Page 76 of A Million To Fall

“Just a slight headache.”

His jaw tightens. “Alright,” he says firmly, standing and offering me his hand. “Let’s get you home, baby.”

I take it carefully, pushing myself up from the chair. The second I stand, the room tilts unpleasantly sideways. “Whoa.”

Archer catches my wrist immediately. At the same moment, Boston appears at my other side. It’s like he was already moving before I stumbled.

One hand hovers near my elbow, not quite touching, but I feel his body heat nonetheless. “You good, Stormy?” Suddenly the air feels charged. And not in a good way.

Archer’s eyes snap to Boston. Boston’s, however, remain fixed on me, still waiting for me to let him know I’m alright.

“I’m okay,” I murmur again, though my face feels warm now. Boston looks unconvinced.

“She shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he tells Archer, all business. “Honestly, if she starts throwing up or gets confused, I’d take her in.”

“I got this handled,” Archer says, his voice all ice.

For a tense second, neither of them moves. Then Boston nods once and steps back. “Get some rest, Stormy.” His gaze drops to Cassie and Bronx. “Come on you two, time to line up.”

Archer takes my hand and leads me outside, but I can still feel the phantom warmth of Boston’s hand against my jaw.

twenty-six

Skye

It’s barely eight, still light out, but I’ve already turned on every lamp in the house—the kitchen, the foyer, the living room, even the upstairs hallway and bathroom. My bedroom’s fully lit too. The TV is on, tuned to some housewife reality show I’m not actually watching. It’s just noise so I’m not alone with the quiet.

This morning, my parents left for Florida. They almost didn’t.

It’s been ten days since my intimate encounter with that soccer ball, which resulted in only a mild concussion, according to the doctor my mom schlepped me to that same evening. Still, my parents were worried enough about me that they were ready to cancel their travel plans. For a second, I considered taking them up on the offer. Anything to avoid being home alone. But I couldn’t in good conscience let my mom miss her college best friend’s wedding, even if it was already her third.

And in all honesty, I feel pretty much back to normal. I rested a ton, barely even left my dark room the first couple of days. But by Tuesday, the headache was gone. By Wednesday I was back helping my mom in the office, and on Thursday, I went back to Riverfront where Boston somehow managed to hover and avoid me at the exact same time. Things between us felt strangely… careful.

So now I’m alone.

And it’s exactly as awful as I knew it would be.

I try to be normal. I make dinner, eat half of it, and leave the rest in the sink. Stop being dramatic, I tell myself for the tenth time this evening.

Still, I can’t find rest.

I pace, then sit. Then stand again.

If only my dad wasn’t deathly allergic to pet dander. Then maybe we’d have a dog. Even something small and yappy would help. Maybe just a tiny terrier to keep me company. Honestly, though, I’d prefer a Doberman—sleek, alert, protective. A little menacing. Definitely loyal.

I almost laugh at the thought that the dog, at least, would’ve stayed.

Archer didn’t.

He did stop by this morning, already dressed in camo, but only long enough to plant a kiss on my cheek and tell me to text him if I was scared. Totally pointless. We both know he won’t have cell reception in the wilderness. Even if he did, he’d set his phone to silent so as not to spook any prey.

“You’re a big girl, Skye,” he told me yet again, laughing like my fear was something cute I do for attention. “You’ll be fine. Just, maybe try not to get pummeled by any balls.”

Fine.

Yeah, right.

That’s what I thought two years ago, too—the last time I was by myself at night, when things turned out very much not fine.