Page 81 of A Million To Fall

How is that possible? He works a ton. He drives a nice car. His clothes are always clean. So is he. He smells of wilderness and rain and safety. How can someone without a home smell like that?

Boston nods.

My throat tightens as I begin to put it all together. “Since you were seventeen? When you disappeared?”

“Mostly, yeah.” He swallows. “Before I got this, I stayed at shelters if they had a bed.”

I knew he’d been through something terrible. I could just tell. “And if they didn’t?”

He exhales deeply. “Stormy—”

“And if they didn’t?” I urge.

“Then I’d sleep wherever I could find a safe spot. A bathroom, behind a dumpster, whatever. Right now I’m at Jake’s, which is honestly the best I’ve had in a while. A real bed.” One corner of his mouth tugs into a smile. It’s definitely for my benefit, because his eyes don’t follow suit.

A tear slips free before I can stop it, but I wipe it away quickly. If he’s not falling apart, neither am I.

Boston notices anyway. “Stormy.” His thumb brushes beneath my eye, catching the lingering dampness on my cheek. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

My chest aches. “I’m not looking at you like you’re broken.”

He chuckles. “So, these are tears of joy?”

“Totally,” I croak.

For a second, neither of us says anything.

I hate that I can’t fix any of it.

Then I glance at his soaked shirt. This I can fix.

“You still need clothes.”

A huff of laughter escapes him. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go get you some.”

His gaze drifts toward the darkening sky. Then toward his car. Then back to me.

“Alright. Let’s head to Jake’s then,” he says as a flicker of dread crosses his face.

We climb into our cars and pull out of the parking lot, Boston's taillights glowing red in front of me.

twenty-seven

Boston

Ishould’ve been more careful. I should’ve remembered my stupid duffel bag.

A frustrated laugh escapes me. Seriously, what are the odds?

For two years I’ve carried that thing everywhere. Everywhere. Didn’t matter if I was sleeping in my car, crashing at a shelter, parked behind a truck stop, or lucky enough to have a couch for a few nights. That bag went where I went. Always. Because life has taught me that if you’re one bad day away from losing everything, you stay ready.

Then today—today of all days—I leave it sitting in Jake’s guest room like some kind of idiot. I smack the heel of my hand against the steering wheel.