Page 83 of A Million To Fall

“Nothing,” Skye says earnestly. “I accidentally made Boss spill his drink on himself.”

That’s my cue. “I’m going to go change,” I say, then quickly make my way down the hallway to the guest room where, sure enough, my duffel bag’s just sitting pretty right at the foot of the bed. I could slap myself.

I tug the zipper open, pull out the first shirt in my grasp, then yank my sticky work shirt off and slip the fresh one over my head. I’m back in the foyer seconds later, catching the tail end of Skye’s conversation with Mrs. Davis.

“…in Florida, and I always feel a little weird when I’m all by myself.”

I want to pull her into my arms.

But of course, I don’t.

Not with Mrs. Davis watching.

“Gosh, I know what you mean,” Mrs. Davis says with an exaggerated sigh. “There’s just something creepy about empty houses, right? But those boys and their hunting trips.” She punctuates that last sentence with a giggle.

“Ready to head out?” I cut in, equal parts determined to alleviate Skye’s anxiety and get the hell out of the house.

“Are you planning to come back here again tonight?” Mrs. Davis asks, eyes narrowed just enough to tell me she’s not pleased with me leaving.

“Yeah.”

“Great,” she says, too brightly. “I’ll leave the deadbolt unlocked.”

I nod, then follow Skye out into the warm night.

The sun’s completely set by the time we pull up to Skye’s, but I can still see the tension in her face when I follow her from the driveway to the front door. It’s clear that even the thought of spending just one minute in this house alone is enough to freak her out.

“So, can I ask why you’re so uncomfortable being alone?” I ask, gravel crunching under my boots. Someone tell me why these fancy driveways have to be nine miles long. Such a waste of space.

She glances at me, her eyes flicking to my mouth for the length of a heartbeat before meeting mine. “My parents’ home got broken into two years ago.”

She says it like it’s no big deal, except this entire last hour has told me the complete opposite.

“My parents were out of town, and I was home. Alone.”

I stop walking. “Oh, shit.”

She nods, stopping right alongside me. “I don’t think those guys knew I was home; they probably thought the house was empty.” Her eyes lose focus like she’s suddenly far away. “It was, like, one in the morning. But I was still awake, talking to Archer, actually…”

I swallow, the name like a rock in my throat. Her gaze snaps back into focus, like she’s trying to gauge my reaction.

“So, what happened?”

“I heard a noise downstairs first, then voices.” She pauses. “I was so scared.”

I don’t speak. Just listen.

“I told Archer I thought someone was breaking in. He told me to lock my door, hide in the closet, and call 911. I did. But god, those minutes… waiting for the police to get here…” Her gaze drops to the gravel at her feet. “It felt like forever. But they arrived pretty fast. The guys ran when they heard the sirens. They didn’t even make it upstairs.”

“Jesus,” I mutter. “That’s really fucking traumatizing.”

She lifts her eyes to mine, forcing a smile. “Yeah, but nothing actually happened to me. I really shouldn’t be such a baby about being home alone, but…”

I shake my head. “You probably have PTSD that gets triggered when you’re alone.”

“What? No.” She waves me off.

“Stormy, you were what, seventeen, eighteen?” I reach for her, resting my hands on her shoulders. It hits me again how small she is, just like it did when she got knocked out by that ball, when I tried to get her to open her eyes by gently shaking her shoulders. She finally did when I touched her face. God, the relief was unreal.