Page 181 of A Million To Fall

“I’m coming, too,” Mr. Longfellow says, then turns to Archer, pointing squarely at his son’s chest. “What was discussed with the Davises stays between us and the Davises,” he says with a cold glance in my direction. “It does not leave this house. None of it. Do you understand?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation, just makes his way up the stairs behind his wife, leaving just Archer and me in the still party-wrecked living room.

“Archer, what happened?” My voice is quiet, not accusing. I already saw what he did. I just need to know why.

He swallows, blue eyes wide like a deer caught in the sight of a rifle.

“It… was self-defense,” he starts. Instantly, my brow creases. “Boston attacked us and I—"

“No, he didn’t,” I say.

Archer pauses, eyes flitting between mine. “Yeah, he… he jumped Jake and then—”

“No, he didn’t,” I repeat, firmer, agitation creeping into my voice before I can stop it. “Why are you lying, Archer? I know Boston didn’t attack you or Jake or anyone. You just… you shot him.”

He just stares at me, panic flashing in his eyes. But just like earlier, it’s gone as fast as it came, all softness draining from his features in the blink of an eye.

He doesn’t ask me how I know.

“Where were you last night?” he asks instead, his voice low and hard as his lips press into a thin line.

“Why aren’t you telling me what happened?” I fire back.

He shifts, taking only half a step closer, but something about his posture suddenly makes me feel dwarfed.

“Where the fuck were you last night?” he repeats, clipped.

“I stayed with Boston’s brother and sister last night. They couldn’t be alone,” I tell him, eager to get back to the point.

“You should have been here,” he spits. “With me. Your fiancé. That’s where you belong. With me. Not shacking up with the siblings of some prostitute callb—” he stops midsentence, like he just realized his outburst.

“What the hell are you talking about, Archer?” I ask, exasperated and exhausted all at once.

His nostrils flare as he evaluates me, eyes dragging from my face, down my body, and back up again.

“You’re the reason he got shot,” he mutters.

It’s like a dagger to my heart.

“What?” I squeak.

His eyes fix to mine, bloodshot from lack of sleep, face pale. “You really think I’m a fucking idiot, huh?” he says, too quiet, too calm.

I don’t speak.

“You think I didn’t know that he wanted you? You think I didn’t notice that you wanted him, too?”

My heart drops so fast it makes me dizzy.

“I know he touched you.” He points a shaking finger at my chest. “Don’t lie to me, Skye. He all but fucking said it.”

Those must have been the words they exchanged when Boston was lying in the snow, Archer pacing before he pulled that gun. My heart squeezes painfully.

“Archer, I—”

The denial rises automatically. No. Nothing happened. You’re imagining things.

You know I love being with you.

The same lie I’ve reached for over and over in the past.