Page 97 of Demo
They had to be Jenny’s. I remember the night of her phone call years ago, while Knox and I were still broken up. I push that aside.
Then I remember him refusing pain meds at the hospital. Why would he do that? It shouldn’t have been a threat to him after all this time. Unless it hadn’t been that much time …
I know Knox. At least, I knew him. The guilt of the crash had almost swallowed him alive, and if he were actually under the influence, if he paralyzed someone because he was high, he would never forgive himself. And I know what Knox’s self-abuse looks like. It is self-sabotage. It’s ruining everything good in your life because you didn’t deserve it. Like your marriage.
My body lurches with a dry heave as I crash back to the here and now.
“Just take a deep breath,” Scott says as he reaches a hand across the table to rest on top of mine. Henderson is crouched at my side. I don’t remember seeing him move, but he’s got a hand on my back, below Monty’s. I squirm out from under their touch and stand up and push away from the table, shaking my hands out at my sides.
“They weren’t Knox’s drugs,” I say. “They weren’t. No way.”
I look up to see Monty’s head tilted, an empathetic look on his face. Then I look to the chief when he starts to speak. “We don’t know whose they were, and, quite frankly, it doesn’t matter. That’s not what we’re after. We’re looking at Sanders. His involvement. And we’ve noticed a pattern since that night.”
I’m still shaking my head. I rest my hands on my hips as I take labored breaths. Henderson clears his throat.
“We weren’t going to go this route …” he starts, looking over to Scott, who nods. “But, since you’re in the know now, we want to take a look at your notes from the King case. Specifically, when you talked to Celia Stewart.”
I shoot my eyes up to him, my brain still trying to catch up. Monty pipes up from beside me, having stood up. “It’s not customary for us to share our notes,” he tells the men.
“Look,” Scott starts in. “We’re just trying to figure it out.”
“But you don’t know,” I finally find my voice again. “You don’t know that Sanders has been lifting drugs, it’s just a possibility, right?” When neither officer answers, it confirms my thought.
They don’t know, but Celia Stewart’s comments will confirm their suspicions—and possibly incriminate Knox.
And why the hell I care anymore is beyond me. But my defenses automatically go up. “You’ll have to subpoena them,” I say to Scott. “My notes. If you want them, you have to subpoena them.”
I start toward the door, and Monty follows. Scott and Henderson don’t.
Chapter 26
Nine years ago …
LYZBETH
KnoxandIrepeatedour new ritual for a few nights, getting better at finding ways to navigate the uncomfortable sofa bed and somehow finding pleasure in loving each other again. But neither of us dared to speak about what was happening.
I was thinking about the night before when, in the middle of slumber, I felt Knox reaching for me, pulling me to him from behind, burying his face in my hair and, eventually, himself inside me, all the while grunting my name like a whispered prayer on his lips, when Clyde’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I glanced down at him sitting on the closed toilet seat before me, face tilted up, half-covered in shaving cream, as I rinsed off the long blade I used to shave his face.
The sound caught me off guard because Clyde didn’t say much these days, and he never talked while I was shaving him.
Embarrassed I didn’t catch what he said because I was too involved in my sexy thoughts, I asked, “What was that?”
Clyde swallowed. “I said, all that thinking will give you wrinkles.” And I swear he almost,almostsmiled.
I looked out the window next to us in the small bathroom, and Clyde followed my gaze over to Knox, who we could see trying to fix the riding lawn mower. He had grease on his arms and hands, and he was cursing as he struggled to loosen something, or tighten something. It was one of those beautiful fall days, when the wind blew but it was still warm on your skin, and although you could smell autumn, the sun shone so bright it almost hurt.
“Oh, Clyde, believe me, if I could stop my mind from the places it goes sometimes, I would.” I brought the blade back up to his face as he tucked his lips between his teeth to make the skin taught so I could drag it over his upper lip. I could feel myself mimicking the action as I tucked my own lips between my teeth.
When I leaned over to the sink to rinse off the blade, I felt Clyde’s hand on my forearm.
“You know what I regret?” he asked, and I turned my face to him. I was afraid to ask. I didn’t want him to say it out loud, whatever it was. But, he didn’t look scared, or sad. He looked … OK.
I didn’t answer as I did one final swipe of the blade over a patch on Clyde’s neck that I missed. Then I put the blade down and grabbed a towel to wipe off his face.
He gently took my hands in his as I stood before him, his knees caging mine. “You know what I regret about my time with Monica?” he pressed again, and I searched his eyes for a clue but came up empty, so I just shook my head. “Not one thing,” he said matter-of-factly.
