Page 187 of A Million To Fall

He cuts himself off, eyes flicking to Jake. “I’m so sorry, Jake,” he says, face contorting with despair.

Jake scoots his chair closer, holding eye contact with Boston. “I know that, Boss. And I’m telling you we’re good. Okay?”

Boston hesitates, like he’s not sure he believes him.

“You should tell her,” Jake says, giving a small jerk of his head in my direction. “She deserves to hear it. From you.”

Boston doesn’t speak. Even just lying in that hospital bed, he looks tense.

“Dude,” Jake urges. “You’re seriously not going to tell her? You took a damn bullet last night—”

Boston’s eyes flit to mine. “Some things are worse.”

The silence stretches, heavy and thick, until Jake exhales sharply and turns to me.

“The pictures my mom sent me last night were—”

“No, stop.” Boston’s voice is tight. “I’ll tell her.”

I’m holding my breath, waiting for him to finally just… explain.

Boston swallows hard, then lifts his eyes to mine. “You and I… we’re already upside down, so…” He breaks off, takes a breath. “The pictures… they were… of her and me.”

My face must give my confusion away because he adds, quieter—

“Together. Having… having sex.”

Half a second—just long enough for my brain to stop comprehending and my heart to forget how to beat. “What?” I whisper, unblinking.

“I’ve been sleeping with Jake’s mom. Since last summer.”

The room is too small. The air too hot, too thick to breathe. I’m sweating, my hands tingling as heat licks up my legs.

I’m out of my chair before I realize it, gasping, breaths too shallow, too fast.

All I can think about is getting out.

I whirl around, barely aware of Boston’s pained expression or Jake’s hand on my wrist.

“So much worse,” I hear Boston say as I reach the door and yank it open.

A second later, I’m out in the hallway, moving with no real destination. My head is spinning, assaulted with flashes of Boston and Mrs. Davis.

It doesn’t feel real.

It can’t be real.

His words.

The implications.

My feelings.

“Skye! Hey, hey, slow down.” Jake catches up, grabbing my arm and pulling me to an abrupt stop. “Breathe. Just… breathe.”

“Don’t—” I jerk away from him. “Don’t tell me to breathe.”

“You promised me,” he says, voice tight and low, aware of the nurses watching us. “You said you’d keep an open mind. You said you’d listen.”