Page 118 of A Million To Fall

“Why are you defending this guy?” Archer asks, voice rising.

“Because he’s my friend, Archer.” The half-truth sends heat up my neck, threatening to settle high on my cheeks. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I don’t wait for Archer’s response. Just turn on my heels and march into the bathroom. I close the door behind me, my heart pounding—not out of anger. Just exhaustion. For myself, but mostly for Boston.

thirty-six

Boston

Mrs. Davis beams when I walk into the house after work tonight. “There he is.”

I seriously need to stop expecting her to be asleep. That woman never is. The house is bright, the lights shining overhead as Mrs. Davis waves from the couch, a glass of what appears to be white wine in her left hand.

“Come on over, Boston. I want to introduce you to my good friend, Rachel.”

I oblige and walk into the living room, careful not to step on the white area rug with my dirty work boots.

“Rach, this is Jake’s friend, Boston,” Mrs. Davis says.

Rachel looks a couple of years younger than her—just as done up, though. Perfect makeup, plumped lips, manicured nails. Her lashes and hair are curled within an inch of their life.

“Nice to meet you, Boston.” Rachel smiles brightly, reaching a hand out to me. I do a sort of long reach to shake it.

“Rachel and I play pickleball together,” Mrs. Davis tells me like that’s an important bit of information for me to be aware of.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“How was work tonight?” Mrs. Davis asks, then takes a sip of wine.

“Good. Busy, but good.” I’m eager to get out of my clothes, take a shower, and crawl into bed. It’s been a long-ass day and I’m glad Mrs. Davis has her friend over. Hopefully that means she won’t “need” me for anything. Her husband left on business this morning—to Denver, I think—and with Jake in St. Paul this weekend, I braced myself for the inevitable. Maybe Rachel’s presence affords me another night of peace.

“Where do you work, Boston?” Rachel asks, her body turned to me. I notice her attire—tight-fitting jeans, red heels, and a white blouse with several buttons undone.

“Uh, I—”

I don’t get anywhere before Mrs. Davis answers for me.

“Boston’s a busy little bee. He has like five different jobs.” She giggles, as if me killing myself working multiple minimum-wage jobs is somehow adorable.

“Oh, really?” Rachel asks, gaze pinned on me.

“Only three,” I say matter-of-factly.

She nods, her eyes roaming my body like she’s inspecting meat for quality. “And what do you do?”

“Nothing exciting, to be honest.”

She laughs lightly but waves me off. “Oh, don’t be coy.”

“I work at the gym, at AJ’s, and at Riverfront Sports Complex.” I press my lips together, that familiar feeling of inadequacy settling in my stomach.

“And which job are you coming from right now?” Rachel asks, tone neutral. Her eyes flit to my jeans.

“AJ’s.”

Mrs. Davis narrows her eyes. “You look tired, Boss.”

I nod. “It’s been a long day.”