Page 119 of A Million To Fall

That’s an understatement. Between getting up in the middle of the night to catch a ride share to the gym, working my morning shift, catching another ride share to AJ’s to get my car towed, spending two hours and a week’s paycheck replacing all four tires, and then working a full shift at AJ’s, I’m running on fumes.

Physically, sure.

But emotionally, too.

“Boston’s up before sunrise most mornings and then doesn’t get back until maybe ten-thirty at night or sometimes later. I can’t say I’ve ever met a twenty-year-old who’s this disciplined and hardworking,” Mrs. Davis says.

“That’s commendable, Boston,” Rachel says, nodding. “My kids are too spoiled to even think about getting a single part-time job.”

“Oh, it’s the same with Jake,” Mrs. Davis says. “I mean, prime example, right here: Jake’s spending the weekend with friends in St. Paul while his best friend just got done with work and is ready to turn in for the night because he has to get back up in only a few hours.”

She turns to me, her face softening. “Why don’t you go take a shower, Boston.”

I nod, then make my way out of the living room.

“Oof, you weren’t joking, Lexi. He’s exquisite,” Rachel’s voice slithers through the house when I’m halfway down the hallway.

I head to grab a fresh t-shirt and my sweats, then shower. I let the water run hot, trying to wash off the day, to shake the exhaustion. I can feel myself fading, my eyes drifting shut as I stand under the warm spray.

Only, my mind wanders right back to last night. To AJ’s. To Skye.

I hadn’t expected to see her there. Not after the night before. Not after sticking my foot in my mouth. But then she walked into AJ’s. They all did. And even though Archer’s presence dampened the moment a little, it wasn’t until Maya—another AJ’s waitress—opened her mouth that my evening really turned ugly.

One stupid comment about Skye spilling a drink on me and suddenly Archer was demanding explanations.

I close my eyes against the spray.

What keeps replaying isn’t the yelling. It’s not Archer trying to climb across the table at me or the threats he hurled my way while he marched out of the restaurant with Skye in tow.

It’s Skye. The way she looked—tiny, hands shaking around her menu. The same look my mom used to get whenever Eddie started raising his voice.

My jaw tightens at the memory.

Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

Maybe I should’ve minded my own business.

But the second Archer started in on her, I couldn’t.

And apparently that decision cost me, because when my shift ended several hours later, all four of my tires were flat. Not just deflated. Not even stabbed.

Slashed.

Clean, three-inch cuts through the sidewalls. Hunting-knife kind of damage.

I didn’t need a Ph.D. to know Archer dropped Skye off at home and came back to leave me a message. To show me who’s boss.

I huff a humorless laugh.

Fifty bucks in ride shares.

Another hundred for the tow truck the next morning.

New tires? Eight hundred.

My little pissing match with Archer set me back almost a grand—money I had been saving to get my siblings out of the system. Money I sold my damn soul for.

Poof. Gone.