Page 65 of Wicked Dreams

Again, with the orders.

My foster dad shrugs. “If you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it.”

Great.

The whole I-know-his-family conversation pops into the forefront of my mind. I can’t say what I think—which is that Caleb is crazy and there’s no way I’m getting back in the car with him. I can barely think it without fear of him reading my mind and punishing me for it.

Excuses about homework die on my tongue, and I sigh. Nod.

Robert squints at me, but Caleb already has his hand on the small of my back. He wastes no time propelling me out of the room and down the long, curving staircase. All the way down and out the door closest to the student parking lot.

Across the lawn, the cheerleaders are beginning their practice. They mainly perform at the football games, but weirdly enough, they sometimes show up for hockey. And since hockey is the main sport at Emery-Rose Elite, it’s obvious that they care more about them than stinky, hulking football players.

Well, maybe hockey guys also stink?

I don’t know.

I glance over at him. “What are you scheming?”

“What are you afraid of?” he replies.

I wonder if me giving in was a bad thing. If he’d only like me for the chase.

Wait—no. Shoot. I don’t want him tolikeme. But the same question applies, doesn’t it? Is he only fascinated with me because of the fight I put up? And if so, does giving in make it better or worse for me?

“Margo.”

I’ve grown accustomed to him calling me anything but my name.

“I’m afraid…” I press my lips together. “Of my dreams.”

He snorts. “Of the boogeyman coming out of your closet?”

“There are things I don’t understand,” I say. “My mother?—”

He glances at me sharply. “She was a drug-addicted slut.”

A muscle in his jaw tics, but he doesn’t take it out on me. He just urges me toward the passenger seat, then circles around for his side. The interior is somehow cool, even in direct sun, and I set my bag at my feet. Caleb tosses his in the back.

“Tell me how you really feel,” I mumble.

We haven’t talked about my mother. Why would we? She’s obviously a sore subject. But since we’re opening that can of worms, the least I can do is hear him out.

Unless it’s all slander, then I can pretend we’re going to agree to disagree.

“You shouldn’t talk about her,” he says. “Shouldn’t think about her.”

He twists toward me. I suck in a breath, but he’s just putting his hand on the back of my seat to back out of his parking space. It puts his head too close to mine. Is this sudden bout of dizziness normal?

We get out onto the road, zooming back toward the Bryans’ neighborhood and our childhood one. Who knows where we’re actually going with Caleb at the wheel? We could end up at that forsaken park or…

“I can’t help who I dream about—” We speed around a corner, and I shut my mouth. Close my eyes, too, but I can only handle not seeing for a moment. “Please stop.”

“Stop? Stop what?”

I’m going to throw up.

We’re gaining speed. It’s a sunny day on one of Rose Hill’s many back roads. We’re nowhere near other cars, other life. Hell, we could hit a ditch flipped over, and it might be an hour before someone finds us.

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