Page 114 of Wicked Games

“My uncle.” I climb out and pat the roof. “Don’t forget to send me those files.”

“See ya next week,” Matt says, lifting his hand.

Right. The championship game at Lion’s Head. I only just invited Margo, and it already evaporated from my mind. I guess Uncle David has that effect on me. Now I just have to hope he doesn’t drag me back to his house to teach me some lesson—how to properly inform your family of college choices, perhaps.

My mind is torn in two different directions. I walk into the house and search the first floor for any sign of my uncle, then go down the stairs. He’s leaning against my dresser, holding the picture I had taken from my house the same night I took Margo’s bracelet.

It’s the two of us as children, our arms hooked around each other’s necks. We were young and happy.

But judging from my uncle’s expression, he doesn’t care that it was a happy memory. He cares that it’sMargo Wolfe. The destroyer of our families.

She’ll never win in his eyes.

I used to think the same way. If Margo came back, I’d make her life a living hell. And for a while, I fed on that energy. She came back to Emery-Rose for senior year. But then she got under my skin, and she’s stayed there ever since.

It was my uncle who shaped my opinion of Margo. My uncle who poisoned me against her.

I should’ve known.

Uncle drops the frame to the floor and takes a deliberate step forward. The glass crunches under his heel.

I cringe, but that’s all that slips out.

“I tried to warn you. But you just. Don’t. Listen.” He sighs. I can only imagine what goes through his head in times like these. How much does he want to throttle me, and how much does he care? “People are buying your car accident story?”

I jerk my head in some form of a nod, but I don’t trust myself to speak just yet.

“Good, good,” he muses. “I received an interesting phone call tonight.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Receptionist at Hutchins’ law firm. He cleared out?” He eyes me. “Why is he running?”

I shake my head. “Something spooked him.”

“Obviously. Who?”

The last person I’m going to name is Margo. “Maybe my mother?”

He stills. “Why’s that, Caleb?”

I lift one shoulder. “You’ll have to ask her.”

He stares. Upstairs, the front door slams, and Mr. Black’s voice calls out for me and Eli. I move out of the way of the stairs, my expression wary. He can’t do anything with Mr. Black here, right?

There’s a layer of protection embedded in being around adults who would act.

My best friend’s father definitely qualifies.

“I’ll see you for dinner next week,” my uncle says.

He straightens his tie and brushes past me, his shoes grinding the bits of broken glass into the carpet. And then he’s gone, without a word to Eli’s father, and I sag against the wall.

Chapter 30

Margo

The portrait of Caleb is half completed, and I’m running out of time to finish it. December has arrived, which means the due date is quickly approaching. It’s starting to resemble him, although it’s missing his eyes and lips. The two most defining features, and…difficult. I’ve been hemming and hawing over how exactly to do it.

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