47. Chapter 47
forty-seven
Boston
My key sticks for a second, but then the lock gives, and I step into the quiet. The apartment’s dark, still faintly warm from the late sun that seeped in through the blinds. I don’t usually run the A/C. It’s a luxury I haven’t gotten used to yet.
I close the door behind me, deadbolt it, and let out a deep breath, floating in the silence. There’s no one here to worry about but me.
I toe off my shoes and line them up neatly next to the only other pair of shoes I own. My keys go on the nail in the wall, my wallet onto the kitchen counter.
Then I walk into my bedroom. The thought hits me all over again—what it means to have this. Four walls, a lock that works, a bathroom no one else uses, a real fucking bed that doesn’t come with strings attached.
This is mine. My home. I can build from here, create a future. For me, for my siblings… maybe for—
My phone buzzes in my pocket, dragging me out of my head. Probably a good thing, since I was two seconds from spiraling into thoughts of Skye again. Which, given everything that’s happened, is dangerous territory. Especially when I’m alone.
I glance at the screen and answer. “Hey, man.”
“Hey, Boss,” Jake says. “What’re you up to?”
“Nothing. Literally,” I say with a quiet laugh, sinking onto my mattress. It’s impossibly comfortable. “Just got home from work. You? All done with the Longfellow soiree?”
“Nah, the thing’s still going. I just stepped away for a minute. There are, like, three hundred people here. At least.”
I let out a low whistle.
“Yeah. Archer’s dad announced he’s running for Minnesota Attorney General, so it’s a whole thing. Donors, press, schmooze city.”
“Sounds fun.” It doesn’t. It sounds like the seventh circle of hell.
Jake doesn’t laugh. “So, I have some… not-so-great news.”
My muscles tense. “Okay?”
He hesitates. I can hear in his breath how hard it is for him to say whatever’s coming. That’s not a good sign. All I can think is that my mom’s name came up? Maybe Mr. Longfellow used her as an example of how he’s going to fight crime or something like that?
Jake exhales. “Archer just proposed to Skye.” He pauses, like he’s giving me a second to breathe before he adds, “And she said yes.”
Silence.
I stare at the blank bedroom wall, letting the words settle like dust. They don’t make sense at first. They just… hang there.
“Oh.”
It’s all I can manage while the reality of what he just said begins to crash into me like a building collapsing around me.
Skye said yes.
She’s marrying him.
She’s going to be Archer’s wife.
Which means years. A lifetime. Rings and homes and kids and anniversaries and all the things that come with that word.
Wife.
“Boss?” Jake says softly. “You okay?”
I fall back onto the mattress, eyes on the ceiling. “I don’t know.” It comes out barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry, man,” he says, and I believe him. “I just thought you should hear it from me. Before it shows up on social media or something. I didn’t want you to be blindsided the next time you see her.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I appreciate that.”
He pauses. “What are you gonna do?”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “Nothing to do. I mean… we weren’t together. I don’t have a right to—” I stop. Try again. “There was never anything between us.”
We both know that’s a lie.
For a long moment, I hear only the sound of faint conversation traveling through the phone. “Want me to come over?” Jake finally asks.
“No. I just… I think I need a minute.”
“Okay. But call me, yeah? If you need anything.”
“I will,” I lie, and hang up.
The silence is no longer comforting. It’s suffocating, tightening around my throat.
I don’t know why I do it. Maybe I’m trying to prove Jake wrong. Maybe I want it to be a joke. A mistake. Maybe I want to hurt myself a little, just to make it real.
I open the first social media app on my phone.
I don’t even have to scroll. It’s right there, smacking me in the face.
A picture of Archer with his arm slung around Skye’s waist and… god.
She’s wearing a white silk gown covered in light pink flowers. It looks soft and delicate. My heart squeezes with how much she looks like a bride already. The fabric hugs her beautiful curves, her makeup is flawless, hair done up. She looks like something out of a movie. Out of a dream.
My dream.
And just below the picture:
@_King_Archer_: She said ‘Yes!’ Can’t wait to make this girl my wife.
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Something sharp pierces my chest.
Not just hurt. Something hotter and way uglier.
She didn’t trust me to talk through her plan to help me. She decided for both of us.
And for a second, I hate that she did that.
I hate that she didn’t give me the chance to tell her I don’t need saving. That I’d never ask her to take the hit for me.
My jaw locks.
What if she isn’t sacrificing herself?
What if she actually wants this—Archer, that life, that name?
My brain rejects that thought almost immediately.
This is Skye.
I’ve known her all my life, and I know—I know—what we had was real. I know what she sacrificed and why she did it.
But it doesn’t matter.
Not really.
She said yes.
It’s done.
I have to let go.
I lock my phone and set it face down on the blanket next to me. There’s nothing left to say. Nothing left to hope for.
I have things to take care of. Work. Rent. The GED. Siblings who still don’t have a home. I can’t afford to plan my future around a girl wearing another man’s ring.
Even if, for just a moment, she felt like mine.
I drag a hand over my face and push off the bed.
Shower. Brush my teeth. Sleep.
Routine.
Because that’s what I do.
I keep going.
Even when it hurts.