There was no body under a house to show her in Kansas. There was no scheme to make the truth easier on her. All he had were words and that didn't seem good enough. His throat tightened, his hands clenched and then unclenched at his sides, his eyes blinked and Tate bowed his head to look down at the floor. In his eyes he felt the presence of unshed tears and he blinked them back. Crying in front of her would tell her more than his words ever could. So Tate didn't cry this time.
He looked back up, swung his bloodshot eyes toward her and kept them there. Then he swallowed, took a breath that he didn't need to take, and tried to keep his voice from shaking.
"I tried. I tried so hard." It had been one of the few good things he had ever done.