Page 61 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

Students automatically part for us. It must be the scowl on his handsome face—I’m allowed to think the lacrosse coach is beautiful in a rugged, older man way, right? No, okay. Maybe it’s a little weird.

We pass the principal, whose gaze locks on to Coach, then jumps to me. “Ms. Wolfe?”

“She’s with me,” Coach snaps.

We get into the cafeteria, where the only lingering people happen to be the cheerleaders and sport teams.

They all go quiet at our arrival. Although it has less to do with me and more to do with Coach.

“Asher!” Coach roars.

Everyone stops moving—except Caleb. He slowly rises and walks toward us. His brows pull together, the only indication that he’s not sure what’s happening.

Coach turns, and I trail after him. I feel Caleb behind me like a shadow. Down the hall, past students—including Sav and Riley, who stare at me with wide eyes. Into the athletic wing and right into Coach’s office.

“Shut the door.” He takes a seat behind his desk. “And sit down.”

I hurry to one of the two chairs, sitting on the edge of it. Caleb follows more slowly, shutting the door and dropping into the seat next to me. He kicks his legs out, then leans back. His arms fold over his chest.

“Not sure what this is about, Coach,” he says.

I shake my head. “And you think I do?”

His eyes cut to me. “Well, you were chasing after him—”

“Quiet.” Coach leans forward. “Do you know what I had on my desk today? Hmm?”

Caleb shrugs. “No, sir.”

Coach looks at me, and I shake my head quickly. It’s a lie, but I’m hoping my sudden terror—I wasn’t supposed to be dragged into this—masks it.

He throws a picture across the desk. Caleb grabs it before it slides off and hits the floor, taking one glance at it. He winces. He doesn’t even show me—he just tears it in half, and then in half again.

“I got rid of this,” Caleb says in a low voice. “Where—”

“A note,” Coach says. He holds up the piece of paper that accompanied the picture. “I’ll read this out loud, and you can tell me what sort of bullshit we’re dealing with.”

He clears his throat.

“Coach Marzden,” he reads. “Your teams are held to a high standard. I, along with the rest of the school—faculty and parents included, I’m sure—find this admirable. We’ve watched the determination and focus of your football and lacrosse teams go to national championships because they avoid distractions.

“Parties. Girls. Drinking. You understand best of all how detrimental this is to our athletes.

“I’m disheartened to report that your star lacrosse player, Caleb Asher, has been seen doing all three of the aforementioned distractions. His scandalous fling with Margo Wolfe was even caught on camera, as seen by the evidence. This photo was passed around the school, right under the administration’s noses.

“If this is what student leadership is, then I am ashamed to attend Emery-Rose and be represented by such monstrous boys. Get your team under control, Coach.

“Sincerely, Unknown.”

Caleb scoffs. “They didn’t even sign their name?”

I swallow. It sounds worse read out loud, my name coming out of Coach’s mouth. The foul accusations…

You wanted this.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Ms. Wolfe?”

“I’ve been harassed by someone via text messages for months.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. It wasn’t in the plan to admit this. “Their number showed up as Unknown. It seems fishy that this person would sign their name as Unknown, too…”

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