Page 125 of A Million To Fall

Archer looks at me, eyes wild. It’s a split-second glance, but I know what it means. Get your shit together. Don’t say anything. Don’t ruin what we have. And I truly believe that, somehow, that’s what he thinks this is.

Love.

I stand, frozen to the ground, while Archer smooths his hands over his shirt, takes a steadying breath, then opens the door.

Mr. Longfellow storms in, gaze snapping between Archer and me.

He takes in the scene: my flushed cheeks, the tear tracks on my face, the way I’m pressed against the wall like I could disappear through it if I tried hard enough.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he demands.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My lips tremble. My fingers dig into the crook of my opposite elbow.

“Nothing,” Archer says too quickly.

Mr. Longfellow slaps him. Hard. The crack of it echoes in the room, and I gasp.

“Are you trying to play me for a damn fool?” Mr. Longfellow says, voice low but sharp. “I heard the commotion. Did you touch her?” he asks, pointing at me.

Archer blinks, swallows, the guilt—or maybe just fear—etched into every line of his face.

Mr. Longfellow turns to me. “Did he hurt you?” There’s no softness in his voice.

Instinct screams at me to lie, to protect him. But a smaller voice—a steadier one—rises inside me, urging the truth forward.

This wasn’t okay. What Archer did is not okay, and letting him get away with it, lying to spare him, will only teach him that he can get away with hurting me. The work my mom does taught me that.

No good comes from protecting an abuser.

“He choked me,” I whisper, the words catching in my throat.

Mr. Longfellow rounds on his son.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Archer. What the hell is going on in that thick skull of yours thinking it’s okay to commit domestic violence?”

Mr. Longfellow’s use of the phrase domestic violence makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

“Do you know what the repercussions are for something like this? Not just legally for you, but for this entire damn family? What if Skye had called the cops? What if you got hauled off in cuffs? Do you have any idea what that would do to my career?”

Archer opens his mouth to speak.

“Save it,” his dad cuts him off. “I’m not discussing this with you now. I’m getting Skye her own room for the night. Give your hot head some time to sit with your stupidity. We’ll address this situation tomorrow.”

Then he turns to me, and for the first time since storming in, his face softens. “Are you okay like this for now, Skye, or do you want to grab your things?”

I shake my head quickly. “I’m fine like this,” I say, stepping into my shoes from earlier in the evening. I just want to get out of here.

Mr. Longfellow nods once, curt and clipped, then yanks the door open and holds it for me to exit first. As I pass, I catch the withering look he throws at his son.

Mr. Longfellow escorts me to the front desk and requests another room with crisp professionalism.

Minutes later, we’re in the elevator. My room is two floors above Archer’s.

“Looks like it’s just this way,” Mr. Longfellow says as I follow him down the empty hallway in silence.

When we get to the room, he opens the door for me, then stands in the doorway for a moment.

“Listen,” he says, voice lower now. “I know tonight was… not good. And I’m not going to excuse any of it. What happened was out of line. No question.”