Page 25 of Forbidden to Fall

“That’s his issue,” Archer said. “It’s time for everyone to move on. Including you.”

“Which is why leaving makes sense. Being here just…rustles everything up again.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

James scoffed softly.

“James,” Archer said in a please be reasonable tone, “if eight years didn’t put this thing to bed, it’s not going there on its own.”

My heart thunked, and I stopped pretending to brush. This was not a conversation meant for my ears. I was dying to listen more while simultaneously wishing I could melt into the floor of this freshly mucked stall and disappear.

“Maybe it’s time the truth came out,” Archer said so softly I almost didn’t hear him.

“What do you mean?” There was deep wariness in the question.

“C’mon, James. I wasn’t here for any of it, but I know you, and I’m pretty sure there’s more to the story than what gets passed around.”

My sense of panic was rising like a flash flood. I clenched my teeth and took the softest possible step toward the stall door.

Slowly, I stretched my head to look through the bars and see whether James and Archer were in view.

They weren’t.

I slipped my hand through the bars to reach for the latch.

“The truth shall set you free, right?” Archer said.

“People don’t want the truth. They want someone to blame.”

Miss Mahogany nudged me in the butt again, and I shot her a tight-lipped look like she was capable of understanding delicate social situations.

My fingers were frozen on the latch. It would definitely not be a silent task. Archer had bought the nicest latches on the market, but they still scraped like a broken muffler dragging on the road. I couldn’t just sit here as an unwilling eavesdropper, though.

I could say something—call out Hey! Stop talking! I’m here!

The thought made me cringe.

Miss Mahogany pawed the dirt. She was such a diva.

“And you decided to be the martyr?” Archer said. “Come on, man.”

“I’m no martyr. I made dumb choices.”

I’d never been such a willing-yet-unwilling audience to a private conversation. I desperately needed to ask follow-up questions. But even more desperately, I needed to get the heck out of here.

Miss Mahogany stomped again—twice—sending a cloud of dirt up with each beat of her hoof.

And then my nose started to tickle.

My eyes widened, and I tried to think of all the tricks to stop a sneeze.

I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, but it was no use.

Air traveling at the speed of sound blew through my nose and mouth, all the more violent for my attempts to stifle the sneeze.

So violent that my head hit the stall bars.

“Gah!” I released the latch and grabbed my forehead.