by S. Massery
“Beautiful,” Margo says. She wiggles until I release her thighs, sliding down my back. “We came all the way up here to escape the police?”
Matt puts Hanna back on her feet, and she rushes to Margo.
The two of them hug while Claire watches.
Interesting.
Claire’s gaze flicks to me, eyes wide. She stares longer than necessary.
I watch her. What can I say? I’m not one to back down from a challenge—spoken or not.
“How did you know this was up here, dude?” I ask Matt.
Theo and Liam didn’t come with us—I suspect they peeled off and caught a ride.
Matt grins, going toward the water tower. “Our lacrosse team parties up here.” He unearths a cooler half hidden by brush. “Drink, anyone?”
“No,” Margo murmurs.
“I’ll pass, too,” I say. To Margo, I whisper, “Plenty of time for that later.”
She snorts.
Matt flips the cooler lid closed, shaking his head. “Just as well. It’s probably not cold.”
He types on his phone, then stuffs it back in his pocket.
“So, you two know each other.” Margo points from Claire to Matt.
“You told me to keep an eye on her.” He raises his bottle, tipping it toward Claire. “So that’s what I did.”
Something about this has made Margo suspicious, but she doesn’t say anything. Her attention bounces between her foster sister and my friend.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it eagerly. Honestly, this is the last place Margo and I should be—with her foster siblings and my friend who has probably watched a spy-cam video of Margo and I fucking. But I can’t see a way out of here without being rude… or leaving Margo’s foster siblings with Matt.
I’m not that big of a dick.
Liam is calling me.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“That was fucking wild,” Liam hoots. “Police are gone. Coach sorted them out, although they hauled away like a dozen kids. Not sure how Theo got out—ow, okay, I guess the deputy recognized his last name—ow, fucking hell, Theo, stop—”
I snicker.
“Shut it, Asher,” he says. “Where’d you go? Eli texted, said he and Riley would double back for you if you needed it.”
I exhale, motioning for Margo to come closer. “We’ll be at the parking lot in ten. Doesn’t matter who gives us a ride as long as someone waits for us.”
“Over and out,” Liam answers.
I stuff my phone back in my pocket. “Cops are gone,” I tell them. “We’re going to head down.”
Claire bites her lip.
Matt shifts.
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to silently ask, What the fuck?
Matt coughs and steps away. “Yeah, we’ll join you.”
Margo, Claire, and Hanna march away from us. Claire leads the way, and Hanna slips her hand into Margo’s. My heart warms just a bit.
And then Matt is beside me, and I glare at him.
“I’m just being friendly.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Not my fault she’s so damn pretty.”
I chuckle. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Matt’s eyebrows hike up. We both turn on our flashlights. “Think about what?”
I sigh. “I’m gonna do this even though I might puke after. They’re Margo’s sisters. You can’t fuck with them.”
“Them? Buddy, my eye is just on Claire. And if she wants what I’m giving…”
“Don’t make me punch you.” I glance ahead, then pull him slower. “Any update on you-know-who?”
He groans. “No. It’s been maddeningly frustrating. No activity. I think they know their figurine was found and they’re lying low.”
“Keep an eye on it,” I tell him. And then I break away, jogging to catch up with Margo.
I’ve had enough people-ing for the day.
35
Margo
Caleb and I climb into Theo’s car. Liam has already claimed the front seat. Matt waves us off, Claire and Hanna close behind him.
Something spins in my gut, but Caleb trusts him. He told me they were friends. And after I hugged both of them goodbye, he said Matt would take them home.
As much as I kind of hate it, I’m letting it happen. Claire is old enough to make her own decisions.
“You seem tense,” Caleb whispers in my ear.
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“We could always just go home…”
He smirks. I’m pretty sure my face just lit up. There’s nothing more I’d like better than to just… go to bed. Caleb’s presence has a way of shielding the nightmares.
“Hey, Theo, drop us at my place.”
Theo grunts. “No partying with us, man? We just won fucking state!”
“Yeah, then you almost ruined it by fucking up a Lion’s Head player.” Liam shakes his head. “What the hell is it with that chick?”
Theo turns to him, glowering. “Shut up.”
I whistle. “What could one girl do to deserve all your anger?”
“Long story,” he grunts. “She’s a fucking bitch.”
I wince.
Caleb shakes his head without taking his eyes from the window. “He’s had a hard-on for that girl since sophomore year, but he hates to admit it.”
Theo slams on the brakes. “You’re damn lucky we’re here, asshole,” he says. “Get out of my car.”
“Testy,” Caleb mutters. He grins, flinging open the door and helping me out.
As soon as the door is closed, Theo’s tires burn rubber. We’re left standing in the road, watching him go.
“Are the Blacks going to question why I’m here?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. The jacket and hat aren’t helping against the chill anymore. It smells like snow.
“They’re out of town this weekend.”
I bite my lip and follow him inside. “I’m going to see my dad tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Well, I felt the need to remind you.”
He flicks on lights in the living room, the hallway, the kitchen. Soon the whole downstairs is lit up. “You did, huh?”
I nod. “Just in case you were going to be upset about it.”
He strides toward me. Around me.
“Me? Upset?” He’s behind me, lingering. His fingers sift through my hair, lifting the hat off my head.
I huff. “You hate when I mention him.”
“That’s because I hate him,” he whispers. “And I just… if you knew, you’d hate him, too.”
I spin around. I have to crane my neck back to meet his gaze. “That’s just it—if I knew. I want a chance to know. And I need to talk to him about the Jenkinses.”
“About them adopting you.”
“Well, it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” I run my hands up and down my arms, suddenly cold. “The idea of a happily ever after.”
He pauses. “Do you think you’re not going to get one?”
Do I? No, I never thought that far ahead. It was just one foot in front of the other. One day in front of the other. That’s how we survived in the homes that sucked, in the homes that were great with an expiration date, in the group homes cramped with too many kids.
Problem kids.
I never got that official label, but I almost did. And then there really would be no future for me to hunt down.
“I can’t apply to NYU,” I say. “It’s outside my budget. Maybe a nice local community college—”
“Bullshit,” he says.
“What?”
He motions for me to go into the kitchen. I don’t budge.
“Caleb, you can’t just dismiss the fact that I literally have no money—”
“I think I can,” he says.
He bends down and scoops me up, an arm under my knees and the other at my back. I let out a little yip, throwing my arms around his shoulders.
“What—”
“Just let me,” he mutters. “Just once, okay?”
&
nbsp; He carries me down the basement stairs.
He’s wrong. It isn’t just once. He’s had spontaneous moments of kindness since I returned to Emery-Rose. They were hard to recognize at first, but he really changed after finding me in the woods. Seeing me hurt by someone else’s hand…
Maybe that’s what this is. A premature apology for whatever damage my father’s going to cause.
I hold on to him and let him do what he has to do. It’ll make both of us feel better before… I guess I’m either going to walk out of the prison visitor’s entrance in one piece or not. Either way, I’m getting answers. I’ll be changed.
This is a goodbye to the Margo I was.
Am.
Will never be again.
“Shh,” he whispers. “You’re crying.”
“I’m not,” I murmur, blinking at the ceiling. “I just have something in my eye.”
“Both of them.”
“Right. A bit of mascara or an eyelash or a branch…”
He coughs a laugh. He hits the light in the bathroom with his elbow, then gently sets me on the counter. This, too, is familiar. Although I’ll confess—we haven’t done this with clothes on before.
“Are you wearing fake eyelashes?” he asks me.
I choke on my laugh. “Yeah, Caleb, I am.”
Thanks for noticing. I can’t even think that sentence in a straight voice.
Boys are so ridiculous. The only thing they tend to notice are boob jobs, new cars, and lingerie.
Sadly, I have none of those things.
He cocks his head. “How do you get them off?”
I pinch the outside edge between my finger and thumb and slowly peel it off. It’s a relief to get lashes off—not that I’m an expert or anything. Riley had to put them on for me in Ian’s bathroom.
He reaches out to my other eye, which flutters closed before he can touch me. Gently, he lifts it off.
“Like an unmasking,” he says under his breath. “Stay here.”
He disappears, returning a few minutes later with my overnight bag. At this rate, I don’t even know how it got inside. He pulls out a packet of makeup remover wipes.
“Can I?” he asks.
I squint at him. “Can you take off my makeup?”
He doesn’t answer but swipes at my forehead.
I lean away, catching his wrist. “You can, but not like that. My face doesn’t need to be scrubbed raw.”
He smiles, but it’s unsure. “Right.”
I cover his hand with my own and guide him. His strokes become soft, and I close my eyes. Let him remove the layers of foundation and concealer, the eyeliner and eyeshadow. I take it away from him to get the mascara off, then hand it back to him.
“This shit was on your face,” he says, holding it up.
“Yep.”
“You’re pretty without it.”
I shrug. “Yeah, but it makes me feel good when I do wear it.”
He hums. His hands go to my jacket, unzipping it and pushing it down my arms. My shoes are next. Then my shirt.
I raise my arms diligently.
Camisole. Bra.
I stand, and he yanks my leggings off, his face hungry.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
He obliges. I’m not sure how he always ends up fully clothed while I’m naked, but I’m suddenly desperate to change it. Not breaking away, I unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants. Shove them down until he can kick them away. We pause to remove his sweater, then shirt.
I run my nails down his chest, eliciting a shiver that rolls up his body.
“Bed,” I say.
His chin lifts, gesturing for me to go first.
I make it halfway across the room when he grabs me, lifting me by my hips and carrying me the rest of the way. My back is pressed tightly to his chest, my feet only a few inches off the floor.
“Wasn’t I moving fast enough?” I joke.
I fall onto the bed and roll over, welcoming him when he climbs over me. We’ve had sex. We’ve fucked.
But tonight, I have a feeling it’s going to be something new entirely.
“Am I in control?” I ask.
He shakes his head slowly, eyes going to my throat when I swallow. “Are you ever?”
“More times than you know.”
A muscle in his jaw tics.
“Caleb.”
“Hmm?” He’s getting closer to my neck, inching down.
He’s not touching me, and I’m really starting to hate him for it.
Not really. Pretty sure I don’t hold an ounce of hate for him anymore.
Did I? Yes. Should I? Yes.
Do I?
I exhale when his lips finally touch my throat. His hand follows, resting there. Keeping me from moving.
“You’re going to lose your innocence,” he says in my ear. His breath is hot, moving my hair. “You’re going to walk into that prison as you are now, and you’re going to leave it as someone else.”
“Maybe.”
His hand tightens for a second, then relaxes.
“You’re going to hold more secrets than me, and then I’m going to…” His teeth graze my earlobe.
I shudder.
“I’m not going to lose you,” he says.
“How do you know?” I force him to meet my gaze. None of this running bullshit.
He’s scared of the truth. He’s scared of what my dad has to tell me.
And I swear, at my question, his eyes darken.
“Because if I do lose you, I’ll go down whatever fucking dark hole you bury yourself in, and I will find you. I will bring you back.”
He kisses me, silencing any other questions. His lips are rough. His tongue claims my mouth. I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him flush against me.
I don’t know what my father could possibly say to make me want to run from this, but I shove it out of my mind.
That’s the point.
Tonight is about us.
A hello.
A goodbye.
A promise.
36
Margo
“Name?”
I swallow. “Margo Wolfe.”
“Who are you visiting?”
“Keith Wolfe.” I clear my throat, beyond nervous.
The guard on the other side of the glass is bored. There are other people—families, single people, men and women in business attire—scattered around the waiting room.
She types on the computer in front of her and grunts. “You’re not on the list.”
“The, ah, what?”
“The approved visitors list. Wait here.” She gets up and disappears into a back room.
I wait. A minute, then two. Five.
Caleb insisted on dropping me off this morning. He didn’t think anything of it when I mentioned they might be suspicious—I was supposed to sleep over Riley’s house, after all. Through the night and into the morning, he was unusually… handsy. Clingy. I don’t think he ever stopped touching me.
I climbed out of the car in front of my house, and he told me to call him later.
Said he’d be waiting.
I smiled and pretended everything was fine—it was fine, on the surface. Underneath my skin, anxiety was gnawing at me.
And then Robert made me suffer through breakfast. He hemmed and hawed over the weather and what shoes to wear. In the end, he was stalling.
We drove the short distance to the prison, and he parked right out front.
“I’ll be here when you’re done,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I nodded and took a deep breath, willing myself courage.
And now I’m here—I’m doing it. But apparently only if I get… approved.
Finally, she returns. “Okay. I need your ID. You can put all your belongings in one of the lockers. No phone, food or gum, drinks. No purses or bags, nothing in your pockets…”
She’s reading from a mental list, and I do my best to keep up. I slide my student ID through the hole. She takes a cursory g
lance at it then files it away.
“Take locker six. Code is seven-nine-zero-four. Then have a seat until we’re ready.”
“Okay.” I’m so out of my league here. I collect a few sympathetic glances as I scan the lockers and finally find number six. I type in the code, and it beeps twice, then swings open.
Slowly, like I’m moving through molasses, I empty my pockets and shut the locker. I don’t have time to take a seat. Something buzzes, and a door opens.
A guard calls, “Visitors, this way, please.”
I follow the group of people down the hall. I’m trembling in my bones. But whether it’s from the cold or fear, I can’t tell. This is my father’s temporary home. I wonder if he sees it that way. If, after a certain point, he just gave up calling it anything other than his.
It’s how I was with my foster homes, after all. The foster parents were always Mr. and Mrs. This-or-That, the home was always their house, never mine. Because it wasn’t. It was temporary, just like prison.
I’m serving a sentence the same as my father, for things we both apparently did.
Our escort guard stops and presses a button. There’s another deep buzz, and the guard pulls the door open. “You can hug on initial greeting,” he says to us. “And goodbye. But no touching otherwise.”
I force myself to nod and stuff my hands in my pockets.
There are round tables scattered in the center of the room with attached stools, the kind you’d see in an elementary school cafeteria. It keeps people from getting too close, I guess. By the windows are two-person tables, and I automatically drift in that direction.
Visiting families are already claiming tables. Some are eager, others bored. It makes me wonder who’s here on a regular occurrence.
He knows I’m here.
That thought alone has me weak in the knees.
I almost fall into the chair and put my arms on the table. I can’t stop the bouncing in my leg.
It’s been seven years. Am I going to recognize him?
A woman shoots me a look. “You okay, honey? You’re not going to pass out?”
I take a deep breath. “I’ve never done this.”
“They’re the same guys we know,” she says, shrugging. “At least they start off that way. You visiting a boyfriend?”
