Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

Riley picks me up from Caleb’s house the next morning. She wiggles her eyebrows at me, laughing. “How was your night?”

I glare at her. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

Her smile widens. “Yeah, you definitely should. Damn, Eli is good in bed.”

“Stop.”

“Nope, you asked.” She backs out of his driveway with a shit-eating grin. “He does this thing where he kind of rotates⁠—”

“Riley!” I yell, finally laughing. “I really, really don’t want to hear about your sex life. Not the details anyway.”

She shrugs. “Okay, okay.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, though.”

She goes quiet.

I tilt my head. “You are happy, though, aren’t you?”

“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you.”

“Hmm.” I don’t trust her glossed-over non-answer, but I let it go. I tip my head back and close my eyes. We had mind-numbing sex. Multiple times. One of us woke up in the middle of the night and the other just knew. We needed each other.

Hands reaching toward each other in the darkness.

Our faces so close we shared breath.

“Earth to Margo,” Riley says. “Where’d you go?”

“I want to remember what happened to me,” I whisper, my gaze on the houses flashing past us. “But I think it’s going to be traumatic.”

Riley’s family didn’t move to Rose Hill until I’d been gone a while, so no one was talking about it at that point. I don’t think anyone in our class actually knows the real story except Caleb. And a piece of my mind I can’t access.

I want to know why he hated me and how he was able to stop.

She glances over. We’re almost at my house, and she instinctively slows.

“What do you want to do?”

I inhale. “My old house brought back memories last time.”

She makes a quick turn. “Roger that.”

I left Caleb eating breakfast with Eli. There’s no way—hopefully—he’ll pack up his stuff and go to his house. Why would he?

Besides, I don’t think he’d mind us breaking and entering…

All too soon, she pulls in the driveway and shuts off the car. “Now what?”

“Now we hope the place doesn’t have an alarm.”

“Was one burgle not enough for you?”

“What did you think I was going to do?”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, just sit in the driveway for a minute?”

I laugh. “You didn’t have a problem with it when it was Caleb’s uncle’s house…”

I get out of the car. Either she’ll come or she won’t. But Riley is faithful, and a second later her car door creaks open, too.

“This way.” I show her down the secondary driveway that leads to the guest house. I’ve done this too many times recently for it to be shocking, but I still get flickers of a younger me running past us.

Riley’s head swings around, trying to take everything in. It’s a bit overgrown, but winter is upon us. No one cares about landscaping in November.

I point to the guest house that comes into view once we’re past the garage. “I grew up there.”

“Literally in Caleb’s backyard. Damn.”

I nod.

“Okay, so where do you want to go? In there?”

“Yeah…” I scan the yard and pause on the pillar by the sliding glass doors of the main house. My feet automatically carry me in that direction, an old dream rearing its ugly head.

I crouch and stare through the window.

“What are you doing?” Riley whispers.

“I had a dream that I hid here while my mom and his dad argued in the kitchen.” I shake my head, hunkering lower. I duck my head and close my eyes. “I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”

The image comes back, but it’s still without sound. My mom throws the glass against the wall. Caleb’s dad storms away.

I grimace and open my eyes. Riley’s watching me strangely, but she doesn’t comment.

“I wonder…” I go to the sliding glass door. They used to keep a key on the top of the frame, which didn’t help Caleb or me on the off chance we got locked out—we had to make a big production of dragging a chair over, teetering on it precariously—but now… now I’m taller.

I run my fingers along the top of the frame, pausing when they trip over something cold. Metal. My chest erupts with butterflies, and I pull down a grime-covered key. It fits in the lock, audibly turning the latch on the sliding door, and then… we’re in.

I spare a single glance at the kitchen counter and go to the stairs.

“Caleb lived here?” Riley whispers. “What happened?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He moved away. In with Eli. He doesn’t talk about his parents, just his uncle. Something happened here.

At the top of the stairs, I have a choice. Go left to Caleb’s room and bathroom, or go right, down the hall to the master and guest bedrooms. I go left.

His room is virtually untouched, the same as mine. It’s neater, no clothes lying on the floor or in the hamper. I guess he had more time to pack than I did. Still, it’s a ten-year-old’s room. Blue walls. A train set in the corner. Toys stacked on top of his dresser.

We used to play with this stuff.

I hid behind this door once.

Riley follows me in. “It feels eerie to be here,” she admits. “Do you remember anything?”

“Just stuff I already knew.”

I drag my finger through the dust on top of his dresser. Every other room in the house has been swept clean, covered in white sheets.

Why is Caleb’s room different?

I reach for the door, intending to close it, and am gripped with a sudden sense of déjà vu. Grabbing the door to hide. I did that once… but then, there’s the sense I did it again.

More than once.

Past

“You have to run.” Caleb hauled me by my shoulders and shoved me toward the stairs.

His dad was on a rampage. His yelling echoed through the kitchen and dining room, to the living room where Caleb and I had been trying to learn chess. It came out of nowhere—peace one second, then an earth-shattering roar.

I trusted Caleb, and now, I listened. I bolted for the stairs, flying up and to the left. I made it to the safety of his room and grabbed the door, ready to slam it closed behind us… but Caleb hadn’t followed me.

I waited a moment, breathless and terrified. His dad was still hollering about something, the sound of breaking glass and wood haunting my ears.

If Caleb got caught…

I tiptoed out into the hallway, just as he appeared on the staircase. He looked at me oddly, like he was confused why I wasn’t in his room.

“Caleb!” his dad screamed. “What the fuck is this mess?”

“The chessboard,” he whispered, more to himself than me. His shoulders slumped. “I’ll be right back. Margo. Stay here.”

He pushed me back into the room. Behind the door, which he left open.

I latched on to the knob, and I couldn’t pry my fingers off of it. Not until Caleb was back. Fear wormed its way up my throat, choking me. My dad never got angry like that. Never screamed. Mom did, but Dad said it was the chef in her. She learned how to use her voice in a kitchen, surrounded by men.

I didn’t know what that meant, but I always nodded.

At any minute, Caleb was going to appear in front of his dad and take the blame for the chessboard and pieces spread across the floor in the living room. But before it had even begun, everything screeched to a halt. Something had distracted Caleb’s dad.

“I’m coming to get my daughter.” My father’s voice carried upstairs. “Jesus, Ben. I could hear you from my house.”

“Your house,” Caleb’s dad sneered. “It isn’t your house. It’s mine. And who do you think you are, coming in here like you’re welcome?”

“I came for my daughter,” Dad answered. Even. Maybe annoyed, but definitely not showing it.

The fear loosened its grip on my airways.

“She’s not here,” Caleb’s dad snapped.

“Margo!” Dad called. “It’s okay, honey. Come on out.”

I ran out of Caleb’s room, down the stairs, and launched myself into Dad’s arms. Caleb was on the floor at his dad’s feet, scrambling to pick up the chess pieces. I tried to help, but Dad held me fast to his side.

“Caleb was going to teach me how to play,” I whispered into his shirt.

Dad looked from me to Caleb, then Caleb’s dad.

“What did she say?” Caleb’s dad snapped.

“Caleb and Margo wanted to learn how to play chess,” Dad said. He released me and bent down. He picked up the box, sliding the board inside. One by one, he took the pieces out of Caleb’s hand and put them in their foam slots, his hands steady. Then that, too, was added to the box. “I think we can do it in our living room. Margo’s mom was a chess champion back in her day. Maybe she can give us some pointers.”

He straightened and tucked the box under his arm.

Caleb’s dad stared at mine. “Well.”

“Amber will be over soon, I’m sure,” Dad said. “I’ll send Caleb back with her. Or maybe later?”

“Well,” Caleb’s dad said again. The wind had been taken out of his sails.

Dad took my hand. I took Caleb’s.

My first hero marched us out of the house, and we didn’t look back. It didn’t make it okay—it didn’t erase the pops and flashes of terror the sight of Caleb’s dad incited. But knowing Dad was just a minute away sure did help.

Present

“Riley,” I choke out, sinking to my knees.

A tsunami wave of sadness hits me square in the chest. I didn’t realize how much I missed my dad until I recalled that fear of Caleb’s.

I dig my fingernails into the wood.

“Tell me,” she says.

I lay out what I remembered. It wasn’t necessarily a new memory, or a previously blocked one, but it was one I had shuffled to the very back of my mind. Caleb’s dad had a temper. It matches what I dreamed about—my mom and him in an argument.

We go back downstairs, and she looks out the sliding doors to the guest house across the lawn.

“Your dad heard him yelling from in the house.” Riley’s face is pale. “That must’ve been terrifying as a kid.”

“Yeah.” More so for Caleb than me, I’m sure.

I lock the sliding door behind us and replace the key where I found it.

“Caleb invited me to the football team’s championship game at Lion’s Head,” I tell her. “Well, I don’t know if I can call it an invitation. He said, ‘Come with me.’”

Riley glances at me. “That matches his personality.”

“Did Eli ask you?”

“No. He’ll probably just show up at my house and demand I go with him.” She shrugs and gestures to the door. It’s unlocked, but I haven’t opened it yet. “Let’s do this thing.”

“It’s weird in here,” I warn her. “Like stepping back in time.”

“Okay.”

I shove the door open, ready to be assailed by memories.

But I’m not. It’s empty.

I walk into the living room and spin in a slow circle.

Nothing.

“I’m guessing this isn’t what you expected,” Riley says. “This doesn’t feel like a time capsule. It even smells clean in here.”

What the fuck? “This place hasn’t been touched in seven years! And now everything is cleared out?”

I yank open drawers in the kitchen. Swipe my finger along the counter. Check the fridge, then venture farther into the living room. No furniture. It’s all empty.

I run to my bedroom, shoving the door open.

Every piece of my childhood has been removed except the dresser—maybe it was too heavy? I go to it, yanking open drawers. Caleb did this. He had to. Who else would want to get rid of this stuff?

I find something in the bottom drawer. A note.

Cheers to the good times and the bad. May the hits keep on coming.

— a friend

“I’m going to be sick.”

I drop the note and rush to the bathroom, falling to my knees in front of the toilet. I realize with vague detachment that the bathroom has been scrubbed clean, too. I heave, but nothing comes up. After a solid minute of my stomach rolling, I fall back and lean against the wall.

“You okay?”

I glance up. “Did you see the note?”

She holds it up. “A friend. Who is that?”

“You’re my only friend. Was it you?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Humor is a good escape.” I pick myself up. “Did you check the other room?”

“No, figured I’d wait.”

I sigh and cross the hallway. My parents’ bedroom door is still closed, and I’m not sure I even want to look. The last time I saw it, it was a wreck. But Caleb didn’t give me a chance to really… explore. That, and I was on the verge of a panic attack last time.

Now, I’m much steadier.

“Ready?” I ask Riley.

She takes my hand. “Yep.”

I push open the door, immediately sucking in a breath.

It’s untouched.

Like a tornado went through their things, there’s clothes everywhere. Broken glass from picture frames and a shattered lamp. The dresser is cracked, one leg missing, and it leans to one side.

There’s a hole in the wall.

“What happened here?”

I pick my way through the room and squat next to the fallen frames. I carefully brush away the glass and slide the photo out. I was maybe four years old in it, running on the beach. Mom is behind me, blurred out, but I can tell her arms are outstretched.

—Hands reaching for me, shaking my shoulders⁠—

No.

My hands tremble on the photo. White spots flash in front of my eyes.

“Margo—”

The darkness creeps from the corners of my vision. I manage to scoot away from the glass, grabbing the edge of the bed. “Sorry. This is too much… Fuck. I’m gonna pass out.”

It swoops in, and down I go.