Page 180 of A Million To Fall

“Mom, I have to go. I need to talk to Archer. And Jake.”

My mom moves toward me. “Skye, are you sure that’s safe?”

I nod. “I talked to Jake last night,” I say. “Right after it happened. I stayed with Cassie and Bronx at Boston’s. They don’t know anything and I—” My voice breaks. “Can they stay with you? Just for a little while? I have to find out what’s going on.”

That earns me a long, stricken look from both of them, but my dad nods.

“Of course they can stay here,” he says, glancing toward the living room where Cassie and Bronx are curled up watching cartoons. “Don’t worry about them. I got it.”

My mom hesitates. “I’m heading into the office. Talk to that officer.”

“There’s gotta be some kind of explanation for this, Brandy,” my dad says, his hand curling gently around hers. “Some piece we’re missing.”

My mom doesn’t respond. She just presses her lips together.

The drive from my house to Archer’s takes less than ten minutes, but it feels way longer than that.

I don’t bother knocking.

I let myself in, then startle at the presence of not just Archer and his parents, but Jake and his mom, too. That kind officer from last night is here, too, mid-step like he’s about to leave.

Archer spots me and flies to his feet, rage flashing in his eyes. “Where have you been, Skye?”

“Not now, Archer,” his dad says sharply.

Archer clenches his jaw and sits back down.

“Okay, Marcus, let me know if you or the chief need anything else,” Mr. Longfellow says, shaking Officer Reed’s hand.

He nods and heads out.

Mr. Longfellow exhales deeply. He looks exhausted—everyone assembled does. Like none of them slept at all. “Alright, hopefully this will do it. I want you all—” He pulls his buzzing phone from his pocket. Still the same black slacks he wore last night. He definitely hasn’t slept.

“This is Orson Longfellow,” he answers, then listens, nodding slowly. His face stays stern, brows set until the very end, when something shifts and he visibly relaxes.

“That’s good news.” He sighs. “Okay, keep me posted.” He hangs up, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “Boston Rawlings is out of surgery. He’s going to pull through.”

Relief hits me so hard I almost stagger back. I brace my hand against the wall to steady myself.

“Thank god,” Jake mutters, his head sinking into his hands.

Mr. Longfellow turns to Archer. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Archer.”

Archer’s back stiffens at his father’s words.

“Turns out you’re a shitty enough shot to miss the kid’s heart by a couple inches. The bullet nicked the main artery to his arm and fractured his shoulder blade, but they were able to repair things before he bled out. If you pray hard enough, son, maybe he’ll regain full use of his arm.”

I watch Archer. He doesn’t respond, but his shoulders drop, his posture loosening for a fraction of a second. Then his eyes flick to mine and his jaw locks, mouth tightening.

“Jake. Lexi. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” Mr. Longfellow says, the authority in his voice fraying.

Mrs. Davis rises from the armchair. I can’t help but notice how haggard she looks. She’s usually so put together.

“Let’s go, Jake.” She heads for the door.

Jake stops in front of me. For a second, it looks like he might hug me, but instead he lowers his head to my ear. “Boss is at Lakeview Hospital,” he whispers, then follows his mom out the door.

“I’m going to bed,” Stella Longfellow mutters to no one in particular. She looks like hell. But who could blame her—her son nearly killed someone.