“Your father is pressing charges,” Knox says, his tone all business. He places the ice pack on the table, then sits in the chair opposite me. “Assault and battery. He’s claiming you attacked him without provocation.”
I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Without provocation? He’s the one who showed up at our café, the one who touched Millie, the one who almost broke my arm again! There’s a restraining order against him.”
“I know,” Knox says, his gaze steady. “I know what happened. Jessica gave a full statement. So did your mother and your aunt.”
“Then why am I the one in cuffs?” I demand, my voice rising. “Why is he the one pressing charges?”
“Because he’s a deputy sheriff, Liam,” Knox says, his patience wearing thin. “That’s a serious offense, no matter the circumstances.”
I slump into the chair, the fight draining out of me. He’s right. I screwed up. I let my anger get the best of me, and now I’m paying the price.
“But I also know who he is,” Knox continues, his tone softening slightly. “And I know what he’s done. I understand more than you think.”
I look up, surprised by the change in his demeanor. There’s something in his eyes, a flicker of understanding that catches me off guard.
“My father was a cop too,” he says, his gaze distant for a moment. “A good one. But he had a temper. And when he drank, it was bad. I know what it’s like to grow up in a house like that. To walk on eggshells, to never know what’s going to set him off.”
I’m speechless. I never would have guessed. Knox always seems so in control, so put-together. The idea that he has a past like mine is... unsettling.
“I’m here to help, Liam,” he says, leaning forward. “But you need to meet me halfway. You need to calm down and let me do my job.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words feeling inadequate and foreign. “For punching you. I was out of line.”
Knox nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. “Apology accepted. But we’re not out of the woods yet. Your father is pushing for the maximum penalty. He wants to make an example of you.”
“Of course he does,” I mutter, my anger flaring up again. “He’s always been a vindictive bastard.”
“I’m doing what I can to make sure you don’t spend the night in here,” Knox says, ignoring my outburst. “I’ve talked to the DA, explained the situation. The restraining order, the history of abuse. It helps that your mother and Aunt Dee are willing to testify.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warns. “It’s not a done deal. But I’m optimistic. In the meantime, your mother is on her way. She should be here soon.”
My mother. The thought of her seeing me like this, in a police interrogation room, fills me with a fresh wave of shame. I’ve spent my whole life trying to protect her from him, and now I’ve brought this mess right back to her doorstep.
“Can you do something for me?” I ask, my mind racing. “Can you call Maddox? At the fire station. Tell him what happened. Tell him to check on Millie.”
Knox nods. “I’ll do it as soon as I leave here.”
“Thank you,” I say again, my gratitude genuine this time.
He stands up, looking grim. “Try to get some rest. It’s going to be a long night.”
He leaves, and the door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts again. But this time, the anger is gone, replaced by a hollow ache. I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes, and let the exhaustion wash over me.
Knox
This is fucked. This is so fucked. I press my fingers against my bruised cheek, the skin tender and swollen under my touch. This day has been fucked since I saw Millie’s truck in that ditch, and it’s only getting worse.
My office is a mess of paperwork and empty coffee cups. The fluorescent lights overhead hum a monotonous buzz that drills into my skull. I lean back in my chair, the worn leather groaning in protest, and close my eyes for a moment.
Just a moment.
But the moment is shattered by the image of Liam’s face contorted with rage, the impact of his fist against my jaw. The shock in his eyes afterward, followed by defiance.
This whole situation is fucked.
I check my phone for what feels like the hundredth time. Still no response from the Port Blossom sheriff. If the bastard decides to refuse the delivery of suppressants and the rest of the medical supplies, this town is well and truly fucked.
