My breath stalls, and my eyes fill with moisture. I feel so sick. So gross and disgusting. Even though my dad’s death isn’t my fault, I can’t help but feel like it is. Knox wraps his fingers around my wrists, pulling me toward him as tears stream down my face and my lungs seize. “Tell me you’re lying,” I beg, because the truth hurts so bad, I can’t take it. His fingers brush my wet cheek, wiping my tears. “I wish I was.” “How long have you known about this?” “I overheard their conversation a few days after the funeral.”
