18. Margo
Chapter 18
Margo
T here are a few messages waiting for me after dinner. I returned to my room to get ready, but now I sit heavily on my bed. One message is from Caleb, another from Riley, and another from that unknown number. My stomach swoops, and I click that one first.
What can I say? Maybe I’m a little masochistic.
I scan the text with my heart in my throat.
Unknown
Don’t get too comfortable, drug princess. Once a stray, always a stray.
I hadn’t heard from this mystery texter in a while. I thought—wrongly—that they had gotten bored. I mean, Caleb seems to outwardly hate me, Amelie made it clear I’m not welcome, and Savannah went out of her way to give me a rough time. Along with the cheerleaders following her lead.
Go away.
You wish it would be that easy, don’t you?
I switch over to Riley’s text.
Riley
Eli is grabbing me. Guess we’re both going to be there early. Not weird at all, right?
LOL
Right.
Then, finally, Caleb.
Caleb
Be there in five.
As I’m typing a reply, the doorbell rings.
Uh-oh.
“I’ve got it,” Robert calls from downstairs.
Before I can warn him, he’s swinging the door open and admitting Caleb Asher inside. I rush down the steps and skid to a halt on the landing.
He’s not wearing anything particularly interesting—an Emery-Rose Elite sweatshirt, jeans, white tennis shoes. His hair is all messy and falling into his eyes.
And he smiles at me.
“Thank you for letting me take Margo to my game,” he says to Robert.
“We appreciate you getting her out and about,” my foster father says.
Ugh.
Caleb’s gaze flicks to me, still stuck on the steps, and he smirks.
After dinner, and before checking my messages, I cleaned up my makeup and brushed my hair out. I’m wearing his sweatshirt, the one I ended up going home in after the night in the park, and black jeans. His name is embroidered in gold on the sleeve.
Maybe that will cause problems with Amelie?
He doesn’t tell me to take it off and give it back, though. In fact, he’s made absolutely no mention of Amelie whatsoever. Or that he has a girlfriend. He hasn’t refuted it yet either.
Don’t expect that of him.
Does Robert know that Caleb is dating the most popular girl in school? Is any of this raising a freaking red flag for him?
Probably not… if only because Caleb knows exactly how to charm people.
“Ready, Margo?”
I meet Caleb’s stare and slowly nod. I go down the remaining steps and stop in front of him. I’m ready to get him out of this house and away from my foster parents. I’m ready to pretend to know what the fuck is going on in the sport of ice hockey…
Robert gives me some money for concessions, Lenora takes a picture of us just because, and then we’re out the door. We don’t speak until we’re in Caleb’s Audi, the engine purring.
“You’re wearing my sweatshirt.” His voice is husky.
I frown. “I… yeah. I’ll take it off.”
His hand lands on my arm, pausing my movements. “No.”
Oh.
I sit back. “Do I need a ticket?”
“I have one for you.”
“Where do I sit?”
“You have a good seat.” He glances my way. “Next to Riley, in fact.”
I narrow my eyes. “Did you stick me in the nosebleeds?”
“It’s a high school arena, baby. There are no nosebleeds.”
That’s fair.
“How does the game work?”
He glances over at me, his eyebrows rising. “What?”
I motion to… well, him.
“How does the game of hockey work?”
I scoff. “You should’ve asked if I knew anything about it before you invited me.”
“Jesus, Margo.”
“What? I mean, I get the concept. Get the puck in the net. Hit people.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that about covers it.”
Lovely. I cross my arms, but the true extent of my lack of knowledge only becomes apparent when Riley and I are sitting in the arena, five rows back from the glass— there’s glass that goes all the way around the ice? —and I can barely follow a thing.
The players zip around, the refs randomly blow the whistle. They restart. Sometimes someone goes in the box to our left.
Riley has to stifle her laughter.
“I just don’t get it,” I say for the thousandth time. “Why do they keep stopping?”
“That was offsides,” she says.
Great. That’s helpful.
I lean forward in my seat. So far, I’ve been able to track Caleb around the rink a few times. He’s number twenty-four, with Asher in block print across his back. When he’s on the ice, Eli and Liam are also with him.
Which makes it marginally easier, because every time Riley spots Eli, she elbows me.
I’m going to have bruised ribs.
The arena is a mix of black-and-gold-clad students and parents and purple-and-white fans rooting for Lion’s Head.
The word rivalry has been tossed around.
But for the first period—of which there are three—it seems relatively… maybe calm is the wrong word.
Civil?
It all explodes in the second period. One of the Lion’s Head guys crashes into Liam, and they both careen into the Emery-Rose goalie. The three of them slide into the net in a tangle of limbs, sending the whole goal flying.
Caleb and Theo are there in an instant, wrenching the Lion’s Head player up. Instead of letting go, though, Theo holds on tight.
It becomes a free-for-all. It seems like all the players already on the ice, sans the goalies, jump into the fray.
The referees break everything up. Caleb emerges with blood on his lip, the split from earlier in the week opened up. He spits pink saliva on the ice and glances in my direction.
“Did he just wink at you?” Riley asks.
I laugh it off. But, yeah, he totally did.
This sport is violent … and I think I like it.
I’m clueless, completely lost, but I want more of it.
He skates by the glass, his mouth guard popped out of his mouth. He chews on a corner of it, then easily maneuvers it back into place.
That shouldn’t be hot… but it is.
The score is 1-1, and my anticipation climbs as Emery-Rose seems to put on an aggressive offense. At least, I’m assuming that’s what happens. They spend a good amount of time in front of the Lion’s Head goalie.
When the horn blows at the end of the period, the game is still tied.
I swivel in my seat. We’re surrounded by Emery-Rose students and parents. One section over, Amelie holds court. Savannah is one row lower than her, with two cheerleaders on either side.
“Usually the football games happen on the same night,” Riley says. “Which means they won’t normally be here.”
Amelie’s head turns sharply, and she stares right at me.
“She probably didn’t like her boyfriend winking at someone else.” I force a smile at her, then get up. “I’m going to get something to eat.”
Riley joins me.
We climb the steps and exit into the hall, where there’s a few vendors still open. One sells Emery-Rose Elite clothing—jerseys, t-shirts, hoodies—and another has food. The line is kind of long, but we stand at the end without complaint.
“Margo!”
I wince inwardly, then turn to face Amelie.
And Savannah.
And sixteen other girls.
Exaggeration? Only slightly.
“Hi,” I greet them.
“Are you enjoying the game?” Amelie touches the corner of her pink-painted lip. “You haven’t seen them play before, right?”
“First hockey game,” I admit.
“So nice,” Amelie coos. “I’m surprised, though.”
I eye her.
When I don’t reply, Savannah jumps in. “Why is that, Ames?”
“Well,” Amelie says slowly. “If I knew the captain of the hockey team hated me so much… I wouldn’t want to be a distraction.”
My throat closes.
“A distraction,” Savannah echoes.
“It’s bad business for hockey players. They’re superstitious, you know? If you go to a game and he sees you, what’s he going to think when they lose?” Amelie sighs. “Listen, Margo, I’m just trying to protect you.”
“No, you’re not.” Riley snorts. “Come on, Margo.”
She hooks her arm through mine and drags me away.
But… jeez. Amelie leaves me off-kilter. The feeling doesn’t abate through the rest of the second intermission, or when the third period begins. My heart slams against my rib cage, and I sit as still as possible.
Because if she is right, I don’t want to draw his attention.
I have it, though.
He skates past our section after a whistle is blown, and his blue eyes find me easily. He points in my direction.
He has a girlfriend who he’s ignoring.
He drove me here.
“If he didn’t want you to go, he would’ve left it alone,” Riley assures me. “We would’ve ended up here, but he literally brought you.”
I guess so.
There’s a fight in the third period—Theo and some Lion’s Head player. They lock on to each other, ripping away their helmets and trading punches. The refs break it up fast… Riley mutters that fighting isn’t really a thing in high school hockey. But the crowd is on its feet, everyone cheering and screaming.
Because the enjoyment of violence is universal.
Five minutes later—with only two minutes to go—Caleb gets the puck. He’s all alone when he pours on a burst of speed toward the other goalie. I jump to my feet, clutching at Riley’s arm, just in time for him to send the puck sailing past the goalie and into the net.
He scored.
2-1, with two minutes to go.
“Holy shit!” I throw my arms in the air. “That was awesome.”
The next two minutes are stressful—but the Emery-Rose goalie holds firm.
And our team wins it.
Caleb
Meet me at my car.
I show Riley the text on my lock screen, and she nods. We follow the line of people out into the hall, then toward the stairwells that will put us on the street. Once on the sidewalk, in the cool night air, Riley loops her arm in mine and steers me toward the side parking lot. Not the main one where most of the driving crowd has parked.
We round the corner and come face-to-face with Amelie and Savannah.
My grip on Riley tightens.
“We were just talking about you,” Savannah says to me.
“Shocker.”
Riley steers me around them, half dragging to get me moving faster.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Amelie calls after me. “You need to leave him alone.”
I dig my heels in, stopping my friend, and face her. “He treats you like garbage. Maybe you should dump him.”
“Maybe it’s more complicated than that.” Her eyes flash.
I shrug. “I’m not in charge of him, Amelie. And you’re not in charge of me.”
The laugh that bursts out of her is cold. “No? Try me, Wolfe. We’ll see how far you get.”
The threat rolls right off my shoulders. Who am I? A month ago, I would’ve absolutely backed off… but if Caleb isn’t, then I’m not.
If my head was screwed on straight, I’d be shoving Caleb back into her arms.
But he’s mine. A girlfriend isn’t going to change that. His antics toward me aren’t either.
He’s always fucking been mine.