Page 145 of Fighting Mr. Knight

I can’t look at him.

Through tear-stained vision, I see the exact moment he realises the truth.

“How do you know this? Did he tell you?”

I nod. With the back of my hand, I wipe away the tears dripping from my chin.

“Fucking hell.” The veins of his forearm flex as his hand forms a tight fist around the wrench. His eyes squeeze shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other hand.

“Jack?” I whisper, hugging my knees.

“So, the second guy that ran away, the one the barmaid saw was your dad?”

I rest my chin on my knee to stop it quivering. “I guess so.”

“Youguessso?” he hisses, snapping his dark eyes open to glare at me. “Do you fucking know or not, Bonnie?”

I shrink back towards the wall, clutching my knees tighter.

“Talk,” he snaps, nostrils flaring.

“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” My voice shakes. “It was supposed to be a robbery to get your dad’s wallet. He lost his job and was about to lose the house. But he didn’t kill your dad. It was the other guy.”

“Are you making excuses for him?”

Yes.

“No. I’m just trying to explain why it led to the horrible tragedy.”

“So, what the fuck was this?” he snarls. “You thought if I fell in love with you, what? You’d get inside info on the case? Throw me off the scent? What was this, Bonnie?”

“No!” I cry. “I only found out two weeks ago.”

He looks at me like I walked over his grave.

“Why should I believe you?” he sneers. “You let me fall in love with you and you’re a fucking liar!” He fires the wrench resting on his knee across the room.

I scream as it hits the wall and chips of plasterboard fall.

“I’m trying to understand,” he growls, his chest heaving. “Trying very fucking hard to understand why my girlfriend would lie to me over something as important as this.” His voice rises. “I’m a damn idiot. You had me, hook line and fucking sinker. Who the hell are you?”

“Please, Jack,” I cry, grabbing onto his bicep.

He jerks away.

I feel it like a slap across the face. “I planned to tell you. I was scared. I was scared for Dad. I hate myself for lying to you. I’ve been begging him to go to the police but . . . he’s terrified of going to prison.”

“I don’t care how he feels,” he roars, making me jolt. “I care about my lying girlfriend.” He picks up the bag again and waves it inches from my face. “Why do you have this?”

I grip the pillow for support, bringing it to my chest. “I was worried Dad would throw it away. I took it from him. He doesn’t know I have it.”

He glares at me without blinking. “Have you had this since the murder?”

“No!” His question sucker-punches me. How can he think that? “I’m telling you the truth. I only found out a few weeks ago.”

“Why would I believe a fucking word that comes out of your mouth?”

“I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t want us to be over.”

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