“Kinky.”
“Good night, Knox.”
He chuckled, low and rough, then grimaced at the pain again.
Like he’d done each time he’d woken, Knox reached for his neck, only to find his hand cuffed. Like last time he moved his neck, looking for the familiar feeling of that necklace against its skin, only to realize, once again, that it was missing.
“Right here.” I jumped up and pressed the pendant into his palm.
As he looked down at his necklace, I stood frozen, watching pain etch itself across his features, feeling powerless to help him. And unsure where his pain was coming from.
“She wants nothing to do with me.” His words were choked, layered with grief.
“Who?”
“My daughter.” He stared at the necklace, his thumb rubbing over the beads.
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“She came to see me.”
I blinked. “She did? When?”
“Today.” He paused. “Well, technically yesterday.”
“She came to see you,” I said carefully. “That has to be a good sign.”
He shook his head, still fidgeting with the necklace.
“She sees me as a monster.” His voice cracked. “That’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that I think I might’ve made a really big mistake.”
I had never seen Knox like this. It twisted something in my stomach, hearing the pain in his words. Seeing it carved into his features. His thumb continued its rhythmic path over the metal beads.
I moved to the side of his bed and sat down carefully, mindful of his injuries.
“This whole time,” Knox continued, his eyes distant, “I honestly thought I had done the right thing. Hell, I saw myself as her savior. Even though I never expected her to see me that way, I convinced myself that I had saved her from a lifetime of suffering.” He swallowed hard. “But I never stopped to consider what it cost her.”
I placed my hand over his, unsure what to say. I sensed something heavy in his heart that needed to come out.
“The guy broke into our house.” Knox’s voice dropped, and he stared at the ceiling like he was watching the memory play out above him. “It had been all over the news. Some predator was breaking into homes in our area, doing unspeakable things tochildren. Leaving them with a lifetime of trauma. The police had nothing on him. No DNA. No witnesses. Just a trail of broken kids and a community living in fear.”
My stomach turned.
“It was one in the morning. I had come home for the weekend from college. I was a light sleeper. When I heard something and went to check on my daughter, there he was. Standing over her bed. Wearing the ski mask they’d described on the news. In the neighborhood he was targeting. And Gwen …” His voice broke. “She fit the profile.”
“Knox …”
“I lost it. Completely lost it. I tackled him. We fought. He ran. And I knew … I knew if I let him go, they’d never catch him. He’d do it again. To other little girls. Maybe to Gwen.”
His jaw tightened.
“So I chased him.”
The words hung in the air.
“I caught up to him two blocks away. He was climbing a fence. I pulled him down. Started hitting and choking him.” Knox’s voice went flat. Detached. Like he was describing something that happened to someone else. “And I … I didn’t stop.”
I squeezed his hand, my throat tight.
