22. Chapter 22
twenty-two
Skye
My mom’s voice floats brightly across the courtyard, warm and proud as she reaches the end of her speech.
“—this project has always been about partnership.” She smiles out at the crowd gathered in front of her baby, her apartment complex, LM Commons. “About what’s possible when people come together with the shared belief that everyone deserves safety, dignity, and a place to start over.”
Applause ripples outward like waves, echoing off the brick facade of the buildings around us. I stand off to the side with my dad, Archer, and Archer’s mom, soaking it all in. The gorgeous weather. The crowd—city officials, donors, and community members.
It’s perfect.
And it’s my birthday to boot.
I have a feeling this day’s always going to make me think of Cassie now—my almost-birthday-twin.
Yesterday, I snuck her a vanilla cupcake at Riverfront so we could have our own little birthday celebration.
Together, we blew out a single candle, then devoured the thing only for her to inform me that, while tasty, the cupcake was nowhere near the quality of that ice cream cake Boston dropped off for her at her foster parents’ home on Wednesday somewhere between leaving one job and heading to another.
I teased him later about not saving me a slice, to which he responded, deadpan: “Like the ice cream cake would’ve kept twenty-four hours. ”
“Never heard of a freezer?” I asked and poked him in his chest. His… pec. His solid, sculpted pec.
“And while NorthStar laid the groundwork,” my mom continues, “this vision would never have come to life without the generosity and advocacy of the Longfellow family.”
I grin at Archer while my mom gestures Archer’s dad forward. He accepts the giant ceremonial scissors without even a hint of nerves. Clearly this public stuff is familiar territory for him.
“I’ll keep this short,” Mr. Longfellow says with a smile, pausing before the scissors touch the ribbon. “As a prosecutor, I see what happens when families fall through the cracks. Projects like this are how we support victims beyond the courtroom.”
He glances toward my mom, then back to the crowd. “This wasn’t just about building housing or providing a safe haven for the victims of domestic violence. It was about building something together—something that will serve Stillwater’s families for generations.”
Archer’s dad cuts the ribbon, the red satin drifts softly to the pavement, and the crowd cheers.
“That’s my cue,” Archer mutters, then reaches for my hand and tugs me forward.
I stumble a step, then come to a stop only for him to hand me a giant bouquet of flowers. Honeysuckle and roses—my birth flowers.
I blink. Where did those even come from?
He presses the bouquet into my hands before I can ask, then leans in to kiss my cheek. “Happy birthday, Skye.”
“Arch—” I breathe.
He’s already turning to the audience.
“Alright, everyone,” he calls out, lifting a hand. “I know we’re here for the grand opening of LM Commons—and congrats to Mrs. Monroe, my dad, and NorthStar, seriously—but today’s also this perfect girl’s birthday.”
Oh god.
Archer looks back at me, clearly pleased with himself. “Think we can get a little love for her?”
And then—like some kind of coordinated ambush—the crowd starts singing “Happy Birthday.”
I laugh, half-mortified, as Archer wraps me in a tight hug, the lyrics vibrating in his chest. At least it hides my hot face.
Like his dad, Archer’s never had an issue with public attention.
Grand gestures, showy affection. Reminds me of my senior year, when he convinced the entire varsity soccer team to hold up signs at halftime that read Skye, will you be my prom “goal”?
while he ran into the bleachers with another ridiculous bouquet and asked me to “kick it” at prom with him.
I still cringe a little when I think about it.
I don’t hate the gestures themselves. I just don’t enjoy attention like that.
The next few minutes are a blur of hugs, handshakes, and lots of “happy birthdays.” Finally, after making the obligatory rounds, Archer graciously informs me of his plans to whisk me away.
“I figured we’d go shopping, then meet the crew for dinner. You in?”
“Wait, you’re volunteering to go shopping?” I tease.
He groans theatrically. “Anything for my Skye.”
Several hours later, Archer stashes our haul in his trunk with a dramatic groan. “If I die today, it’ll be from carrying six-hundred pounds of skincare products.”
“I bought exactly one moisturizer,” I say, handing him another bag.
“You bought one moisturizer today. And a toner, and like three different serums, and—”
“Hey, you offered,” I remind him with a giggle.
“I’m clearly a masochist.” He tosses the last couple of bags into the trunk, then reaches up to slam it shut. But before he can, a long black case catches my eye.
“What’s that?”
Archer pauses, then grins widely. “Oh shit, right. I forgot to show you my new rifle. Just picked it up this morning.”
He lifts the hard case out of the trunk with obvious excitement.
I glance around the parking lot. “Arch,” I hiss, lowering my voice. “Not in public.”
He laughs. “Relax, baby. It’s not loaded.”
He pops the latches. Inside the case, nestled in foam, rests a sleek black rifle.
“Nice,” I say, trying to sound convincing.
I don’t like guns. My parents don’t own any, even after what happened two years ago. The Longfellow men, on the other hand, are quite the gun enthusiasts with their own little weapons arsenal stored away in a gun safe that’s quite frankly bigger than me.
“Right?” Archer beams, running a proud hand along the matte barrel. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
I stare at the weapon. “I mean, sure.”
Archer carefully lifts the rifle from the case, checking it instinctively before holding it up for me to see. The thing looks huge in his hands. I wish he’d put it back and lock it in the trunk.
“I’m taking it on the hunting trip next month.”
My stomach dips. “The hunting trip?”
He lowers the rifle slightly. “Yeah. We’re going fox hunting the weekend after July fourth. Me, my brothers, Jake, Pacey, our dads.” He pauses. “I thought I told you.”
Nope. I definitely would’ve remembered that. I would’ve begged him not to go.
“Arch,” I say slowly, “that’s when my parents are in Florida.”
He winces. “Oh. Shit.”
The disappointment hits so fast it almost embarrasses me.
“You said you’d stay with me.” The house always feels too big when it’s just me. Too many noises. Too many shadows. My pulse spikes just thinking about it.
“I know, baby, I just totally forgot.” He carefully places the rifle back into its case before stepping closer. “Sorry, Skye. I can’t back out now. Everything’s already booked. Permits, campground, all of it.”
I sigh.
“Oh, come on, Skye, don’t be like that. Let me have some fun,” he says. “You can set the alarm. Sleep with the lights on. You’ll be fine.”
Fine. As if I can just flip a switch and not be afraid.
I sigh again. “Okay.”
“That’s my girl.” Archer smiles and finally shuts the trunk. “And I’ll make it up to you.”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting as he opens the passenger door for me.
“You. Me. NYC,” he says, grin widening. “Oh look, it rhymes.”
“What?” I ask, caught off guard.
Archer walks around the car, then climbs into the driver’s seat.
“My parents are visiting Wilder the weekend after the hunting trip. My mom and my sister-in-law want to see some Broadway play,” he says, bored.
“They told me to ask if you’d want to tag along.
And since you’re not going without me, I thought we’d spend the weekend in the city.
Have some fun, you know?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“Okay,” I repeat.
Satisfied, he starts the car but unlocks his phone first. “I’m texting the guys,” he says. “We’ll meet them for dinner.”
“Who’s coming?”
“The usual. Jake might bring that girl he met bowling.”
I hesitate, fidgeting with my seatbelt. “Is Boston coming?”
Archer doesn’t even look up. “No. Why would he?”
Because I want him to.
I stare out the windshield, nibbling on my bottom lip. “Because he’s our friend?”
Archer snorts. “Not mine. I don’t even know why everyone else still wants to hang out with him. He was gone for a long damn time.”
“Why would that change anything?” I ask, keeping my tone soft. “We all went to different colleges yet we still hang out.”
Boston being back still feels like a dream, and even though I was initially skeptical of working for my mom this summer—and the Riverfront Sports Complex assignment in particular—working alongside Boston twice a week has become one of my favorite parts of summer.
He’s always so calm. So interested in what I have to say.
So attentive and present for the kids, even when the exhaustion is all but written on his face.
And the way he loves his little brother and sister—and how fiercely they love him back—is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before.
Archer glances at me, eyes narrowing. “Skye, people like him will only drag you down. My dad wouldn’t like us associating with someone like Boston, especially given the shit his mom’s involved in.”
A familiar pressure creeps in under my ribs. “Boston’s not his mom. And we don’t know the full story.”
I immediately regret my comment. Archer’s face contorts, that vein pulsing in his forehead.
“Skye, his mom was arrested in a drug raid. My dad said Boston’s siblings were there.
They had to sit at the police station in the middle of the night while their mom was getting locked up,” he thunders.
“And then she got busted again when she tried to blow an undercover cop.”
I flinch. “I didn’t know all that.” I really didn’t.
But it still doesn’t change the fact that Boston wasn’t involved.
“I hate that you’re spending all this time around him now.” He reaches for my hand, all sweetness again. “But I know it’s because your mom makes you do it. Right?”
I hesitate just long enough to hate myself for it.
“Arch…” I lace my fingers through his. “You know I love being with you.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it.
But I don’t miss the tick in his jaw right before.
It’s close to ten-thirty, by the time we’re all soaking in the hot tub in Jake’s backyard. The sky above us is dark and scattered with stars, and laughter drifts through the steam.
Dinner was lovely.
Jake even brought the girl he “chatted up” at the bowling alley.
Cameron. She’s tall, blonde, and clearly smitten.
She barely touched her gnocchi, too busy giggling at everything Jake said.
Even the not-so-funny bits. Jake was gracious as always, but Lily and I agree: Cameron won’t be around for long.
“There’s a charcuterie board in the kitchen for you all to enjoy,” Jake’s mom says, stepping outside, a glass filled with something bubbly in her hand.
She’s barefoot in a pale silk robe. The fabric clings to her curves as she moves, the neckline shifting with each step, toeing the line of risqué. Her makeup’s flawless—even at this time of day—hair pinned into an effortless chignon.
There’s always been something about her that makes me feel inadequate. She’s proud and confident. A true bombshell. Jonathan and Pacey are definitely looking.
She lifts her champagne flute. “And there’s more of this if anyone’s feeling festive.”
Jake climbs out of the hot tub. “Thanks, Mom,” he says, offering Cameron his hand.
The hot water makes me feel light-headed, so I step out, too, looking around for a towel.
I catch movement just beyond the patio lights. Someone steps through the sliding glass door.
Instinctively, I look up and find Boston. My stomach flips.
He moves like he’s expecting someone to tell him to leave, shoulders tight, eyes scanning the patio.
He must have come straight from AJ’s because he’s still wearing that cream-colored shirt all waiters wear.
Nothing special in the grand scheme of things, but on him?
Dangerous. There’s no softness on him, no luxury.
The guys might be fit, too, in that gym-bro, protein-shake sort of way, but it’s also obvious that they’re not above skipping leg day in favor of an all-you-can-eat buffet at the Italian restaurant. Boston, on the other hand, is all lean, honed muscle, every line cut from use and hard work.
He finds me, eyes hooking into mine, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything, including the fact that I’m standing here dripping wet with barely anything left to the imagination.
His gaze drags down my body, slow and deliberate, from my flushed face, to the curve of my collarbone, to the wet fabric clinging to my breasts and hips.
His throat works as he swallows, and I see it—that tight, telling bob of his Adam’s apple. My breath catches at the flicker in his expression—something hungry. And God help me, I feel it too. That heat crawling up my body, tightening low in my stomach.
It only lasts a second before he seemingly remembers that we’re not alone. Far from. He resets his face into something more neutral.
“Hey, guys,” he says, as if his eyes didn’t just burn across my skin.
“Hi, Boss,” I manage.
Archer wraps a towel around me. “What’s he doing here?”
Jake turns, totally unfazed. “I invited him over.”
“Sorry for being late,” Boston says without acknowledging Archer’s comment. Then he walks straight toward me.
He stops just short of Archer, glances at him once, and pulls me into a hug before I can even process what’s happening.
“Happy birthday, Stormy.”
I freeze, all too aware that Archer’s right here. But then my arms lift anyway, wrapping around him.
God, it feels good. Soft, yet solid. Warm. Safe.
And then it’s over.
Boston pulls back gently, eyes fixed to mine, before he turns away to greet the others.
Archer’s hand closes around mine possessively. And a little painful.