The Wicked Trilogy: Caleb & Margo (Fallen Royals #1-3), page 57
I flip my light on in the basement, half expecting Margo to be waiting for me again. But no, she’s asleep, safe in her room. Away from my darkness.
She sure does know how to bring out the light in me, but the moment she’s gone… she takes the good with her, leaving the broken mess she created.
No, that isn’t quite right. I need to stop blaming her.
I rinse the blood away.
I was willing to break Margo so our pieces would fit, but Matt took that away from me. She’s more damaged than I am now. Fragile. One wrong move and she’ll shatter, and it wasn’t my decision. Hers, neither.
No matter.
I’ll throw myself against the truth until I’m dust. And then nothing will separate us.
13
Margo
I’m not sure what wakes me up. One minute I’m out, dreaming of my father, and the next, my eyes are open in the dark and my heart is racing.
I blink and try to regain control of my emotions. Fear is the predominant one. It surges through me, slippery and toxic. I sit up slowly, practicing my deep breathing.
A trick the doctor taught me before I left.
Panic follows close behind the fear, and I reach blindly for my phone before I realize I don’t have it anymore. I squint around the dark room, but nothing seems out of place.
My attention goes to the window. The nights have been getting colder, but tonight was unseasonably warm. The window is cracked, letting in a strong breeze.
And beyond the window, a light bouncing across the lawn.
I climb out of bed and press my nose to the glass. It’s hard to make out, but it looks like one person rushing away from the storage shed. The light moves erratically, then they disappear around the side of the house.
I throw a glance over my shoulder, checking my door. It’s shut. It doesn’t have a lock on it, but Eli’s parents are sleeping right down the hall. No one would come in here to attack me with them so close… right?
Voices seep in through the window, and I hunch down. It’s ridiculous, the idea that whoever is out there might see into my dark room.
Four bodies moving through the darkness. One flashlight illuminating their feet.
Caleb.
Liam.
Eli.
Theo.
“I’ve got to get home,” one of them says.
Theo, I would guess, judging from his tone. I can barely hear him, and the wind only picks up some of their words.
I hold my breath.
What were they doing?
“Keys are up in my room,” Eli says.
I saw Liam’s car in the driveway on my mad dash out of Caleb’s room earlier, so that’s who he must be talking to.
A minute later, their footsteps creak on the stairs.
I press my ear to the door, waiting for the sound of keys.
“Later, man,” Eli says in a low voice.
His door closes, and I yank mine open.
I catch Liam just as he’s passing. He freezes, spinning toward me.
“Fuck, Margo, you startled me.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What were you doing?”
“Trying to get to the truth,” he answers.
I roll my eyes. It’s such a cop-out answer.
“You’re safe here,” he says. “No one knows you’re here. Right? Just Riley and us.”
I squint at him. He’s completely in shadow, it’s impossible to see his expression. And I can’t dissect his tone, either. Is he worried? Angry? My disappearance probably put Caleb through hell.
“Lenora and my social worker, too,” I murmur.
“Matt was the one who took you,” Liam says. “You believe it, and Caleb believes you, we believe Caleb. You see how long a train this is.”
I shrug. “I know I saw him. Do you think I’m lying?”
“No.”
We’re silent for a moment.
“What were you doing in that shed?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Maybe that’s true. Caleb would do anything to protect me…
“Take this,” Liam says. He extends something toward me.
The second I grasp it, he pushes me back into my room and closes the door behind him.
I suck in a sharp breath and stumble away.
All he does is flick my light on.
“Look at it,” he says, lifting his chin toward my hand.
It’s… a folded knife.
When I glance back up, he’s right in front of me. His hand covers mine, showing me how to flip it open with one hand.
“It’s a pocketknife,” he says. “Usually for work, but… handy for self-defense if you need something small and light.”
I shake my head. “A knife? What do you want me to do, stab someone with it?”
He grins. “If you have to. But most women prefer slicing.”
My eyes are the size of dinner plates, I’m sure.
“I know how it feels to be helpless,” he says. “All too often, some asshole thinks I’m one of the rich ones. But I’m usually walking home because my car broke down and my parents work late. Defending myself became a priority.”
“You got mugged?”
“A few times.” He shrugs. “Anyway. Someone comes at you from the front?” He steps in front of me, jostling me back.
This is so not what I expected… a middle-of-the-night self-defense lesson.
“Fight back, Margo,” he says. He taps vulnerable spots on his body. “When in doubt, go for the eyes.”
I rear back. “Stab them in the eyes? Are you insane?”
“Knife or thumbs.” He winks. “Arteries. The inside of the elbow or thigh, the neck. Soft points like just under the chin or the eyes… And if someone grabs you from behind, slash the fuck out of their arms. Scratch them. Don’t hold back.”
“I have just been in a car accident.”
He steps back, his face softening for a moment. “I know.”
“My head—”
“I know.”
“Was it Matt?” I ask, blinking back tears. “Did you bring Matt here for Caleb?”
“You know as well as I do that you don’t want to know.”
I straighten. How dare he tell me what I do and don’t want to know.
And you know what? I’m kind of sick of everyone dictating—and limiting—the information I get told.
“You should leave.” It’s either that or swear at him, and that wouldn’t be very nice after the lesson he just gave me.
He nods.
I try to give him back the knife, but he raises his hands in surrender.
“It’s yours, Wolfe. Keep it and do great things.” He goes to leave, turning off the light before opening my door. “Great and terrible things.”
I’m immobile in the center of my room long after he goes, contemplating his words. Tomorrow is a big day. I’m meeting with Angela, who is going to take me to see Robert. And I have my first appointment with the new therapist. After that, someone will bring me homework, and I’ll attempt to concentrate without getting a headache.
I should go to bed, but I can’t tear my eyes off the door.
My fingers move along the handle of the knife. I get used to the feel of it in my palm and try to imagine a world in which I’m not defenseless. Not meek or cowardly.
I take a deep breath and finally jolt myself out of a standstill, closing my door.
And then I practice.
Wolves have teeth, and it’s about time I grow into mine.
Angela is prompt, and I am exhausted.
She doesn’t say anything about my messy hair or the dark circles under my eyes. I was still awake at seven o’clock this morning when Caleb and Eli left for school. I’d only just drifted off, then Norah knocked on my door telling me she had breakfast ready.
And twenty minutes later, Angela arrived to take me to the hospital.
“He’s been moved out of ICU,” she says. “I talked to Lenora this morning, to make sure you’d be able to see him.”
I watch the houses flash by. The ICU is strict—I learned that the hard way before we left the hospital yesterday.
Yesterday.
So much has changed in less than twenty-four hours. I learned that Caleb and his friends interrogated Matt. Although I don’t know if interrogated is the right word. Maybe they just beat the shit out of him and… what, let him run away?
I sigh.
“You okay?” Angela asks.
I shove away thoughts of Caleb and Matt and focus on her. She’s the one who had me believing my dad went to jail for drugs, not manslaughter.
“I tried to look up Dad’s trial coverage,” I say, watching her reaction.
“What were you hoping to find?”
“Anything,” I answer. “But… apparently he wasn’t sentenced for drug possession, or whatever you told me. He wasn’t dealing… or even using.”
Her lips purse, then smooth out. “I don’t remember saying anything about drugs.”
“What did he go away for, then?”
“Margo.” Her tone is exasperated. She opens and closes her hands on the steering wheel. “You were young. I’m sure you’re misremembering something. With your mother’s drug addiction, it would’ve been easy to transpose that onto your father.”
She’s trying to make me think I’m crazy.
I slowly nod. “You must be right.”
We’re quiet for a minute, and then she says, “It’s sad, really. Your parents… The whole thing is unfortunate.”
“Lydia came to see me, didn’t she?”
Angela hesitates.
I’ve taken her by surprise.
“Lydia Asher? Um, yes, I think she did. She was like a second mother to you.”
I focus back on the road. We’re nearing the hospital.
I wonder what she’d say if I told her I went to see Dad. She’d probably freak out on me and the Jenkinses.
But… she never asked where we were coming from when the accident happened. So maybe she knows the only way we’d be out on that side of town would be if we were visiting the prison.
I shift. My hand feels for the knife in my pocket, and the knot in my chest loosens.
She stops in front of the hospital. “Lenora said she would take you to your therapy appointment, okay? Call me if you need anything.”
Need anything.
I need answers. The truth.
But I can’t really say that, now can I?
I get out and walk toward the entrance, but her voice calls me back. “Margo, sorry, I forgot! Here.”
She reaches toward the open passenger window, extending a cell phone toward me. “To replace your other one. It was recovered in the car at the scene of the accident, so the insurance covered the new one. Isn’t that great?”
I take it, flipping it over. It’s an upgraded version of my previous one.
I smile. It’ll be nice to be in contact with Riley and Lenora. And Caleb.
She pulls away while I’m still looking down at it.
As long as Unknown hasn’t messaged me… But why would they? Their master plan succeeded.
Or did it?
Taking a deep breath, I slip it into my jacket pocket, turn on my heel, and go into the hospital. I can deal with that later.
I have the room number on a piece of paper in my pocket. After helpful direction from a nurse, I step into a busy wing. Lenora sees me almost immediately and jogs toward me.
She throws her arms around me, hugging me close.
I breathe in her scent—a mix of lavender shampoo and perfume—and relish the fact that it’s become familiar already. It reminds me of safety.
I haven’t seen her in only a day, but it feels longer. More than just wanting to settle back into normal… I want to go home.
“I’m glad you’re here. Did you sleep?” She brushes my hair back, scanning my face. Worry creases her eyebrows, and she briefly touches my forehead, near my stitches.
She’s the one who looks like she didn’t sleep. Her eyes are puffy, and she wears leggings and a baggy sweater.
“They’ve been letting me stay in his room on a cot now that he’s out of the ICU, but…” She tries to smile, but her chin wobbles.
Impulsively, I hug her again.
Her lips brush the top of my head, and I close my eyes.
“He’s going to be okay,” she whispers. “You’re safe. He’s safe.”
I blink back tears. “Okay.”
“He was asking for you.”
I pull back slightly. “He’s awake?”
“Yes, they just gave him breakfast. It’s the first meal he’s had…” She covers her mouth. “I’m just so thankful you both got through this.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I say, “I’m glad Caleb found me.”
Her face falls. “God, Margo, the police took him out of here so forcefully, I didn’t know what to think. But you said you saw who it really was?”
“One of his friends from a different school.” My stomach turns over. “It wasn’t Caleb.”
“I believe you.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and leading me down the hall. “And I know the detective was rather critical, but I wouldn’t let you stay in the same house as Caleb if I thought he had something to do with it.”
I tilt my head. “But… you did point the detective in Caleb’s direction while I was gone, didn’t you?”
“I gave him the names of everyone you’re friends with. I didn’t know he was going to single out Caleb. Are you ready to see Robert?”
We stop in front of a door to a private room. She releases me, and I enter on my own, creeping farther in. The busyness of the hall falls away.
He’s propped up in bed, a rolling table in front of him with a plate of food on it, and… so much medical equipment surrounds him. Wires disappear under his gown, there’s an IV taped to his arm. He has a tube under his nose for oxygen.
How can a person go from strong to so frail in days? His skin is pale. His face is covered in healing cuts and fading bruises, and his right arm is in a cast, slung to his chest.
This is my fault. I put him here.
I can’t move.
But I still catch his eye—or maybe it’s the snick of the door closing.
His whole damn face lights up.
And me? I burst into tears.
“Come here, sweetheart,” he says, reaching for me. He pushes the table away.
I’m stuck in guilt, my shoes glued to the floor. How do people overcome anguish?
“Margo.” His hand is still stretched toward me.
I finally move, venturing closer. He’s pale. They had intubated him for a collapsed lung, sedated him. And now…
“Come here,” he repeats. He scoots to the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him.
I wipe at my face, but the tears keep coming. I finally sit next to him. Take his hand.
He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
There’s a thousand pound weight on my chest. Slowly, I lie next to him. I curl my arm over his chest and lay my head on his shoulder.
He smooths my hair.
Wipes my cheeks.
He brushes my hair back from the cut on my forehead, and I feel his sharp intake of breath.
“That’s nice stitching,” he says. “Good as new, yeah? Both of us.”
“You—” I close my eyes. “No. You’re not good as new. You’re in a hospital bed. Your arm, your lung—”
“All will heal.”
“It’s my fault,” I whisper. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”
The guilt overwhelms me, and I choke on a sob. He hugs me closer. I fall apart, but he keeps whispering words I can’t make sense of. It’s okay, and We’re all right. But those are just things you say to make someone feel better.
I deserve to feel bad about this.
To be shipped off to a different foster home. To never see them again.
It would be a just punishment.
Fair.
So this? This is a goodbye.
This is putting my heart in a blender because I deserve pain over any form of happiness. Caleb knew that, made sure it was drilled into my head. Even my mother knew it—it’s why she left instead of choosing to fight for me.
He lets me cry into his chest without complaint. Eventually my tears will run out, but the grief is endless.
I sit up. Lenora comes farther into the room, a box of tissues in her hand. She offers me the box, and I take a few, dabbing at my eyes.
And then I force myself off the bed and go to the window, then suck in a deep breath. The weight is still there, crushing me.
“You should get rid of me,” I say to the glass. We’re on the fourth floor with a decent view. The hospital is the tallest building around. There’s the neighborhood, then a stretch of forest, and there my line of sight ends. “I’m no good. A danger, even.”
“Why would you say that?” Lenora asks.
“For the past three months, I’ve been…” I close my eyes. “Harassed? Stalked? I don’t know. By someone I didn’t know. But then on Sunday, they—”
“Margo—”
I spin around. “It’s my fault. They hit our car to get to me. And you were hurt because of me.”
I rub my chest. I can’t breathe again. My heart takes off, galloping out of control.
My fault, it chants with every beat.
Lenora guides me into a chair. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”
My fault. My fault.
I gasp, but I can’t seem to get any air. Black spots flash in front of my vision.
—what did you do, Margo?—
This wouldn’t the first time you destroyed a family.
“Breathe, honey,” Lenora says.
And then Robert is in front of me, his hands on my cheeks.
“With me, now,” he says. “In and out.”
“You shouldn’t be out of bed.” Lenora strokes his hair back. Her other hand is on my shoulder.
I take a moment to appreciate them both.
They’re grounding.
“Margo,” Robert says firmly. “We’re not sending you away. Len said you’re staying with the Blacks until I’m well enough to go home. It should be any day now, right?”
