Page 130 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

I widen my eyes at her. We’ve been over this.

I’m not sure how Robert and Lenora would react to knowing I was at Caleb’s house overnight. Well, Eli’s.

Does Riley know Caleb stays at Eli’s house?

When I tried to question Caleb about it again this morning, he wouldn’t answer me. I’ve abandoned the topic for now.

“I already called Emery-Rose,” Lenora says. “And I think you should see a doctor. At least to make sure…” Her gaze falls to my stomach.

I swallow.

“My best friend is a trauma doctor,” Lenora says. “I asked her to stop by on her way in today.”

“So it’s already decided,” I mumble.

Lenora shrugs. “Riley, you should head to school.”

My best friend snaps to attention. “Yes, ma’am.” She gives me a quick hug, then retreats.

Lenora and I walk into the house. I go to my room and shrug off my jacket, quickly switching Caleb’s shirt for one of mine. I stuff his under my pillow.

I exchange my skirt—couldn’t exactly wear his shorts home—for comfortable pants.

Lenora closes the front door as I come back down. “Riley forgot she had this,” she says, lifting my backpack.

I manage a smile. “Thank you.”

“Couch? Soup?”

I nod and collapse on the couch, grabbing the remote. A day to do nothing but recover? I’m okay with that.

It’s early in the morning. There’s the rest of the day ahead of me.

Once Lenora is done hovering—she brings me water and soup, which is lovely—I dig into my backpack. I can’t just sit here and do nothing, as peaceful as that sounds.

I find my phone at the bottom of my bag. Reaching in, I scroll through missed calls and texts from Caleb and Riley. My attention settles on one text from my mystery texter. The timestamp shows that they sent it yesterday afternoon. My hands tremble.

I click on the text before I wimp out.

Unknown: This is the only time I help you.

Unknown: [image attached]

It’s a photo of Ian towing me across the field. Did Unknown send it to someone to help me? Caleb, maybe? He found me awfully fast…

I shudder.

There are too many people pulling strings in my life. It makes me angrier than I could expect.

Lenora’s doctor friend comes over, a portable ultrasound machine in tow, to inspect my stomach. Both women gasp when I raise my shirt. There’s a lot of probing—ow—and she finally rocks back on her heels. She fires up the ultrasound machine and squirts gel on my stomach, like they do for pregnant women.

I cringe at the idea of being pregnant.

“The ultrasound is clear,” she says. “It seems like deep bruising. Have you been nauseous? Vomited at all?”

I shake my head.

“If you do, or if the pain travels into your back, call me. If there’s blood in your urine—call me.” She raises her eyebrows. “Understand?”