Page 106 of A Million To Fall

And I’m left standing there, still next to Archer, suddenly very aware of who stayed… and who walked away.

“So, this Boston Rawlings kid…” Mr. Longfellow starts as we wait for the gate to their seemingly miles-long driveway to open. Why someone needs a gate to a home located in an already-gated community is beyond me. A fortress inside a fortress.

Archer groans from the passenger seat. “Don’t get me started, Dad.”

“Any relation to that woman who was arrested during that raid in Oak Park? Charged with possession and then prostitution?” Mr. Longfellow continues while my stomach contorts itself into knots even a gymnast would be envious of.

“Yep,” Archer scoffs. “Boston’s her son.”

“Really.” Mr. Longfellow says it like he’s just made an interesting discovery. “He wasn’t around in March?”

“No.” Archer shrugs. “He vanished like two years ago when we were still in high school. And then he just came back. Not totally sure when.”

“You went to high school with him?”

“Uh-huh,” Archer chuffs.

“How come I never heard of him?”

“Uhh, probably because I didn’t hang with him. Not unless I was forced to.”

In the rearview mirror, Mr. Longfellow raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

“He and Jake are best friends,” I chime in from the backseat.

“Yeah, which makes no sense,” Archer cuts in. “I mean, Boston’s a total loser, always has been.”

I bristle. “Archer, that’s not true.”

His head snaps around so fast, I worry he’ll get whiplash. “The fuck you talking about Skye? The guy’s mom is a drug-addicted hooker. He—”

“Archer!” Mr. Longfellow’s voice cracks through the car like a whip. “First,” his dad says evenly, “you will not raise your voice at your girlfriend. Secondly, until a court of law proves otherwise, that woman is neither of those things. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Archer mutters.

“Good.” Mr. Longfellow exhales, smoothing his hand down his chest like the conversation is already behind him.

“Skye,” he continues, his tone lighter but still deliberate, “you obviously know this young man as well.”

I nod. “We grew up together. Went to school together until… he disappeared.” My voice falters, my throat dry. Only now that he’s back do I realize how large a piece was missing while he was gone.

“Your mom mentioned you were worried about him,” Mr. Longfellow reminds me.

“I was,” I admit readily. “I’m glad he’s okay."

For a moment, nobody speaks.

“You know, our names carry weight in this town,” Mr. Longfellow says, all practiced warmth. “Reputation matters. Best to be wise about the company you keep.”

His words float through the car before they settle in my chest like lead. I know exactly what he’s saying. Boston is risk. He’s bad for optics. A liability.

For a second, I feel the weight pressing in.

I could make this all go away right now. I could agree with Mr. Longfellow, distance myself from Boston, make my friendship with him small. Make him small.

But there’s a buzzing in my chest. It starts low. A sapling of an idea that first took root only days ago. Just the faintest inkling that Boston and his family’s story might be something I could help change. That maybe, sitting here in the backseat of the district attorney’s car, I’m closer to power than I realize.

And connections only hurt the people who don’t have any.