Page 25 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

I find Robert in his office.

He looks up when I knock on the open door, a grin spreading. “Margo. I thought you might decide to rest today.”

I frown. “I was actually hoping… I need to go out.”

His eyebrow jumps, then settles. “Where?”

“Caleb’s house.”

He sighs. “Why?”

“There’s…” I spin the bracelet on my wrist. “There’s just something that’s been bugging me about my old home. And I was hoping to take one more peek…”

He stands. “Okay.”

He slips past me, down the hall.

“What are you doing?” I call.

“Driving you,” he answers.

My mouth drops open, and I chase after him. “You don’t have to. I can walk—”

“It’s no trouble.” He holds up the keys, winking at me. “We can stop and get a pastry on the way back.”

I nod slowly. The car ride is quick, and then we’re there. In the same driveway, staring up at Caleb’s empty house.

“No one lives here,” I tell him.

“I know.” He glances at me. “We recognized your last name when Angela was searching for a home. Most of the foster families in the town were aware of what had happened between the Wolfes and the Ashers.”

I frown. “I don’t really remember it.”

His smile is sad. “Trauma affects children differently. Some lash out. Some get quiet. We took a class on dealing with loss—”

“I didn’t lose anyone.” I cross my arms over my chest. “They’re both still out there.”

He twists toward me. “If you want to see your dad, Margo, we can arrange that—”

“I don’t.”

Mom left. Dad was taken away.

They’re still alive. And if I hadn’t done whatever it is Caleb thinks I did—

I open the car door. The answers I want are in my home.

“I’ll be back,” I tell him.

Down the driveway, through a door into the backyard, then the Asher’s guest house is in front of me. I should stop thinking of it as home, even though it’s the only one I ever knew. We were there for most of my life.

The door is locked, but we used to keep a spare key in the plant box under the window around the corner. I’m sure Caleb was the one to lock it. He’s the only one who would want to keep me out.

I find the key and brush off the crusted dirt. It’s dull, with rust spots, but it still works. The door opens under my hand. Absently, I pocket the key.

It’s like walking into the past—but not the past that I want to remember. Not the disrupted, angry place that I’ve forgotten. No, it’s like…

Sunshine.

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