Page 43 of A Million To Fall

Beside me, Archer shifts. His hand slides to my thigh, fingers pressing just enough to remind me he’s there.

Boston stops at the table. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s up, guys?”

God. His voice.

It’s deeper now. Rougher.

My gaze drops to his mouth for a moment, then his chest, the vein running along his bicep.

“What’s up, guys?” Jonathan echoes, incredulous. He stands and pulls Boston into a hug. “More like where the fuck have you been, man?”

Boston hugs him back. “Here and there.”

“Fuck, Boss,” Jake croaks, his hands on his hips like he’s trying not to lose it. “You just disappeared.”

Boston looks down, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t really explain. I just needed to get away.”

“When did you come back?” I ask, trying to hide the wobble in my voice.

Boston looks at me, and I feel that jolt all over again. It’s like live-wire electricity firing through my body.

“End of March.” It feels like he’s only talking to me, and stupidly, my heart warms at the idea.

Jake shakes his head. “I tried to find you. I called. I texted…”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” Boston repeats. “It’s… I’m sorry.”

Pacey hugs him next. “Are you back for good?”

Boston nods. “Back in Stillwater.”

“No college for you?” Archer asks, still seated next to me, except that he suddenly seems to take up more space.

Boston’s gaze turns to Archer. “No.”

I watch him—his expression, the way he holds himself.

Something’s different.

Next to the other guys in their brand clothes and expensive sneakers, Boston looks… honed. Like he’s survived things we’d never understand.

And compared to Archer, who still carries a trace of boyish softness, Boston is solid. It makes something deep inside me ache.

Heat rushes up my neck, pooling in my cheeks. I know Archer sees it because his arm tightens around my shoulders, his fingers squeezing, jaw grinding as he stares Boston down.

I suck in a breath, school my features, and lean ever so slightly against Archer, trying to reassure him.

Jake rubs a hand along his jaw. “We need to catch up, man.”

Boston nods. “I’d like that. I’m working right now, but—”

“When do you get off?” Jake asks.

“Ten.”

Jake pulls out his phone. “Okay. What’s your number?”

Boston rattles it off.