The Choking Kind

By Teresa Mummert

I wasn't a good person.

But I wasn't bad either. I knew that.

Sometimes I caused trouble, and sometimes it came looking for me. I'm not saying that to make you feel sorry for me. You shouldn't. I saw everything coming, and I allowed it to happen. I wasn't naïve or careless. I wasn't a victim. I was a deer staring at the headlights, and I paused to admire the ethereal glow – mesmerized – uncaring about the collision that was about to take place.

It would cost me everything.

 

Previously punlished under the title The Choking Kind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa Mummert
• Release date: May 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201565251

Teresa Mummert

TERESA MUMMERT is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. Her work includes word-of-mouth bestselling, White Trash Trilogy, which landed her a three-book publishing deal with Simon & Schuster. She is also the author of the wildly popular Honor Series which chronicles the taboo romance between a student and her college professor. To date, she's written over twenty-five novels and plans for many more releases in the future.

Book preview

I wasn’t a good person.

But I wasn’t bad either. I knew that.

Sometimes I caused trouble, and sometimes it came looking for me. I’m not saying that to make you feel sorry for me. You shouldn’t. I saw everything coming, and I allowed it to happen. I wasn’t naïve or careless. I wasn’t a victim. I was a deer staring at the headlights, and I paused to admire the ethereal glow – mesmerized – uncaring about the collision that was about to take place.

It would cost me everything.

For my love. BLINK

COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Teresa Mummert

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Teresa Mummert

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

Contact: [e-mail]

Website: TeresaMummert.com

Agent: Kimberly Whalen

PRAISE FOR THE

AUTHOR'S PREVIOUS WORK

If there's one thing I can always count on with Teresa Mummert, it's her ability to craft a story so compelling that it leaves you pleading for more. She has a way of making you feel like you're living out each scene, every struggle, and each kiss. It truly is storytelling at its finest. - Author Brandy Lynn

Hands down one of the BEST books that I have EVER read!! - For the Love of Books

One of the most AMAZING novels I have ever read!!! - Flirty and Dirty Book Blog

This book was so incredible, I cried A LOT, I smiled, I loved, and I devoured this book. - Swoon Worthy Books

I truly loved it!! It was captivating and emotional. It tugged at my heart and soul--such an amazing story! - Author Kim Karr (Connections series)

I think this is my favorite Teresa Mummert book to date. - Author Emily Snow (Devoured series)

It is such a different book and plot. I just loved how unexpected it was. - Author Debra Anastasia (Poughkeepsie series)

Teresa Mummert has a gift, one that many don't possess. It's the gift of being able to suck in a reader so far they don't see the twist in the story coming. - Author S.K. Hartley (Bad Boys series) 

SO D*MN GOOD!!!!!!!!!! I Loved it!!!! Incredible writing! - Author Kathryn Perez (Therapy)

"Every word captured me, and every sentence made me ache for the main characters in this beautiful story." - Author Amanda Bennett (Broken series)

This book was perfect. Flawed characters and a very real, dark past...interwoven perfectly into a web of lies and an amazing ending. - Author K. Pinson (Mirrored series)

It's a beautifully written, riveting story that grabs you from the beginning and keeps you guessing how it's going to unfold until the very end. - Author Sophie Monroe (Battle Scars series)

It's soooooooo good. I honestly loved it!!!! - Author Tijan (Fallen Crest series)

I think what I loved most was the originality of the story. Teresa nailed this one! - Author Maureen Mayer (Second Chance series)

I truly believe this to be a masterpiece story and one that will live in my heart for a long time and that Teresa needs to write a sequel and soon! - Author Vicki Green (My Savior Forever)

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

– Emily Brontë

CONTENTS

COPYRIGHT

PRAISE

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

FIFTY

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-TWO

FIFTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALSO BY TERESA MUMMERT

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PROLOGUE

Weston

SIX YEARS AGO

The world is full of monsters. It’s my job to find them.

I smirked, shaking my head. What if they find you first? I asked, my eyes locked on hers in a challenge.

We just need you to recount what happened that night. In his cheap gray suit and ten-dollar reading glasses, the man leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his broad chest. I'm sure he thought the move was intimidating while having me sit in front of him like a child about to be scolded. Honestly, it only made me feel sorry for him. I didn’t miss the way he glanced over at his partner. He was posturing for her, wanting her to notice how he’d swooped in to slay the big, bad dragon.

I cocked my head to the side but didn't respond, and he looked flustered for a moment as if he'd expected more of a reaction.

She's dead. I glanced to my left, eyeing the woman again in the equally cheap suit with her auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her gaze met mine, and she seemed momentarily taken aback by my words.

You don't seem bothered by that, the woman spoke up, her voice wavering. She was new to this or not cut out for this line of work. Or maybe she was more affected by the death of a stranger than I was by someone I knew.

Should I be? I relaxed back into my seat, sinking lower into the metal folding chair to try to ease my discomfort.

You were sleeping with her, weren't you? She asked, her eyebrows pulled together as if I'd personally offended her. Did her boyfriend know about your affair?

We didn't do much sleeping, to be honest, and you don't need to care about someone to fuck them.

She was somebody's daughter, The woman snapped and took a step toward me, but her partner held out his hand to stop her from getting closer. I suppose the game of good cop/bad cop had begun.

I was the only one she was calling daddy when we were together, I smirked as good cop lurched toward me, his hands circling my throat. The chair I sat on was knocked over, causing my skull to hit the concrete floor with a thud.

It took three others to pull his hands from me, and he was removed from the room before my eyes settled on the woman as I touched my finger to my lip that had become split, pulling back to look at the smattering of blood. I righted my seat, sinking back down onto it.  She didn't speak, and I could tell she was tensed, afraid I'd demand a lawyer or threaten to sue, but I could take a punch. Instead, I cocked my head to the side, eyebrow raised. You’re partner hits like a bitch.

You have a lot of experience with that? Being hit by a ‘bitch’ as you put it? Is that why little girls keep ending up dead around you? she asked, taking a seat across from me.

I laughed, shaking my head as I propped my elbows on my knees. 

Is that your way of saying her boyfriend wasn’t a man?

No, she replied with a smirk. It’s my way of telling you he isn’t dead.

My smile faltered. Bullshit.

ONE

Sadie

I stopped as I entered the expansive room, like a deer in headlights, as my gaze settled on Mr. Thomas. His blue eyes narrowed as he ran his fingers through his light brown hair. He almost looked human in his jeans and T-shirt. Almost. I glanced back at the doorway behind me, fully intent on making my escape, knowing full well I could only go so far. I couldn’t outrun Monday and would have to face him regardless. My heart began to jackhammer against my sternum, and my tongue became thick and stuck to the roof of my mouth. Guilt? Is that what I was feeling? When I looked back in his direction, his troubled stare locked onto mine, and the rapid thudding in my chest ceased, replaced by a twisting knot in my gut. Just run, you idiot. But he had already stood from his seat and was making his way toward me from across the room before I could convince my feet to move. I clenched my fists at my sides and dug my nails into the palms of my hands, taking away the panic in my chest momentarily.

Sadie? He said my name as if he wasn’t sure I was standing before him, and I wished I wasn’t. Evaporating into thin air would have been a welcome relief, but the burst of pain against the delicate skin of my hands let me know this was not a dream. It was a nightmare. I cleared my throat and pointed to the name tag on my chest.

It’s Becky here, I mumbled with a grimace as my eyes darted around the room, hoping no one had heard my real name. It was stupid, really. I didn’t know any of these people personally, and I made sure to attend this grief group in the next town over from where I lived for that reason. This was the only place I could show my vulnerable side, and now it was tainted. His eyes narrowed, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, causing my brows to bunch together in confusion. Why was he smiling?Didn’t he know what kind of person I really was? Isn’t that why he was here? My pulse vibrated through me like a low rumble of thunder.

My gaze dropped to the ground between us as he sighed. I’m new to all of this, he waved his hand around, and I followed the motion as I took in all of the sad souls surrounding us, oblivious to our pain because they were too wrapped up in their own. In truth, if you would have asked me before this day, I would have said that Mr. Thomas was incapable of feelings of any kind. He seemed indifferent to anything occurring around him. There was a coldness in his eyes that people appeared to ignore because of his looks, but I saw it, and as much as I hated to admit it, he intrigued me. Misery loves company, and I was perpetually despondent.

He took a few steps to our left, grabbed a name tag sticker off the table, and picked up the Sharpie. His eyes had met mine before he scribbled out a name, peeled off the backing, and stuck it to his shirt.

James? Your name is James? I would have thought it was Lucifer or something. I rolled my eyes before mentally slapping myself. Making fun of him was a shitty thing to do at a place like this, but I was accustomed to wearing my sarcasm as a shield to deflect from my own pain.

"In here it is, Becky, he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. I got the feeling it never really did with him. If this is weird, I can just go. I didn’t want to come to this thing anyway." He ran his hand over the back of his neck as I chewed the inside of my cheek. Was he… nervous?

I don’t own this place. I shrugged and walked around him, sitting in a tan metal folding chair across the circle. I was bluffing, pretending to be under control. He called. A few seconds later, Mr. Thomas was settling into the chair next to me, stretching his long legs out toward the center, his knee bumping against mine. I eyed his jeans, and my gaze traveled up his dark gray shirt that was stretched tight against his hard chest. It was odd seeing a teacher out of school, like a weird zoo animal that had escaped its enclosure. Looking at him now, you wouldn’t guess he was an educator or did anything that forced him to interact with others, especially children. He seemed too young to be molding others’ lives when he hadn’t even experienced his own.

There are other seats, I whispered as the rest of the people began to fill them in. He gave me a sideways glance before shaking his head and lacing his fingers together on his lap.

I don’t know anyone here but you.

I turned to him, unable to hold back the anger boiling under the surface from our interaction the day before. You don’t know me either. I’m not your student here.

I knew what he was doing. I knew the kind of person he was. I’d met him a thousand times before. Different heights, ages, and occupations. But they were all the same.

I stood and stormed out of the room without a backward glance. It was dramatic, yes, but it felt damn good. This was a Saturday, and he didn’t own the weekends. I was just thankful the counselor, Ms. Montgomery, hadn’t been in the room to see me make a fool of myself.

I hurried down the block, my arms folded over my chest as the sun sank below the horizon, but the humidity still hung heavy in the air, creating a sticky film on my skin. The bus wouldn’t be running again for another forty-five minutes.

Sadie, he called after me as I began to walk faster toward the empty bus stop bench. Perfect. I continued past it just to escape him further, but it was pointless. I’d have to face him eventually, regardless. Sadie, can you just wait a second? His palm landed on my shoulder, and I spun around, my hands acting on their own accord as I pressed them against his toned chest and shoved him backward. He was caught off guard and stumbled back a step, his face twisting in confusion as he reached for me again. I knocked his arm away and took a step back, my own hands in front of my chest, warning him not to touch me.

Getting close to someone was like holding your palm over an open flame. The warmth can be comforting, but getting too close can hurt you and leave scars. It was easier to remain cold. I’d already been damaged enough. That’s why I was here. Not here in the sense of existing but here at this grief group. Here in this shitty town where I would never be more than just another lost soul. Here standing in front of Mr. Thomas.

What the hell is wrong with you?

His words stung because the list of things wrong with me was endless but being defensive of personal space wasn’t one. It was survival, like, pocketing a wallet found in the gutter outside of the local Shoot and Scoot instead of turning it in. Anyone who has drinking money wouldn’t miss the seventeen dollars and sandwich of the month card anyway. Figuratively speaking, of course.

I thought teachers weren’t supposed to swear, I mocked as I folded my arms over my chest, regaining my composure. That’s when I realized maybe it wasn’t guilt I had been feeling at all. Perhaps I was just afraid of getting caught. And now that the quick jolt of adrenaline was receding, I was growing agitated, like a junkie coming down off a high and already searching for a next fix.

"Yeah, well… James fucking does." He pointed to the name tag on his shirt. I tried to hold my anger, but a giggle escaped me, and I shook my head. He smiled, revealing his perfect, white teeth and my knees threatened to buckle. I was wrong. I wasn’t a deer in headlights; I was a deer staring down a wolf, I thought—my, what big teeth you have. He wasn’t playing fair. No one should ever be able to disarm their opponent with a simple glance. My breath faltered at how devastatingly handsome he was. He was older but still had a boyish quality about him, stuck in limbo between exercising prudence and reckless abandon.

"Is James an asshole like Mr. Thomas? Did you come to the group just to laugh at other people's pain? I know a great animal shelter we can go to, so you can kick around a few puppies if you’re looking to feel schadenfreude."

I don’t even know what that means, he replied with a shrug.

I eyed him skeptically. Had he really just happened into my group by chance?  "I guess you don’t actually know everything."

I never said I did, Sadie.

I sighed loudly. It’s German. It means you enjoy others’ pain and suffering.

I prefer stealing candy from babies or giving out spoilers for books. He shrugged before his shoulders fell, and he ran his hand through his caramel hair that looked a few inches too long for his profession. You really think I’m that cruel?

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t about to placate him to spare his feelings. What do you want? I asked, not bothering to hide my frustration. I pushed people away on purpose. I’d rather be hated than the girl everyone feels sorry for. Most let me get away with it, chalking it up to teenage hormones, but Mr. Thomas was not taking a hint. He was either incredibly obtuse or highly perceptive. The latter made me nervous. He glanced up at the bus stop sign and back to me.

You don’t have your license? His question wasn’t meant to be rude, but I couldn’t help but be insulted. Aren’t you old enough?

I’m nineteen. I turned my back to him, scanning the road as if the bus's arrival was imminent. I hated telling people how old I was. I should have graduated a year ago, but after my father passed away, I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything and subsequently failed that year. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to ask a woman her age? It’s rude.

I’m fairly sure that only applies to older women. I can give you a ride, he called from behind me. Did he fall and bump his head? What was with his sudden concern?

I’d rather take my chances with the serial killers and pervs, but thanks. I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see it. He sighed heavily from behind me, and for a moment, I’d thought he’d left.

That’s not funny. I was just trying to be a nice person. His tone was clipped. There was no hint of amusement, and I could tell I’d hit a nerve. I liked it. I liked the idea of being able to bend his emotions on a whim. The men, or boys, I’ve had in my life liked to control me. It was an odd sensation being able to do it to someone else, someone like him.

Yeah, well… It didn’t take. I wouldn’t expect you to have a sense of humor, I scoffed as I tapped my foot angrily. Or a soul, I mumbled under my breath.

I’m not going to beg you, his voice rose as if giving me an ultimatum. Was he seriously talking to me like I was a child?

And this was just starting to get fun. 

He didn’t respond, and when I finally chanced a glance over my shoulder, he was stalking off down the sidewalk. Shit. I’d taken it too far.

Perfect, I mumbled under my breath as I looked at the road again before following after him. This wasn’t the best part of town, and I couldn’t go back into the group after it had already started. I hated having everyone stop what they were doing to stare at me. Mr. Thomas, wait! He ignored me and stepped into the street to cross. James! I waited as a car passed before I followed. He slipped into the driver's side of a black sedan, and I knocked on the window as he put his keys into the ignition. He had stilled for a moment before the glass lowered between us. He didn’t look at me, and for a second, I had no idea what the hell I was going to say. I wasn’t even sure what I had done wrong. That wasn’t true. I knew exactly the kind of evil things I’d done to him. But he didn’t seem to know. Not yet, anyway.

I’m sorry if I was mean, I muttered, but he didn’t move. Can… can I get a ride?

Why? He bit out as his eyes cut to me.

Because the bus stop is full of creeps and teachers, I deadpanned.

"No. I mean, why would you care if you hurt my feelings?"

Good question. Do you think we can discuss it while I’m not standing in the middle of the street?

He glanced over at me, and I knew he was fighting a smirk. My knees wobbled. "Get in, Becky." He cocked his head toward the passenger seat, and I hurried around the car and slid in before he could change his mind. The smell of his cologne immediately engulfed me.

Where do you live?

In a constant state of agitation.

He laughed a deep throaty chuckle that made me smile. It was so strange hearing that sound coming from him. "Where is your home?" He clarified, his gaze drifting to me and back to the road.

Down on Mason in Blackberry Court.

He shifted gears as the streetlights blurred around us, pulsing against the side of his face and illuminating his sharp features. His eyes were focused on the road ahead. I took in his profile, the hard angle of his jaw, the dimple that dipped into his cheek, and how his tongue ran out over his lips, causing my own mouth to dry.

Silence stretched between us. So… why were you in the group?

He was quiet for a moment before shaking his head fractionally. Nothing for you to worry about. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror before they slid over me and back to the road.

"Oh, I get it. You’re mysterious," I replied, sarcasm dripping from my words.

You wouldn’t understand, he tapped his fingers against the leather-wrapped steering wheel as he spoke, teasing me.

Are you saying I’m too young to comprehend complicated emotions like pain and sadness? I asked mockingly.

That earned me another look from him before he shook his head. Not too young. He paused a moment before continuing, "Inexperienced."

I groaned dramatically. You’re killing me, Mr. Thomas.

He tapped his chest where his name tag was. James, he reminded me, his eyes flicking to me in a playful warning.

You’re killing me, James. What are you like, sixty? Sixty-five?

I’m twenty-four, he cleared his throat as he turned left down Langford Drive. A friend had recommended that group to me a while back. I figured maybe it was time to check it out, he admitted.

I studied his profile as he continued on. His eyes narrowed as if deep in thought, the muscles under his chiseled jaw tensing.

Twenty-four. You’re so old and decrepit that you probably forgot why you were even there. I bet you wandered in like a dementia patient looking for a bathroom. Do you know who the current president is, Mr. Thomas? Can you tell me what year it is?

My grandmother had dementia. It’s not really something you should joke about.

A very unladylike snort emanated from me. I bet you’re real fun at parties, old man.

He shook his head and turned the volume knob on the radio to end our conversation.

"I