Page 191 of A Million To Fall

“He didn’t shoot me because of what I said,” Boston says, face and voice stone-cold sober.

“But—”

“He shot me because he figured out I’m in love with you.”

Suddenly it feels like I was the one hit with a speeding bullet.

I blink.

Boston didn’t say was in love with you.

He said am.

Does that mean… still?

“How… how did he figure it out?” I ask, meek because my stupid, traitorous body wants to climb into bed with Boston and ask him to tell me again that he loves me.

Boston’s eyes are soft, almost reverent. He gives me another one-shouldered shrug.

“Guess I wasn’t as composed around you as I thought I was.”

Jake chuckles. “Uh, neither of you were, honestly.”

My face heats.

“As someone on the outside, if you pay even a little attention, the energy between you two is hard to miss,” Jake says. “I think Archer always felt threatened by Boss. You two are just… I don’t know. It’s like red and blue coming together to make the most perfect purple, you know?”

And now I’m melting, but not from heat.

“I mean, Archer didn’t really have anything to point to—just vibes—but he confronted Boss about it last night. Something like, ‘You don’t think I noticed how you look at her? How you’re always right there?’”

Boston gives me a weak smile followed by another lopsided shrug. “I didn’t answer him,” he says. “I’m not a liar.”

My heart skips a beat.

Jake shifts. “Not a liar,” he starts, then takes a deep breath and takes a seat in the chair next to mine. “Boss, what you said to Archer last night—about his mom…”

My heart skips another beat, threatening to seize in my chest as Boston’s face goes from pale to ashen. Is this about to get worse?

Jake leans forward in his chair. “You weren’t just talking shit, were you?”

Boston hesitates. Swallows. Then shakes his head.

“You… with… with Archer’s mom?” I stutter. I have the urge to bolt. Again. But Jake’s hand on my arm holds me in place.

“I overheard my mom and Archer’s mom talking this morning,” Jake says, mostly to Boston, who looks like he wouldn’t mind spontaneously combusting right about now. “They were like whisper-arguing. Archer’s mom was freaking out about her being associated with the whole thing. They were talking about girls’ night. And they mentioned other women, too.”

“Oh my god,” I whisper, a wave of nausea rising brutally fast. “I remember.” I look at Jake. “Last summer. Your mom invited Mrs. Longfellow to her girls’ night. She said some other friends were coming, too. And they kept talking about a buy-in and how your mom was providing ‘the goods.’” I turn my gaze to Boston. His eyes are closed now, brow deeply furrowed, his entire face contorted with something like shame or pain or both. “I thought they were talking about poker, or—”

“It wasn’t poker,” Boston rasps.

Jake looks devastated. “No. It was you. They were passing you around like… like…” He doesn’t finish.

“How many?” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. “How many women at once?” I’m not even sure why I’m asking. Why it matters. It only amplifies the horror.

“Five at most,” Boston says without looking at me. The room tilts. Five. “They’d take turns. Watch. Touch. Just…”

My tears come fast and hot, unstoppable. I lean forward and finally reach for Boston. His eyes open, hollow and watery. “Why didn’t you tell me? When I asked you if you survived girls’ night last summer. Why didn’t you—”