Page 178 of A Million To Fall

“I missed you,” Bronx mumbles into my shoulder.

“I missed you, too,” I whisper, truthfully. But I miss Boston more. I miss him with every cell in my body.

“Hey, listen, guys,” I say gently. “Boss had to run out last night. He asked me to stay with you, but he’s not back yet. Not sure when he will be. So, how about I drop you off with my mom for a little bit so I can take care of a few things?”

They race off to get dressed, abandoning their cereal and cartoons.

I head back to Boston’s room and spot his hoodie hanging on the closet door. There’s no way I’m wearing that blood-stained coat, and it’s too cold for just my dress. I pull the hoodie over my head. It swallows me, hanging past my thighs like a sweater dress, but it’s warm, and it smells like him. I press the fabric to my face and breathe him in.

I brace for what awaits us as we walk outside, but the bloody snow has been cleared away. There’s no trace left of what took place last night.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrive at my parents’ house. They stand in the kitchen, still in their pajamas and… they’re on the phone. With Orson Longfellow.

I whisper to Cassie and Bronx to go wait in the living room, then quietly step into the kitchen to listen.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Mr. Longfellow says through the speaker. “Just standard protocol. An officer will meet you at your office in, let’s say, an hour.”

My mom nods. “Yes, of course. Let me just get dressed and I’ll head on over.”

“That’s perfect. Thank you, Brandy. Let’s figure out a day to have dinner. I know Stella is eager to get your input on the wedding,” he says, light and cheerful. Like nothing happened at all.

My mom ends the call and sets her phone on the counter, frowning. “I don’t like that this happened at the apartments. I want the people living there to feel safe. After everything they’ve escaped…” She trails off.

Every cell in my body is buzzing. Something’s off. Something’s wrong. And it’s not just the fake-happy way Orson Longfellow signed off, like this was a routine check-in. There’s no way he can be chipper like that when his son put a bullet in the boy I lo… into Boston less than twelve hours ago.

“I know, baby,” my dad says, pressing a kiss to her temple.

I clear my throat. “Did Mr. Longfellow call because of the shooting last night?”

My parents look at me, surprised.

“Yeah,” my dad says with a nod. “Orson wanted to give us a heads-up that an officer was going to stop by your mom’s office to get some information. Courtesy, since you’re his future daughter-in-law and all.”

I flinch.

“Skye, how do you know about what happened?” my mom asks.

My face contorts. “Because… because Boss got hurt.”

My mom gasps.

“What? Oh my god,” my dad says, eyes wide.

“Did Mr. Longfellow say what kind of info they’re trying to obtain?” I ask, breathing shallow.

“No,” my dad says, his expression adequately conveying how shocked he is. “But if I had to guess, they probably want access to the security cameras. See if anything got picked up.”

A jolt fires through me. Of course Mr. Longfellow would want to know if there’s video of his son shooting someone.

“Mom,” I say, heart pounding. “Can you check? Can you pull up the footage now?”

She blinks. “Skye, sweetie, I don’t know if—”

“Please.” My voice cracks. “I need to see what happened.”

My mom hesitates for a heartbeat, then nods. She walks to the laptop on the dining table, still propped open. I bet she was working last night. That woman never stops. She logs into the complex’s security interface and navigates to the right feed—camera five. It’s angled toward the sidewalk, facing the parking lot. I recognize Boston’s car, the walkway to his apartment, the thick blanket of snow covering the grass.

“Here,” my mom murmurs, clicking into the night’s timeline.