Page 57 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

“Yes. They argued sometimes. Chefs are known to have hot tempers… and my dad had one, too.”

I gulp.

“What else happened in the dream?” His fingers twitch on his thigh.

“Mom came into my room and shook me.”

He nods. “She held in a lot of anger.”

“Because of something I did?” I don’t want to know. I decide that the instant the words come out of my mouth.

Caleb’s lips part in slow motion. He already gave me the warning that he would answer any question.

I lunge across the seat, slapping my hand over his lips. “I don’t want to know.”

His lips move against my palm, and his eyes crease. A smile. Even if I can’t see it, I know it’s devious.

Slowly, I remove my hand. I brush my thumb along his lower lip, and his smile fades. He doesn’t come toward me like he might’ve before. Something’s changed between us in just a few days.

“Kiss me,” he whispers.

I shake my head. There are more questions, but right now, every beat of my heart is screaming at me to lean forward and touch him more. And every ounce of my brain begs me to run away.

The heart can only win so many times.

I fling the door open and jump out, running back toward the house. It’s easier to sneak in. I kick off my shoes and jacket in the mudroom and grab a glass of water—a plausible excuse if I’ve ever heard of one.

And it’s a good thing, too, because Robert appears at the top of the stairs.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

I nod, plastering on a smile to hide my alarm. “Yeah, I just woke up with a dry throat.” I lift the glass as evidence.

“Okay.” He turns and ambles back to his room.

I follow him.

Back in my room, I scan it and close the door. Would I put it past Caleb to come in? Not in the slightest.

I cross to the window. His car is still there, idling. But as I watch, it pulls out onto the street and speeds away. I exhale and close my curtains, falling back into bed.

Savannah, Riley, and I have a plan—well, an idea of a plan. I just need to focus and not let Caleb suck me back to him.

13

Margo

The rest of the week is non-eventful. There’s not much happening at school. Football has moved almost exclusively to away games, and no other sport has begun. We catch glimpses of the lacrosse starters getting back into shape for the season, running around the field even when it snows.

The school whispers about tryouts. Freshmen stick together in the hallways, groups of boys with gangly arms and legs who want to make a name for themselves here. The competition is tough, Sav tells me. Only a select few get to stay on the team permanently—valuable assets that Coach handpicks. The golden boys, obviously, plus Ian and a few others. The rest of the team spots are free game.

And oh, I never realized how bloodthirsty teenage boys could be.

Caleb comes up to me when I’m at my locker on Friday. “Come to tryouts.”

I snort. “No.”

Once you get in the habit of standing up for yourself, it gets easier and easier to keep standing up for yourself. Because not letting people run over you feels good. Great, even.

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