Page 152 of A Million To Fall

Fuck.

forty-four

Skye

Nothing.

All day, it’s radio silence from Boston.

At first, I tell myself it’s because he’s at court, sitting through his mom’s hearing this morning. But the hours tick by, one after another, and the knot in my stomach tightens.

Normally, I wouldn’t think much of it. Except I know Ms. Rawlings’ proceeding shouldn’t take that long.

Not with what Archer’s dad promised me.

I spend my day at my mom’s office, trying to keep busy. Answering emails, sitting in on meetings, and organizing paperwork that doesn’t actually need organizing.

Anything to keep from staring at my phone.

Around lunchtime, Archer stops by unexpectedly, a giant smile spreading across his face when he sees me. I almost feel bad for how distracted I am while we sit at the small café down the street, eating overpriced sandwiches and making small talk.

Almost, but not quite.

Not with the memory of Archer’s hands around my throat still burned into my head. To his credit, he’s really been trying these past few weeks. Tempering the explosive reactions to things I say or do that displease him.

Maybe, once upon a time, it would’ve been enough. Maybe I would’ve believed this is what love should feel like. I did believe that.

But that was before I knew what real care looked like.

And now I can’t get back there. Can’t return to the version of myself that existed before New York. Before Archer wrapped his hands around my neck.

Before Boston stepped back into my life.

And I don’t want to.

That version of me shattered.

Good riddance.

I leave the office at five, but instead of heading home, I do a drive-by at AJ’s. The moment I spot Boston’s car, my heart plummets into my stomach.

So he’s not tied up at court anymore. He just hasn’t called. Or texted. Or reached out to me.

On purpose.

Maybe that means he truly does understand now? Understands why I said what I did yesterday. Why I walked away from him after he gave me something no one’s ever given me.

But there’s still so much he needs to hear. Why things have to be this way.

At least for now.

I don’t bother him at work, though. Instead, I do the obvious—maybe slightly unhinged, stalker thing—and camp out in front of his apartment.

It’s just past ten-thirty and I’m sitting, crossed-legged in front of Boston’s door, back resting against it, when the glow of headlights illuminates the dark. Moments later, an engine shuts off. A car door slams shut.

I look up, watching Boston approach with tentative steps.

He comes to a stop several feet away, keys dangling from his index finger, an unreadable expression settling over his beautiful face.