The Imposter Marin Montgomery (rom com books to read TXT) 📖

With only a pane of glass between them, Deborah could no longer spare Sibley the wrath of Jonathan. She didn’t think her daughter knew what he was capable of. If Jonathan found out what Deborah was planning, all bets would be off. She worried she was never going to see her daughter again. When footsteps approached from behind, Deborah locked eyes with her daughter. She screamed for her to run as Jonathan’s sinewy arms reached out to choke her, but Sibley was still standing there, as if comatose.

As he dragged her toward the barn, Deborah was sure this would be the last image her daughter would have of her, which would be worse than the violent death she knew was coming.

A loud moan snaps Deborah out of her recollection, and her eyes dart toward the bed. She realizes she’s crying, and the wetness dripping down the collar of her shirt and onto her cross pendant is from tears.

Hurriedly, she hoists herself back up, using the dresser as leverage. Noticing the coffee mug, Deborah removes it, not wanting to disclose she was in Sibley’s room.

Bile rises in her throat as she stares at the dress, unsure what to do with the evidence from that night.

Deborah intends to shove it back into the hiding spot. But she can’t force herself to put it back there. Instead, she crumples the fabric into a ball. This time, she’ll watch it disintegrate on the burn pile until it becomes soot.

CHAPTER 29

Sibley

Carefully, I slide the paper back between the pages of the yearbook as a male voice announces Fletch’s presence.

He’s not going to leave the barn until he finds me.

“You hiding in that damn loft?” Fletch says it jokingly, but we both know it was our go-to place as kids when we wanted to hide. Our loft privileges were suspended indefinitely after that birthday party.

Not to mention the images the loft conjures up now.

I can tell he’s climbing up into the loft by the rustle of the ladder and the thud of his boots.

Tilting my head, I wait for the telltale signs he’s above me, his heavy steps crossing the creaky boards. When his stomps are overhead, I replace the yearbook and the snugly wrapped gun in the chest and close the lid.

I hear him call my name again. “Sibby, you in here?”

With a small groan, I shove the chest back against the wall. The last thing I need is Fletch poking around the tack room, using his investigative skills to be a pain in the ass.

Even though we used to be close, I don’t feel comfortable giving him the gun. After years of tension and then silence, I know how strongly he dislikes my family. He might pretend to be a good neighbor and a law-abiding citizen, but his actions from the past are front and center in my mind.

I reach down to my lower calf, my fingers tracing the small imprint of the scar from my senior year of high school. It was a couple days after the god-awful Halloween party, after Kristin had started the rumors at school, making it impossible for me to walk down the hall without the other kids shaming me about my mother. Fletch confronted me about the allegations that afternoon in the parking lot, and it turned ugly. I was already having a bad enough day, my face red and puffy from crying.

His beet-red face matched mine, but from anger. After slamming his truck door, he got close to me, his nose practically touching my face. “Why didn’t you tell me you saw them together?”

“Because I didn’t see them doing anything, you know . . . sexual.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He spat on the ground. “You knew.”

“Think about it, Fletch,” I begged. “It’s only Kristin’s word.” I said it like it was ridiculous to trust her, but he cut me off.

“Why on earth would she lie about your mom and my dad?” He fixed me with a cold stare, and it made me long for his puppy dog eyes. “What possible motive could Kristin have to want to spread that kind of a lie?”

“To hurt me. She’s always starting drama.”

“But why would she purposefully hurt you?” He rubbed his hand gingerly, and I noticed skin peeling from his knuckle. “You guys were friends.”

“Because you and I are close.” I cringed. “Whoa! Did you punch something?”

“Yeah, my father.” He sighed. “We ain’t close no more, Sibley.” The lack of my teasing moniker hurt. “You can thank your whore mom for that.”

“Why is my mom the one to blame?” I shouted. “Your father probably took advantage of her.”

“You can’t take advantage of the willing.” He kicked a piece of gravel hard, and it hit me in the leg. I flinched, not because it hurt but because he didn’t apologize. It became a permanent tattoo on my skin.

“Just because you finally got a girlfriend doesn’t mean you have any right to hurt me,” I cried.

“You’re just jealous because I have a girlfriend, and it isn’t you!”

“I can’t believe what a horse’s ass you’re being.” I shook my head disgustedly. “You and Kristin deserve each other.”

His icy glare penetrated mine, and his next comment made my blood run cold. “I’m gonna have to tell my mom about it.”

“About what?” I sighed. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“She deserves to know.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Hell, maybe she already does.”

“Fletch,” I pleaded. “This isn’t the right thing to do.”

“Why not?”

“You’re gonna get a lot of people hurt.”

“Poor Sibley, always thinking about herself. You’re so damn selfish.”

“You want to hurt your mama?”

“No. But she’s a strong woman; she’ll know what to do.”

“What about my mother?” I beseeched. “What about my daddy?”

“That’s their business.” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe your daddy will shoot mine.” With an evil glint in his eye, he winked. “Or hell, maybe I’ll kill both your parents.”

It was a horrendous thing to say, and now, reflecting back on it, I shudder.

Sticks and stones can break my bones, but