Page 42 of Wicked Games

It flies inward. It hits me, and I tumble.

“Dad?” I moan, rolling onto my side. “Dad, Mom?—”

It’s not Dad. Why did I think it would be Dad?

Mom looms over me. She straddles me, pressing my shoulders into the floor. Her face is a mask of fury.

“Wake up, Margo.”

I open my eyes, and I’m in my bed at the Bryans’ house. My heart is going a thousand miles a minute, and I take a shaky breath.

It felt real. Too real. And for once, I remember every second of the dream.

I fumble for the lamp’s switch, needing to extinguish the shadows. As if that would banish the shadows lingering in mymind, too. The sudden light blinds me. I raise my hand to block it and stop suddenly.

There are long scratches on the tops of my forearms… and blood under my fingernails.

So while I was trying to get out in the dream, I was really just hurting myself.

My stomach cramps. This wasn’t a normal dream. It can’t be.

There are pieces of my past trying to come out.

Chapter 12

Caleb

My uncle slides a pawn across the board between us. He raises an eyebrow at me, perhaps daring me to say something.

This is his time to lecture—I know that. It’s why I keep my mouth shut.

He’s dressed for work, and I’m in my school uniform. With our schedules, six o’clock in the morning was the only time convenient for my uncle. The text summons came in last night.

But it’s fine, because the early hour means there’s a time limit on how long this can go on.

After an appropriate pause, I move my knight. He likes me to analyze the board. Not doing so would only invoke his ire. So I usually end up counting to twenty in my head before each move, although it doesn’t do any good.

I’ve never won against him.

He pushes another pawn forward. This is just the beginning of the game, where positioning is important. There will be time for attacks later. First comes structure.

Everything is wrapped in theory I only vaguely remember.

We play in silence for another five minutes, until he takes one of my pawns.

“Your coach informed me of your suspension.” He firmly sets my black piece down beside the board. “You’ve already missed two games.”

And another two on Friday and Saturday. We’re playing a doubleheader, hosting an away team here for the weekend.

“Yes,” I agree. There’s no denying it.

“For fighting,” he condemns.

I hesitate, then nod.

“And practices?”

I clear my throat. “I’m still attending practices.”

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