Page 193 of A Million To Fall

Jake nods. “Pretty much.”

A fresh wave of outrage begins to crest in my chest, but Boston just shrugs. “I’ll take it,” he says. “Trust me, I have no desire to publicize any of this. Not if it risks Cassie and Bronx.” His gaze drops to our hands. “They’re all I have.”

The room goes quiet, silence stretching heavy and thick.

“You have us,” I say, voice cracking.

His eyes lift to mine. I look at him—at the exhaustion carved into his features, the bruises, the shame he’s still wearing like a second skin.

“You have me,” I add, soft but steady.

His brows dip like he doesn’t understand. Or maybe he doesn’t trust me. Guess I can’t blame him.

“After everything,” I say. “After all of this… I’m here. And I—”

I swallow.

“I’m not saying this because I feel bad for you. Or because I think you need saving.”

My eyes lock on his. And hold.

“I’m saying it because I should’ve never been anywhere but here. With you.”

I feel rather than see him flinch, his eyes flitting between mine as if trying to read me.

“You think you’re not worthy of me, but you were the one person who never saw me for anything but me. Even the messy, chaotic, emotional, sometimes irrational parts of me. The parts I tried to suppress and minimize. Usually for someone else’s benefit. The parts I tried and failed to shake.”

I scoot to the very edge of my seat, my other hand wrapping around our already-conjoined hands. “You accepted. You… loved them.” My throat tightens.

“I still do,” he chokes out.

I nod, desperately trying to maintain an ounce of composure. “Yeah?” I squeak.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice just as pitchy as mine.

“Yeah, well, the one thing I’ve never been able to shake, no matter how hard I tried”— my voice breaks, but I rally—“is you.”

His breath comes shallow and shaky.

“I love you, Boston.”

He doesn’t move or respond. He just stares at me as if trying to decide if he heard right.

“Say that again,” he finally whispers.

My heart stumbles.

“I love you,” I repeat, the words settling in my bones. I’ve said them to him before, but they never felt this… real. This solid. This life changing.

His gray eyes bore into mine, deep enough to reach the very edge of my soul.

“I love you, too, Skye,” he says, his voice quiet but steady. “I always have. Always.”

Before I overthink it—before I can overanalyze or second-guess myself or ruin the moment— I shift from my chair to the edge of Boston’s bed.

I lean in carefully—mindful of his IV, his shoulder, and every bump and bruise from last night—and gently slide my hand to his jaw, still giving him every chance to pull away if he wants to.

But he doesn’t.