“I know.”
Ryker didn’t sugarcoat it, and I was grateful. We both saw Knox slipping away, the boy who’d saved frogs disappearing beneath layers of survival instinct and prison politics.
“He spent a week in solitary not that long ago for fighting.”
“Word is, he’s not someone you want to cross,” Ryker agreed.
The visiting room doors opened with a mechanical groan. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting sickly shadows across plastic chairs and metal tables bolted to the floor. The smell hit me: Fear. Sweat. And desperation.
“If he doesn’t make parole …” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Have you talked to him about this?”
“He shuts me down every time.” My voice cracked. “I think he’s in pure survival mode. So, now I try to just … bring some light. I can’t imagine living every day, wondering if someone’s going to shank you in the shower or jump you in the yard.”
Ryker looked at me thoughtfully. “You’re a good sister.”
“No.” The word came out sharp. “I’m hiding him from my followers like he’s some shameful secret.”
“Is he?”
The question hung between us like a blade.
No. But … “I wish I understood what happened,” I whispered. “It’s like this dark crater in our family history. We dance around it, never speak of it, but it poisons everything. Mom and Dad are drowning financially from legal fees.” Fees that added up when they couldn’t let this go, when they paid for lawyer after lawyer in a bathtub of denial.
From what I understood, Ryker was working on Knox’s case pro bono. He’d started his own independent law firm, which enabled him to take on Knox’s case without charging him, but that came after all the debt.
“Their health is shot from stress,” I continued. “It’s like Knox dropped a nuclear bomb, and we’re all still living in the fallout.”
“You’re angry with him.” Not a question. Ryker could read the tension radiating from every muscle in my body.
“Of course I’m angry!” The words exploded out of me. “I’m furious that he killed someone, that some family lost their son because of him. I’m angry about what it did to us. The sleepless nights, the reporters camping on our lawn, watching Mom age ten years in ten months. And Mom’s accident never would have happened if he hadn’t gotten convicted.”
“Knox is still a good man.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to say about a convicted murderer.”
“But you know it’s true.”
I did. God help me, I did.
“He never told me why he did it,” I said quietly.
“Do you need that? For closure?”
“I need to understand how the boy who wouldn’t hurt a frog could …” I shook my head. “There’s something he’s not saying. I see it in his eyes. This weight he’s carrying. Like the real story is eating him alive.”
Ryker met my eyes and gave me an almost-imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment that my suspicions were right.
And it freaking gutted me.
We entered the visiting room, and there he was.
Knox rose from his chair when he spotted me, his protective gaze sweeping the room, cataloging threats and potential problems. Even here, even with me, he couldn’t let his guard down.
“Dakota.” His voice was different now. Rougher. But when he wrapped his arms around me, I caught a glimpse of the boy who used to rescue frogs.
“No touching,” a guard barked.
