Page 126 of A Million To Fall

I nod.

“But you’ve known Archer for a long time. You know he’s not like this.”

Except, he is.

“He’s got a little bit of a temper, yeah,” he says. “But that boy is crazy about you. Always has been.”

I say nothing.

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but he obviously… he lost it. And I’m not saying that whatever did happened makes his reaction okay. It doesn’t. But maybe there’s a way to move forward without it turning into something bigger than it needs to be.”

I still don’t speak.

Mr. Longfellow takes a tentative step toward me, lowering his voice like he’s sharing confidential information. “Both our families have worked hard to build our names. Your parents with their respective careers. Me as District Attorney. You’re a smart girl. You understand how things ripple out.”

He studies me for a second, then softens his tone even further. “If there’s anything that would help you feel better about all of this—help you move past it—just say the word. Archer’s going to stay away tonight. And tomorrow, we’ll regroup at brunch with the rest of the family. It’ll be light. A nice meal. Reset the energy. Give Archer a chance to cool down. Give you a chance to… recalibrate.”

Recalibrate.

It’s such a strange word to use. Like I’m a machine that just needs a system reboot after experiencing a momentary glitch.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he finally says, handing me the keycard. “Get some rest, Skye.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

And then I’m alone.

thirty-eight

Boston

It’s been a week since I last saw Skye. A week since AJ’s—since I put my foot in my mouth. Again.

At this point, I’m pretty sure she’s done with my crap because there’s been nothing but silence since.

No texts. No calls. Zip.

I know she was supposed to come back from New York Sunday night, but she didn’t show for her usual Tuesday shift at Riverfront. Which means she’s either sick or—and this is the more likely option—she’s avoiding me.

Even Cassie noticed.

Now it’s Thursday, and I’m losing the battle with my thoughts. Every time my phone buzzes, I check it. Every time I look, I feel stupid.

She doesn’t owe me a damn thing. Not a second of her time, not a single thought in her head. And most definitely not her forgiveness for talking shit about—and to—her boyfriend. No matter how righteous my intentions were.

Still, it doesn’t ease the heaviness in my heart.

It’s been a hell of a depressing day, and Skye’s absence—not just physical, but emotional—is… crushing.

I pull into the familiar, nearly-empty parking lot in front of Riverfront, shut off the engine, then push my car door open.

The heat hits me the second I step out of the car. It’s one of those miserable end-of-July afternoons where the air feels thick enough to chew. Even the asphalt looks like it’s contemplating adding another heat crack to its already vast collection of imperfections.

I head toward the entrance expecting to hear the usual chaos of dismissal, but it seems everyone’s still inside, waiting in the air conditioning for their rides.

I make my way toward the entrance just as the front doors swing open.

And there she is.