Page 42 of A Million To Fall

“Don’t be such a toddler, Skye. Just try.”

Across the table, Jonathan chuckles. “Let her eat what the fuck she wants to eat, Arch.”

Archer just chuckles, draping an arm over my shoulders.

That’s when I notice Jake—frozen, unblinking, lips parted like something just forced the air out of his lungs.

His menu slips from his fingers, hitting the table with a soft thud. He’s staring across the room, his face pale and disbelieving.

“Jake?” I say softly, brows pinching.

He doesn’t respond.

“Dude?” Pacey leans in. “What’s wrong?”

“Holy fucking shit,” Jake whispers. He slowly raises a hand and points.

I’m already turning. “What is it?”

Jake swallows, eyes wide. “Boston.”

My heart stutters. My stomach knots. The world tilts, sound and color draining.

And then I see him.

Boston.

In the flesh.

And very much alive.

He’s standing next to a table, setting down a tray of food like it’s just another Wednesday night.

His hair is just as dark as I remember—not as tightly cropped on the sides as it used to be, but otherwise the same. Everything else about him… isn’t.

His shirt pulls tight across broad shoulders I don’t remember, stretching over the dips and swells of a muscular torso. His forearms flex as he moves, veins standing out under his skin.

I don’t just see Boston. I feel him.

His jaw is sharper, more defined, like time carved him from marble. And was he always this tall?

Jake’s already up and weaving between tables. “Boss?”

Boston turns, shock flashing across his face before it morphs into disbelief, then something softer, more fragile.

He sets the last plate down and meets Jake halfway.

They just stand there for a moment, face-to-face, while we watch, my breath caught somewhere in my chest. Then Jake pulls Boston into a tight hug.

Jake says something I can’t hear, then gestures for Boston to follow him back to our table. Instinctively, I sit up straighter, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Not sure if it’s my movements or the way I’m staring, but Boston’s eyes move to mine. And hold.

It’s like a lightning strike.

He blinks, brow dipping for just a second, like he’s just as thrown by seeing me as I am by him.

His gray eyes move over me, inquisitive, watchful. Exactly how I remember. Except now, there’s weight behind them. Shadows. Experience.