Page 155 of Wicked Games

He pauses in the entrance, and the guard removes his handcuffs. Without hesitation, he strides toward me.

“Margo,” he says with all the warmth in the world.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for it. For the sameness ofhim. Exactly what I would’ve needed when I was ten. Eleven. Twelve. Hell, every year. Every occasion.

Why wouldn’t he let me see him?

Tears fill my eyes, and I throw my arms around his shoulders. All my internal debating—to hug or not to hug, to smile or frown, to be happy or upset—flies out the window.Happy. Definitely happy.

But also… not. Also, devastated.

“Hi, kiddo,” he whispers into my hair. His arms come around me more slowly, but once there, he locks on. “You’re so grown up.”

God, it feels so good to hug him.

We cling to each other until a guard barks at us to separate.

I shakily withdraw, swiping at my cheeks.

“Let’s sit,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

Not by my choice.

“How have you been? Your case worker was allowed to tell me a little about your foster homes… and the trouble you had. Running away.” His eyebrows draw in. “I’ve never felt so fucking helpless.”

“It’s okay.” I clear my throat, trying to rid my voice of the scratchiness.

“She made it pretty clear that you weren’t going to come see me.” Dad leans forward, into the table, and extends his hands. “You’re an adult now. I can’t even believe it.”

I take them in my own, even though it’s against the rules. His palms are calloused. He’s thinner than I remember, too, but harder. I’m not sure what to think about him talking to Ms. McCaw.

Did she not relay my desire to see him? Or is he lying to save face?

He’s the one who refused me. Not the other way around.

“My foster dad drove me,” I tell him. “They’re a really nice couple. They want to petition to adopt.”

He glances down at our hands and slowly withdraws. “Oh. How do you feel about that?”

“I—”

“I’m assuming you’re just here to see if I’ll give up my rights.”

His expression goes blank. I’ve seen the same thing on Caleb—it’s a defense mechanism. This is not going the way I wanted it to at all.

“I came here…” I clear my throat again. The best method would be to just blurt it out, so I do. “My memory is blocked. I remember being happy, and then they were taking you away in the park. That’s it. There are so many pieces missing, I need you to fill in the gaps. Just like I said in my letter.”

I don’t examine his expression and instead press on. “Did you give Mom drugs? Is that what I saw that made everything blow up?”

“What?” Confusion laces his tone. “Margo, what are you talking about?”

I freeze. “Everyone said you were arrested on drug charges. Trafficking or something. I wasn’t allowed to go to the trial… There’s nothing about it online. All I know is what I’ve been told.”

“Bullshit,” Dad whispers. “She really told you that?”

“I’m just trying to figure out the truth here, Dad.” I wipe at my face again. “If that’s bullshit, then whathappened?”

He glances at the clock on the wall. “Listen. Your social worker lied—or she masked the truth. Whatever her reasoning, I didn’t get sent to prison for drugs.”

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