Page 94 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

It starts snowing when we’re almost home. My muscles tense, and I grab on to the door.

“Margo, are you okay?”

It was snowing when Robert and I crashed. It was easy to push down the fear of vehicles when it was Riley driving me, or Angela. The skies have been clear, the roads dry.

I lean forward, eyeing the side streets. A car could come out of nowhere and sideswipe us.

She slows our car until we’re crawling down the street. “Honey, breathe.”

I take in a ragged breath. It’s snowing hard and fast. I close my eyes.

“Can we just get home?” I whisper.

“Absolutely.”

She reaches over and holds my hand the whole way back, and it helps. It’s her form of a lifeline—and maybe she understands my sudden anxiety.

I wonder how long it took her to get into a car after Josie died.

“We’re here,” she announces, turning into the driveway.

I open my eyes and release her hand, embarrassment flushing my cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyebrows crinkle together. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Nodding, I get out of the car. The embarrassment is replaced by anticipation, and I rush ahead of her to get in the house.

“Hey, kiddo,” Robert calls. He walks back toward the living room with a glass of water. “Let me just put this down…”

He sets it on a side table, then holds out his arms.

I dive into them, holding back a fraction for fear of hurting him. He wraps his arms around my back.

“There she is,” he says into my hair. “Good as new, the both of us, yeah?”

“You said that exact same thing before,” I mumble into his chest. “And then you almost died.”

“Ah, well. Old habits die hard. My father used to say that to my brother and me. We were always getting hurt.” He chuckles and pats my back.

I pull back, wiping at my cheeks. I’m ashamed of the tears there, but they’re more happy than sad. He’s home. I’m home.

It isn’t just a house anymore.

My heart swells.

“Len, we should order Chinese and watch some movies.”

She laughs behind me. “May as well. I don’t have any food in this house. Margo, want to take this up to your room?”

I turn. She holds the bag I had packed for the Blacks’.

“Oops, sorry.”

“I know you were in a rush to get in here.” She winks at me.

I loop the strap over my shoulder and hurry to the stairs. Up to the second floor, where pictures of the Jenkinses stare at me. They’ve replaced some of them with new pictures, doing their best to make me feel welcome. Pictures of me and my friends, Caleb and I from the ball, a selfie I took with Robert and Lenora on Thanksgiving.

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