Page 80 of Wicked Games

“Was it your dad?”

I can’t stop thinking about the dream—the argument between my mom and his dad. The glass she threw. They had a temper, I’ve figured that much. Both of our parents.

“Margo…”

“Just tell me.” I gnash my teeth. “I’m so sick of the bullsh?—”

“My uncle,” he blurts out. “Okay? Happy? He wasn’t thrilled at my behavior recently and decided he needed to teach me a lesson. Something that wouldn’t affect my game.” He laughs, but it grates against my ears. “I’m pretty sure he cracked a fucking rib and briefly dislocated my knee, but that shouldn’t stop me.”

My eyes fill with tears. “I’m nothappy.”

“Don’t cry for me, baby.” He brushes his thumbs under my eyes. “I don’t deserve those tears.”

“I’m not crying.” I’m absolutely lying, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

His uncle did that to him—his unclebeathim. While I had a sleepover with Riley? While I complained about him going silent on me?

“Is that where you were this weekend? At his house?—”

His hands go to my throat, then the back of my neck. He pulls me into his chest, injuries or no, and I press my lips together. His chest is hot under my cheek. I close my eyes, because this is what I wanted. This is what I asked for.

Touch me.

When his lips ghost along my neck, I shudder.

“You are crying,” he whispers. He hugs me.

Caleb Asher ishuggingme. He wraps around me like an octopus, infusing heat into my suddenly cold body. It’s a little surreal—like the devil has shed a few layers, and he’s not actually that bad. I’ve discovered a bigger monster—his uncle.

I’m dying to hug him back but afraid of hurting him. My hands twitch at my sides. Just when I think he might kiss me—he’s got thatlook—he takes a step back.

“Can you wrap the…”

The welts.

I nod, and he tosses me a roll of bandages.

“Okay. Yeah, I can do this.”

He snorts. “Good, because you’re all I have.”

My heart stops.

He didn’t mean it likethat, but my heart will not be convinced otherwise.

After some trial and error, I finally ask him to hold the starting point under his arm. I manage to set the gauze and wrap a long rope of bandages around his chest with his help, then clip it to stay.

“You should go home.” He turns on the lamp next to his bed and slowly lowers himself onto the bed. He sits on the edge, pressing his palm to his ribs.

“What? Why?”

“You don’t think I noticed you came here in the middle of the day?” He picks up his phone, taps out a message, then tosses it back down. “It’s cute. You skipped school. But what would Robert say if you’re not home when he gets back?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” I sit beside him. “Can’t I just stay here?”

“I’m just imagining the wrath of your foster family.” He shrugs. “On second thought, maybe you should stay.”

“Now you’re just being an ass.”

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