Page 82 of Wicked Games

Eli follows me. “Look, man, she just was pouting, and then Riley was staring at me?—”

“Softie,” Liam says through a fake cough. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

I roll my eyes. “About the hell weekend? Not particularly.”

“My parents will be back soon,” Eli says. “This shit won’t fly.”

“It will until I’m eighteen. I want to see a single dime, I have to do what he says.”

“That doesn’t mean letting him treat you like a punching bag,” Theo murmurs.

“It’s inyourname.” Eli glares at me like this beating wasmyfault. And honestly, it kind of is. I instigate my uncle’s behavior time and again. Push his buttons. Set fire to his carefully constructed plans with glee.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

Consequence.

Punishment.

It isn’t like he kept me locked in the basement, although I’m sure he’s considered it. Between teaching melessons, he paraded me in front of my aunt and mother.

Mother is thinner than normal, makeup creased under her eyes in an attempt to hide the dark circles. She picked at her food, much to Aunt Iris’s disdain. I was surprised to even see Mother there. Usually she makes a quick appearance—a day, two—and then vanishes again. But maybe she’s back for good while she tracks down Amber Wolfe.

Something I didn’t even get a chance to ask her about.

Uncle David grilled me relentlessly, at any moment. I didn’t give him anything except hoarse wheezes between punches that stole my breath.

“Dude.” Eli waves his hand in front of my face.

I jerk back.

“Lost you for a second.”

Come back to me. Margo often goes down the rabbit hole of memories, and her face always goes blank. I must’ve looked the same.

“December twenty-seventh,” I say, shaking out my arms. My muscles scream, but I lean into the pain. Pain means I’m still alive. “I just have to make it until then.”

It’s not so long now.

I think that’s what’s making my uncle nervous.

“What was the ultimatum?” Theo asks.

I tilt my head. “Stay focused on hockey. Don’t fuck up. Get straight A’s, get into Harvard. Not a toe out of line.”

And forget about Margo. I can’t voice that part aloud. It doesn’t matter anyway: it isn’t happening.

Especially after her visit this afternoon.

If I wasn’t half out of my mind on painkillers, I might’ve done more to make her stay. But we’ve turned over a new leaf. She’s mine—she’llalwaysbe mine—but she has to come to me.

She needs to learn to walk on her own again. And walkto me. She already is. That buzzing in my chest returns. It’s hard not to grab my phone, text her. Tell her to come back.

“Fuck,” Liam grunts.

“It’s fine. You bring home food?”

“We ordered pizza on the way,” Eli tells me. “How do you?—?”

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