Knox

I stand on the porch this morning, arms crossed tight over my chest, trying to keep my heart from slamming out of my chest. 

The wooden boards beneath my feet are cold, even though the sun’s already climbing higher. Thank God it’s Saturday. If I had to sit through another round of meetings or fake my way through another day of spreadsheets, I might just lose it. Emma was supposed to be home last night after the party. She never showed. No call, no text, nothing.

My phone’s become an extension of my hand. I’ve dialed her number so many times that the screen feels warm against my palm....