Page 33 of Hard Knox

“What kind of incidents?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“He was charged with murder before. He pleaded insanity and was released after a psychiatric evaluation,” the officer explained.

Their words sounded almost foreign. They reverberated within my thoughts as the foundation of trust I had built with Knox shook under the weight of this new revelation.

“I need to speak to him,” I stated, more to myself than to the officers. They nodded, allowing me the space to process the information.

Immediately, I confronted Knox over the phone. “Knox, the police were here. They told me about your past… about the murder charge. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Eliza, I can explain. Ain’t what it sounds like. Please, let me explain,” Knox’s voice was urgent, pleading.

The layers of deception, both from Birdie and now from Knox, two people I had trusted felt like too much. Yet, despite the shock and the swirling doubts, I needed to hear him out.

“Okay, Knox. We’ll talk tonight. I’ll listen,” I said, the decision heavy but necessary.

That evening, as we faced each other, the load of all that had transpired pressing down on us, Knox told his story. In the secure cabin, the only sounds were the crackling of the fireplace and our uneven breaths. Knox’s gaze was fixed on the worn wooden floor, his hands clasped tightly together as if holding himself steady before he began his story.

“Eliza, when I was sixteen,” Knox started, his voice full of pain. “I walked into a nightmare I’d lived every day of my life. My father… he had a temper, fueled by alcohol and whatever else. Had to be more than booze. Anyway, that night, he was beating my mother something awful. It wasn’t the first time, but I knew if I didn’t do something, it might be the last.”

He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t plan to shoot him. I just… I grabbed the only thing I thought could make him stop. It was my grandfather’s old hunting rifle. I only meant to scare him.”

Knox’s hands trembled slightly, and he stopped, taking a deep breath before continuing. “He turned on me, grabbed his own gun and said he’d kill us both. I fired without thinking, hit him in the thigh. It was enough to stop him, to save her that night, but not enough to save him from the complications that came after. He died a week later in the hospital.”

The room was heavy with Knox’s confession, his burden shared in the space between us. “I was charged with murder, going to be tried as an adult,” he added, his voice distant. “But it was self-defense, to save my mom. The court eventually saw it that way too, after a psychological evaluation and a lot of legal battles. They ruled it an act of insanity driven by desperation, and I was released into a guardian’s care instead of going to prison.”

I listened, each word etching a picture of the young Knox, a boy forced into an impossible situation, making a split-second decision that would shape the rest of his life. My heart ached for him, for the child he was, and for the man he had become because of his past.

“And then soon after that my mom took her own life.”

“Knox,” I said softly, reaching across the small space to offer my hand. He took it, his grip firm yet vulnerable. “I can’t imagine how hard that was for you. Thank you for telling me. It must have been difficult to revisit those memories.”

He nodded, a semblance of relief passing over his features as he squeezed my hand. “It was, and I don’t want any secrets between us. Not about something like this. But I didn’t want to scare you off, either.”

The honesty in his eyes, the raw openness of his story, solidified something within me. Whatever doubts had crept into my mind were overshadowed by the undeniable truth of his character, revealed in his actions both past and present. Knox had acted to protect, to save the life of someone he loved. And I believed, without a shred of doubt, that he would do the same for Emma and me.

“Thank you for trusting me with your past, Knox,” I whispered, feeling the bonds between us strengthen, reinforced by the truths shared and the mutual understanding that had grown in the light of his vulnerability. As we sat together, the shadows of the past mingling with the flickering firelight, I knew we were building something resilient, forged in the fires of honesty and the will to protect those we loved.

Chapter 17

Knox

After spillin’ my guts about the darkest corners of my past to Eliza, I felt a tangle of relief, but I knew there was much more to tell. Secrets I couldn’t divulge yet, not until Eliza was firmly in my world.

Nevertheless, a fire lit under me. Her takin’ it all in stride gave me a shot of strength, but the shadows nippin’ at our heels over this whole mess with Mark’s death had me knowin’ I had to hustle. It was damn clear things had gotten too dicey, even if my brothers had found out it was none other than Tara who spray painted the hood of Eliza’s car. Tara swore she had nothin’ to do with the gunshots.

Regardless, I couldn’t drag Eliza deeper into this mess. I had to see this through on my own for the next few nights, at least.

Knowing the police promised to patrol her neighborhood. I sent Eliza home where she said Grandma would come over with Emma and spend the night. I spent a hell of a restless night with my club brothers, diggin’ through every damn lead we could think of that might tie back to Mark’s murder.

That was until we had no choice but to hit the streets, under the full moon, chasin’ shadows and whispers. But by the time dawn was breakin’, we still didn’t have jack. My frustration was mountin’, each dead end heavin’ more weight on my shoulders.

I slept a whole day away, as I often did after a night on the prowl with my brothers. I resolved to check in on Eliza and Emma before divin’ back into the hunt. I swung by a local café as the sun was comin’ up. Grabbed a coffee for Eliza and a box of them sprinkled donuts—Emma’s favorite. Was hopin’ maybe that small bit of normal would cut through the chaos that swallowed up our lives.

But pullin’ up to Eliza’s place, somethin’ was off. The street was dead quiet, and a nasty feelin’ started twistin’ up my gut as I walked up to the door, coffee and donuts in hand. Instead of Eliza’s warm smile, it was Grandma who answered, lookin’ all kinds of shaken and pale.

“Where’s Eliza? And Emma?” I attempted to keep my composure, my hands heavy with the offerings.

“They’re gone,” Grandma’s voice shook as she dropped the bomb, her face ashen. “Took Emma and left early this mornin’.”

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