Page 85 of Wicked Truths
“I want to take you away from here,” he says suddenly, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Get you somewhere safe where I can protect you.”
The words hang between us, heavy with a meaning I can’t quite grasp.
“Why?” I ask, genuinely confused. “Why would you do that for me?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sighs deeply and looks up at the ceiling, as if the answer is written there.
“Caleb?” I press.
“It’s complicated,” he finally says. “I’ve spent my life protecting Poppy. Since her mother died, it’s been just the two of us. She’s everything to me.”
“So why worry about me too?”
His eyes meet mine again. “Because you matter to Poppy. And to me.”
Something in his tone makes my heart skip. “How do I matter to you?”
“Amara...” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You and I...we weren’t just...” He stops, seemingly struggling with his words. “You weren’t just Poppy’s friend who came over occasionally.”
“Were we...?” The implication hits me like a wave.
“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he says quickly. “But yes, we were close. Very close.”
My head throbs violently, pain shooting through my temples as if my brain is rejecting this new information.
I wince, pressing my palms against my forehead.
“Are you okay?” Caleb asks, concern etched across his features.
“My head,” I manage through gritted teeth. “It feels like it’s splitting open.”
He’s on his feet immediately. “I’ll get you something for the pain and some water. Just hang on.”
“Wait,” I reach out and grab his wrist. “Will you tell me everything when I’m better?”
His expression softens. “I promise. Everything. But first, you need to heal.”
As he leaves the room, the pain pounds like a mallet banging against my skull.
I close my eyes, trying to make sense of what he’s told me. Caleb and I were close. Very close.What does that even mean?
I don’t have the time to think about it because the room door flings open and a blonde whirlwind of a girl rushes in, her green eyes wide with concern. She’s petite and graceful, moving with the fluidity of someone who is definitely a dancer.
Caleb follows her.
“Amara!” she cries. Her face crumples when she sees me, tears immediately welling in her eyes. She rushes to the bed, throwing her arms around me in a desperate hug that makes my ribs ache, but I can’t bring myself to care about the pain.
“I was so scared,” she sobs against my shoulder. “When Dad called and said youwere hurt...”
“Poppy, careful,” Caleb warns, his voice gentle but there is definitely a warning there. “Remember what I told you? She doesn’t remember anything right now.”
Poppy.The name clicks into place with the face before me. My best friend, according to Caleb. I search her face desperately, looking for something familiar, any trigger that might unlock my memories of her. There’s nothing but blank space where our friendship should be.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling guilty for the pain in her eyes. “I wish I could remember you.”
Her body trembles against mine, and I awkwardly pat her back, not knowing what else to do. This girl is supposed to be my best friend, but I feel nothing. No memories surface, no inside jokes or shared secrets come flooding back. Just... emptiness where recognition should be.
I meet Caleb’s eyes over her shoulder. He looks pained, watching his daughter fall apart while I sit here like a stranger wearing a familiar face. Which is exactly what I am.
