Page 177 of A Million To Fall

The EMTs are gone, and so is Boston. The snow where he lay is soaked red.

My chest constricts. There’s no way he lost that much blood and…

I nearly choke. “Oh god.”

“Alright, Ms. Monroe, I need to speak with Jake here for a moment. Do you have somewhere you can wait?” the officer asks kindly.

Suddenly, I remember why I’m here. Why Jake called me.

Cassie and Bronx.

“Yes.” I turn to leave, but not without giving Jake a look, imploring him to call me when he gets a chance, to explain what the hell happened.

Boston’s apartment is unlocked and unbearably silent.

A peek into Cassie and Bronx’s bedroom tells me they’re fast asleep, unaware of their big brother’s violent encounter. And thank god for that. It’s terrible enough that, in the morning, I’ll have to somehow break the most horrendous news to them without having even a single answer.

I walk into Boston’s bedroom and switch on the light on his nightstand.

His presence is everywhere.

It surrounds me.

His clothes. His scent.

His bed is unmade, his pillow still shaped by his head.

He must have been asleep when they came for him.

But why?

Jake is Boston’s best friend. They love each other like brothers. I don’t understand how everything fell apart so fast.

I have an overwhelming urge to be close to Boston—as close as I can be—to feel him somehow. I shed my coat, slip out of my dress, and crawl into his bed, pulling his blanket around me.

The smell of him hits me all at once. Woodsy, clean and masculine, strong and so familiar. I bury my face in his pillow, inhaling deeply. I rub my feet gently against the soft fabric of the sheet underneath me and cocoon my body in Boston’s blanket. And just like that, I dissolve into silent tears.

fifty-one

Skye

Iwake to the sound of cartoons drifting from the living room and the clinking of dishes. For a second, I’m disoriented. Then the heaviness in my chest and the sting behind my eyes remind me where I am. And why.

I’m still wrapped in Boston’s blanket, still warm, still in his bed and surrounded by his scent. And, god, I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to face Cassie and Bronx who are clearly awake now, yet still clueless about what happened to their big brother.

But there’s no escaping it, only prolonging it. So I pull back the blanket, shivering, even though the apartment isn’t cold.

It’s just past six. Still dark outside. Winter makes the nights feel endless.

I close my eyes and go still, willing myself to feel him somehow. But there's nothing. Only the sharp jab of tears behind my eyelids. I take a deep breath to compose myself.

I get dressed quickly. As I reach for my coat, my breath catches. Blood stains the light wool fabric. It must’ve transferred from Jake’s jacket. He was covered in it. I turn the coat inside out. The last thing I want to do is freak out the kids. I glance down to make sure there aren’t any stains on my dress, then force a smile before stepping into the living room.

“Skye!” Cassie shrieks, running to wrap her arms around my waist. Bronx follows, colliding into me with a gap-toothed grin.

“Hi guys,” I say, crouching to hug them. They look great. Well-rested, fed, happy, their little faces bright and rosy. And just like that, I decide that the best thing to do right now is lie.

Because what would I even tell them? That Boston got hurt? That there were sirens and blood and chaos? That I don’t know if he’s okay? I need answers before I break their hearts.