by S. Massery
I should’ve fucked her against the wall in Ian’s living room, even if the prick was eavesdropping around the corner. Especially because he was eavesdropping. I stroke myself, remembering the way she reacted to me tonight.
Afraid.
Turned on.
Fiery.
The way her pussy clenched around my fingers when she came.
Fuck.
I pump faster, desperate to relieve my growing tension. It’s the memory of her anger that does it. The way she fought. I groan and come, spilling on the tiles. Sparks zap through me.
This wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wasn’t supposed to let Margo get to me—again. But she has. I’ve let myself hate her for years, and it’s easy. What isn’t easy is admitting that every tear down her pretty face tightens my chest.
Bullshit.
I finish washing and get out, ignoring the mirror. Theo was a good distraction, but all I want to do is crawl into Margo’s bed. I’m torn between making her pay and protecting her from the shitstorm that’s brewing.
I could throw her out into the cold. It’s already in motion.
Dad used to relate Newton’s laws to human behavior. An object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. His favorite was: Every force in nature has an equal and opposite force.
He meant to balance us out. Every decision carried weight. It was harder to make a change once a course of action had been decided on. He would know best of all. Selling his company, the shit he pulled with Margo’s family…
My trajectory has been set toward Margo since we were children.
It’s too late to stop.
But… she might just be my opposite—and equal—force. If she finds her spine.
I shake my head, water droplets flying. It’s going to be a sleepless night, I can feel it coming like a freight train. The rattle of restlessness will keep me awake for hours. It leaves me with two options: fighting to keep my eyes closed or burning off energy and crashing.
Option two has always been my go-to.
I lace on running shoes and yank on a sweatshirt. Eli’s parents are on the couch in the living room, the television screen flickering blueish light over their faces. They don’t seem to notice me slip past them, out the front door.
As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I run.
There are a million ways to exhaust the body.
A million ways to burn energy.
Running is least satisfying, but it works… Until I find myself standing outside the Jenkins’s house. I faintly register that I’m panting. I’ll have to work on that before lacrosse season starts. If Coach finds out I’ve let myself slack even a little, I’ll be booted from captaincy faster than I can blink.
Her house is dark.
Not that I should’ve expected otherwise, seeing as how it’s the middle of the fucking night.
It doesn’t stop me from scaling the side of her house with practiced movements. I never told her that Liam’s family used to live in this house, and we snuck in and out all the time. It was hard when we were fourteen. Now, not so much.
Her window is still unlocked. I slide it open with one hand, then lift myself up. My entrance is nearly silent. I straighten and glance around the dark room. Her bed is made. Her uniform is crumpled toward the foot of the bed, a pair of running shoes just below it. She took her boots and high-heels with her.
I lie down on the bed, fluffing the pillow under my head. It smells like her shampoo.
She isn’t a girl who wears a lot of perfume. None, except the soap she washes with. I think I like that best. Amelie and Savannah—and any other girl who got close enough for me to notice them—coated themselves in expensive shit like it was a layer of armor.
Not Margo.
She’s true to herself… but she’s hiding.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
She forgets that I knew her as a child, too. It isn’t a one-way memory. I catch her looking at me with regret. Maybe longing. And I know it’s because she wishes she could untangle the mess she made. The knots bind us so tightly together, it’s killing us.
Through the walls, one of her foster parents is snoring.
I shift around on the bed, leaving my mark. I have no doubt she’ll notice it when she returns. And make no mistake: she is going to return. The Jenkinses will find her and bring her back, even if it tortures them.
They’re honorable like that.
Why couldn’t Margo have been placed with someone else? A family less forgiving?
I’d call it fate that Margo was put with the Jenkinses, but unfortunately for them, fate operates by a different name: Lydia Asher.
My mother.
I pick myself up off Margo’s bed. I still have a pair of her panties in my dresser. The pair I ripped. But I cast a glance around the room and I can’t help but to think that this place doesn’t feel like her home. She’s inhabited the closet and the bed, a few drawers in the dresser. Beyond that… nothing. No pictures or posters on the wall. The same fucking bedspread that was probably there the day she arrived…
It’s understandable why she doesn’t call it her home.
And after what I did, it’ll feel even less like it.
Keep her off balance.
I’ve been spinning off-kilter for years. It’s justifiable to want the same for her.
How does it feel, Margo?
I run my finger over the top of the dresser, and then I step into the hallway. There’s more risk out here. Robert or Lenora could come out any minute, half-awake and stumbling to the kitchen for a glass of water.
It’s almost pitch-black in here, except the moonlight filtering through the window at the end of the hall. I lean close to one of the frames on the wall.
Robert, Lenora, Josie. One happy family—on the surface. Of course, this photo was before Josie got addicted to drugs and derailed her entire life.
And yet, they’re not the only ones destroyed by Amberly Wolfe.
I lift it off the wall and unclip the back. I intend to take the picture—there are so many on this wall, it’ll take them weeks to notice it gone—but there’s a folded piece of paper in the back of the frame.
Intriguing.
I lift it off the back of the photo and slide it in my pocket. I keep the photo in place. No need to raise undue suspicion. Carefully, I place it back on the wall and cross back to Margo’s room. I slip out her window, closing it behind me, and climb back down to the ground.
Anticipation licks at my skin.
But no: first, the punishment.
I shouldn’t have come to the Jenkins’s house in the first place.
Scrub out the weakness, son.
So I do. I’ll run until I puke, and then I’ll read the note burning a hole in my pocket. And maybe then, I’ll be able to sleep.
Margo
It’s nice to wake up alone. No one staring at me, or glaring. No pressure to go to school—one, because it’s Sunday, and two, because I’m definitely not going back with the video floating around.
And… I know I can’t stay at Ian’s house forever, but it sure is nice to stretch out and bask in the sunlight coming in through the window. I arch my back and do just that—stretch out. Until my hand hits something—someone.
I yelp, scooting to the edge of the bed and rolling over.
I expect Ian. Honestly, I do. Even with the dresser in front of the door, he seems like the type to figure out a way around it.
Amelie leans against the headboard. “God, you sleep like the dead.”
“What are you doing?” I stand, grabbing the sweatshirt from the floor.
“I came to see if you were okay.” She shrugs.
A thought hits me. “Did you…?”
“Spend the night?” She smooths her hands over her leggings. She has dark-gray argyle socks pulled three-quarters up her calves. A cream sweater and necklace with a heart pendant hanging against her collarbone.
She’s picture-perfect, and it’s barely eight o�
�clock in the morning.
Okay, I guess I did sleep like the dead.
“Ian and I aren’t really a thing,” she says. “And I wasn’t…” She clears her throat. “Didn’t feel like going home. His bed is a nice place to land.”
I grunt. “Great.”
“Anyway, you should’ve put something heavier in front of the door.”
Her gaze goes to the dresser, which has been forcibly moved to the center of the room.
“The fact that the Fletchers put all their furniture on sliders to protect their precious floors doesn’t help,” she adds.
“That’s…” I roll my eyes. It’s a little nerve-racking to have Amelie in my space. I know it isn’t mine, but… Still. “Are you going to tell the Jenkinses I’m here?”
“No, I’m pretty sure Caleb will take care of that.”
She stands, picking up her purse from next to the bed.
“Then why are you here?” I ask.
It’s like she’s been waiting for me to ask. She exhales.
“Caleb wronged both of us,” she says.
I squint.
“And you’re just going to let him control you like that?”
“No.” I cross my arms.
“Exactly.” She taps her fingernail on the dresser. “A united front, you know?”
“I thought you hated me.” And this could be a colossal trap. “Besides, I don’t trust you.”
Be a wolf, Margo.
“You don’t have to trust me,” she says. “What matters is that Caleb doesn’t win.”
I slowly nod. Even if I don’t like her, or trust her, she’s right. He’s been playing both of us to certain degrees. Why he chose to use her against me—and vice versa—I’ll never know. But right here, right now?
We could change the game.
“What are you proposing?”
Amelie goes to the window. “Your family is here.”
I flinch. “Foster family.”
“Right,” she whispers. “Whatever.”
I join her, looking down at the car pulling up Ian’s driveway. Angela’s car isn’t ahead or behind them. Most fosters wouldn’t come do the dirty work—they’d let the case worker clean up the mess. Even if the Jenkinses wanted to watch the show…
They get out of the car.
It’s just them.
“Breathe,” Amelie says, touching my shoulder. “I doubt they’re going to rehome you.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“You need to trust people more,” she says. “Seriously.”
The sound of a doorbell echoes through the downstairs, traveling through the walls. I flinch again, stepping away from the window.
This is it.
Ian’s cheerful voice floats up toward us, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
Amelie grabs my arm. “They’re going to make you go back to school.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll have to see Caleb every day. You’re in what, three classes together?”
I shrug. “Something like that.”
“Meet me in the greenhouse before lunch.”
I shake her loose. “Isn’t that place kind of obvious?”
She flips her hair back. “Isn’t the library a little obvious of you?”
Fair.
I follow her into the hallway. She goes toward Ian’s room, and I eye the stairs. Lenora’s and Robert’s voices are clearer now, but I can’t pick up the anger. Not yet. I force myself to go closer, perching on a step halfway down.
“She was scared,” Ian says.
“We appreciate the explanation,” Robert says, “but we’d like to see her.”
Someone sighs.
“Margo!” Ian’s voice is shockingly loud. His head pops around the corner. He’s not surprised at my closeness, and he smirks. “Ah, listening in?”
“Shut up,” I mumble. I hoist myself up and pass him, walking right up to Lenora and Robert. They seem the worse for wear. They look how I feel. “I’m sorry my mom killed your daughter.”
They stare at me for a second, then Lenora steps forward, drawing me into a hug. She bursts into tears.
My arms hang at my sides. Her reaction is…
Unexpected.
She holds me like I might evaporate.
“We were so worried,” she says in my ear. “Thank God you’re okay. And you’re here. And—”
“Let her breathe, Len,” Robert interrupts.
She steps back, keeping her hands on my shoulders.
I didn’t get a chance to hug her back. I’m sure I have a stupid expression, because I was expecting them to tell me that I was leaving.
Anger.
Hate.
“Margo,” Robert says. “Your mother’s actions don’t define you. And they certainly don’t define us.” He exhales. “We feel horrible that you overheard Caleb.”
I feel horrible, too. Like my gut has gone through a blender.
“It doesn’t change anything,” Lenora says. Her hands push and pull my shoulders, so light I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it.
—head snapping back—
I cringe.
She releases me, eyes wide. “Honey—”
“Thank you.” I’m desperate to recover from that misstep. “Does that mean…?”
“We’re taking you home,” Robert finishes.
I manage to smile.
“I’m glad you worked things out,” Ian says behind me. He sets my backpack down. “I grabbed your bag.”
I take it, eyeing him. My mind goes to the catch. There’s always a catch with him.
“Free of charge,” he says under his breath.
I frown. There’s nothing I can do about it, so I pivot back toward my foster parents and offer them a small smile. “Angela didn’t come?”
Robert winces, bracing the door open with his back. Lenora slips out first, and I follow.
“Well, we didn’t tell her.”
My jaw drops.
“We hoped we could find you before it became necessary,” Lenora says. “I know it’s a bit unorthodox. And it could’ve backfired.”
“But the consequences would’ve been worse,” Robert adds. “You’re already labeled as a runaway risk. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
I exhale. We climb into the car, and I shake my head.
“You didn’t tell her. She doesn’t know.”
Relief. Confusion.
It’s all white noise buzzing in my ears.
They saved me.
After everything.
“What now?” I ask in the car.
Robert pulls the car out onto the road. I shoot one last glance back toward Ian’s house. He wasn’t that bad—better than I expected with nowhere left to go.
“We’re going home,” he says. “And we’ll… we’ll figure this out. But you’re not going anywhere unless you want to. Do you?”
I blink. “Do I what?”
“Want to go to a different family?” He readjusts his grip on the steering wheel.
“No.” I bite my lip. It’s time to stop hiding behind fear and speak what I want into existence. “I want to stay.”
Lenora sniffs. “Good.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence. I’m exhausted from the past two days. There are too many emotions swirling around my head. The sudden switch from liking Caleb to hate—it’s left me cold. And confused.
And his body against mine last night, his fingers invading me.
I shudder.
Back at the Jenkins’s house, I shoulder my bag and make my way to my room. Everything is exactly the same as the way I left it.
I lie down, and Caleb’s scent surrounds me. Another tear slides down my cheek. I could sleep away the whole day. But after a few minutes of breathing deeply, I push myself up. I have to go to school with him tomorrow.
Where he’ll undoubtedly try to act like nothing has changed between us.
I switch into fresh clothes and scrape my hair up into a bun. There’
s somewhere I need to go. There’s something I need to remember.
It’s clawing at the wall in my mind, desperately insistent to be acknowledged.
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.