Page 26 of Wicked Promises

“Why can’t we go back to normal?” I ask.

He laughs. His thumb brushes my cheek. “Normal? What’s that?”

I giggle—and then abruptly stop. Ilaughed. Robert is in the hospital and I laughed. And?—

“Stop.”

His gaze is dark. I could run from it, but what’s the use? He’d just find me again.

I back away from him and grab my bag. It’s an improvement from the garbage bags I’ve had to use in the past. This one is thicker canvas. It won’t break on me.

An omen if I’ve ever heard one.

And then… I leave him there. Sitting in my room, staring at me like I’m still his salvation.

I’m not. I’m so not.

I’mdirty. Just as dark as him. Maybe worse. Because I remember the start of my awful betrayal, and I know what came next: I told someone.

I betrayed my mother.

No wonder she hates me so much.

It’s in my blood. It’s in my history. What if I do that to Caleb? What if the next time the detective asks, I lie and say he did take me?

Would I do that to him?

Chapter 7

Caleb

Iwatch her when she thinks I’m not.

Or maybe she feels my gaze and is an expert in ignoring me. Fuck if I know.

We loaded up into the car and drove in silence. I sprawled across the backseat, my eyes on the back of her neck, and turn over the revelations.

She knows what she witnessed.

Mother insisted Margo made it up, but I figured it was a little too far-fetched for a ten-year-old to create. So I held on to the belief that Margo saw Dad fucking her mom, and let my own mother live in the fantasy world she created.

Without that truth—that Dadhadcheated—her whole world stayed intact.

I long to reach forward and touch her, to move the hair off her neck and kiss down her shoulder. To chase away the shadows in her eyes.

Margo Wolfe has her own demons now.

I know all about them.

At the house, I take the bag out of the trunk. She follows Eli’s dad slowly, like the porch will suddenly realize she’s intruding and catapult her onto the lawn. Needless to say, her worries arefor nothing. I trail them upstairs. The room closest to the steps, right across from the bathroom, is all hers.

Norah has an eye for design. Normally the room is a bit sterile—used most often as a guest room for visiting extended family—but in the short time she had, she’s transformed it.

There’s a fuzzy, hot-pink pillow in the center of the bed. The comforter and throw pillows, which used to be all white, have been replaced with a floral print. Muted colors, but color nonetheless.

A desk in the corner has a vase of flowers. There’s a standing lamp beside it, and a shorter matching one on the nightstand. The ambiance has a warmer feel instead of the overhead light.

The curtains are closed for now, warding against the chill and darkness. It also probably helps lessen that watched feeling. I don’t know if she’s been getting that vibe, but the hair on the back of my neck is permanently up.