Page 23 of Wicked Promises
I shoved past Caleb and into the hall, where Mom was standing. She was dressed, luckily. Her hands were on her hair, pulling it up, but they slowly dropped when she saw me.
I swallowed.
Her pants were still unbuttoned.
“Margo!”
I turned and fled. Up the stairs, down the hall to Caleb’s room. Caleb chased after me, and once we were inside he slammed the door, flipping the lock.
The doorknob rattled, then Mom pounded on the door. “Margo Wolfe, open up right now.”
Caleb stared at me. “You’re not going to tell, right?”
The door flew open. Caleb’s dad straightened, triumphant, but my mom shoved past him.
She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me slightly. “You don’t know what you saw, Margo. It was nothing.”
Her voice was angrier than I’d ever heard it.
I shook my head. “But, Mom?—”
“No buts. Please, Margo.” She put her face right in mine. “If he found out, it would ruin everything. And nothing even happened. It just looked bad. Do you want to be responsible for ruining it all?”
It looked like sex, but what did I know? I’d never seen it before.
Her fingers dug into my shoulders. Caleb’s dad stared at me. Caleb was breathing heavily behind me, the entire room waiting on my answer.
“I won’t tell,” I promised.
I promised.
Present
“All of your memories?”
I shift. “I remember catching my mom and your dad. Running to your room. We were playing hide and seek.”
All I want to do is throw myself into his arms. He found me. Took me to the hospital. Detective Mastersarrestedhim.
And yet, I’m grappling with this truth he kept from me.
Two, actually. He never mentioned that my dad allegedly killed his. I can see why he thinks that, now knowing what I do.
“Your mom said it was nothing,” he says.
“She was trying to minimize it. I know that now. And you—” I break off. My head hurts. I’m under concussion protocol, which should mean limiting my physical activity. And this conversation feels like a physical altercation.
What did Caleb say the first time we went into his house?
One day I’m going to fuck you on this counter. And then he did. Mirroring our parents’ fuck-up. Making me role-play some sick and twisted game when he knew I didn’t remember.
He did, and he didn’t have any regrets. He took my virginity like that.
“I never claimed to be the nice guy.” He comes closer and reaches for me. “If you’re remembering that day in the kitchen…”
“I hate you for putting me in that position. For doing that to me…there.”
The image is burned behind my eyelids. My mom and his dad. Even if I convinced myself at the time that maybe it wasn’t what I thought, I now know I was right. They werefucking. Cheating. He was degrading her, but I think she liked it.