My Dreams I Hold a Knife by Winstead Ashley

Winstead, Ashley - In My Dreams I Hold a Knife by Winstead Ashley

Author:Winstead, Ashley [Winstead, Ashley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2021-05-07T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 23

Now

The knock on the door sounded like a gavel striking wood: once, twice, three times. It wrenched me awake. I came to in the dark hotel room, lying on my side, breathing hard.

The pounding came faster, and I stumbled across the room, barely conscious but desperate to make it stop. I flung open the door and shrunk against the blaze of light from the hallway.

Caro, dressed in wrinkled pajamas. For a second, she blinked at me with red-rimmed eyes. Then they filled with tears and she pushed past me into the room.

I froze, gripping the doorway. Caro had figured it out: Me and Coop, ten years ago. One year ago. Tonight. And now she was here to tell me I’d stabbed her in the back. To burn me alive. Why else would she burst into my hotel room in the middle of the night?

I shut the door softly, slowly, feeling as though I was locking myself in a prison of my own making.

Behind me, the mattress springs squeaked. When I turned around, Caro looked at me from my bed: a small, sad face and halo of dark hair against a sea of white linen.

“Jess,” she choked.

My heart seized. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. With my back against the wall, I slid to the floor, unable to take my eyes from her, waiting for the strike.

“I have to tell you something.” Her voice was urgent. “I can’t keep it a secret any longer.”

It took me a second. “What?”

She hid her face in her hands and shook her head, as if the action could ward something off. “It’s really bad.”

I could do nothing but watch her, tensed, a lump in my throat.

The room was dark, save for silvery light from the cracks in the blinds that told me we were nearing morning. Coop must have slipped back into his hotel room only hours ago, and now Caro had slipped out of it, like two ships in the night. The sight of her sitting on my unmade bed, the sheets still warm with the heat of my body—her lashes wet, her hair catching silver, her face wide open—was surreal. After everything I’d done to keep her at arm’s length, here she was, so close.

Just the two of us, watching each other.

I spoke carefully. “Caro, I don’t think you’re capable of anything bad.”

It was the wrong thing to say. A tear dropped down her cheek. “I was so tired of being left out. Afraid of losing everyone. Especially you.”

“I don’t understand.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s the real reason I think it’s him.”

I thought about walking across the room and brushing her hair from her forehead, then felt a stabbing guilt.

“Him who?” I asked instead.

Caro opened her eyes, and even in the dark I could see the shame. “Frankie. It’s why I think he killed Heather. She was going to ruin his football career.”

“Caro, we already know about Parents’ Weekend and Heather’s plan.”

“No, not that. Something else. Something I’m not supposed to know about.



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