Page 169 of A Million To Fall

Mrs. Davis hasn’t gone anywhere.

Not that I thought she would.

She still cashes in twice a week—sometimes more—and has her regular Friday girls’ nights. She texts me the required forty-eight-hour notice and I show up. My body, anyway.

I leave everything that makes me me at the door before I walk into that house. Only my body ever crosses the threshold.

It’s a transaction. Mechanical. Detached.

But still happening.

I’m still not sure how I’m going to get myself out of that mess, but I gotta figure it out soon because I can’t keep relying on others to watch my siblings on the nights Mrs. Davis demands my time.

I tried to reach out to Ms. Janine, only to find out she passed away a year and a half ago. Now I’m searching for new emergency child care. As it stands, I’ve had to ask Skye’s mom twice already if she’d be able to watch my siblings for me for a couple of hours at night. She was more than willing and, luckily, Cassie and Bronx love her, but it’s not a permanent solution.

Plus, it brings me dangerously close to coming face-to-face with Skye, who I know is back in Stillwater over the holidays.

If it hurts now, I can only imagine the agony that would rip through me if I actually laid eyes on her.

I look at the couch, at the two tiny people I’d go to war for, and let out a quiet breath. Then I stand and gather first Bronx, then Cassie into my arms, carrying them to bed one by one.

I turn off the TV and all lights save the one attached to the kitchen exhaust—just in case Bronx decides to pay me a visit in the middle of the night—then walk to my bedroom to get some sleep.

The buzz of my phone wakes me. I squint at the screen. It’s Jake.

“Hey,” I rasp.

“I’m on my way to your place. Meet me outside in ten,” Jake says flatly, then hangs up without another word.

I stare at the phone, still half-asleep. It’s 1:34 a.m. I have not the slightest inkling what’s going on.

I drag myself out of bed, moving like a damn zombie while I get dressed in the same jeans and white Henley I wore earlier. I pad into the quiet kitchen, not bothering with the lights. I grab a glass of water, chug it, and try to piece together why the hell Jake’s coming over in the middle of the night. He sounded… short on the phone. Tone clipped. Angry, maybe? I hope this isn’t about Skye. I can’t take more news about her and Archer. Unless she finally left him.

Better not get my hopes up. It’s dangerous business. I know that better than most.

I slip on my boots, laces undone, and briefly debate grabbing a jacket. But I decide against it. I figure I’ll be back inside soon enough.

I step outside and close the door behind me quietly. Jesus, it’s fucking freezing. I should’ve worn a jacket after all. Too late. I already see Jake’s headlights approaching.

As they get closer, I realize that the headlights don’t belong to Jake’s Audi. It’s Archer’s BMW.

My stomach drops. Jake’s in the passenger seat.

What the fuck?

I barely have time to process shit before the car comes to a dead stop only feet away from me. The doors fly open, and Jake closes the distance in three furious strides, Archer trailing behind.

“What—” is all I manage before Jake’s fist slams into my cheekbone, a white-hot explosion of pain. My vision blacks out.

Then I’m on the ground, snow soaking through my shirt and biting into my back as Jake straddles me and hammers blow after blow into my face.

“What the fuck, Jake?” I shout, arms up, trying to shield myself.

Archer stands a few feet back. Hands in his pockets. Watching.

I try to get up, to move out of Jake’s hold on me, but he has me pinned.

“You piece of shit.” Jake’s fist drives into my bottom lip. Blood floods my mouth, sharp and coppery. “I fucking know what you did, Boss. I know you fucked my mom.”