51. Chapter 51 #5
Jake drags a hand over his face. “Archer was gung-ho about it. Offered to drive. Looking back, I think he’d been waiting for an excuse.”
“I don’t think he likes me,” Boston mutters.
My eyes widen. Is he… making a joke right now? Right on cue, the corners of his lips twitch, making mine want to tug up in turn.
“Yeah, no shit,” Jake chuckles.
“Did you know they were coming?” I ask Boston.
“Jake called me and told me he was on his way. Asked me to meet him outside. I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting… this.”
“I just went to town on Boss the second I stepped out of Archer’s car,” Jake says, sheepish.
I nod. “I saw the video, remember?”
“What video?” Boston asks, voice tight.
“From the surveillance cameras at the complex,” I say.
“I saw it this morning. I needed to know.” I take a steadying breath.
“I know it wasn’t self-defense. I know you weren’t the aggressor,” I say to Boston.
He shakes his head, but I don’t let him get a word in edgewise.
“Jake jumped you. He beat you. Then he stopped—”
“Yeah, because Boss explained what the hell was going on with my mom,” Jake cuts in.
“But then Archer… this is the part I still don’t understand,” I say, the frustration rising once more. “It looked like you were talking and then… he just tackled you. He was hitting you, like, for no reason at all.”
“Oh, I gave him a reason,” Boston says quietly.
“Not undeserved, though,” Jake says, seemingly intent on defending Boston, maybe as a way to atone for what happened, for Boston’s injuries and the fact that he’s in the hospital right now, recovering from a freaking gunshot wound.
I look at him expectantly.
“Archer obviously heard everything Boss was saying—about my mom propositioning him, and the arrangement and the money. And he just… laughed. Called him a hooker and said Boss was just like his mom.”
My face twists with disgust. “That’s vile.”
“And Boss…” Jake’s eyes snap to Boston, devastation flickering in his gaze. “He… he told Archer that he must be a good hooker then, because Archer’s mom’s a repeat customer.”
My mouth drops open. Way to escalate the situation. “Oh my god.”
“Yeah. Not his brightest moment. Archer lost it. He just tackled Boss and beat the shit out of him.”
“I knew Archer had kind of a short fuse, but I never thought he’d be capable of… of shooting someone for making a comment about his mom,” I mutter.
“He didn’t shoot me because of what I said,” Boston says, face and voice stone-cold sober.
“But—”
“He shot me because he figured out I’m in love with you.”
Suddenly it feels like I was the one hit with a speeding bullet.
I blink.
Boston didn’t say was in love with you.
He said am.
Does that mean… still?
“How… how did he figure it out?” I ask, meek because my stupid, traitorous body wants to climb into bed with Boston and ask him to tell me again that he loves me.
Boston’s eyes are soft, almost reverent. He gives me another one-shouldered shrug.
“Guess I wasn’t as composed around you as I thought I was.”
Jake chuckles. “Uh, neither of you were, honestly.”
My face heats.
“As someone on the outside, if you pay even a little attention, the energy between you two is hard to miss,” Jake says. “I think Archer always felt threatened by Boss. You two are just… I don’t know. It’s like red and blue coming together to make the most perfect purple, you know?”
And now I’m melting, but not from heat.
“I mean, Archer didn’t really have anything to point to—just vibes—but he confronted Boss about it last night. Something like, ‘You don’t think I noticed how you look at her? How you’re always right there?’”
Boston gives me a weak smile followed by another lopsided shrug. “I didn’t answer him,” he says. “I’m not a liar.”
My heart skips a beat.
Jake shifts. “Not a liar,” he starts, then takes a deep breath and takes a seat in the chair next to mine. “Boss, what you said to Archer last night—about his mom…”
My heart skips another beat, threatening to seize in my chest as Boston’s face goes from pale to ashen. Is this about to get worse?
Jake leans forward in his chair. “You weren’t just talking shit, were you?”
Boston hesitates. Swallows. Then shakes his head.
“You… with… with Archer’s mom?” I stutter. I have the urge to bolt. Again. But Jake’s hand on my arm holds me in place.
“I overheard my mom and Archer’s mom talking this morning,” Jake says, mostly to Boston, who looks like he wouldn’t mind spontaneously combusting right about now.
“They were like whisper-arguing. Archer’s mom was freaking out about her being associated with the whole thing.
They were talking about girls’ night. And they mentioned other women, too. ”
“Oh my god,” I whisper, a wave of nausea rising brutally fast. “I remember.” I look at Jake.
“Last summer. Your mom invited Mrs. Longfellow to her girls’ night.
She said some other friends were coming, too.
And they kept talking about a buy-in and how your mom was providing ‘the goods.’” I turn my gaze to Boston.
His eyes are closed now, brow deeply furrowed, his entire face contorted with something like shame or pain or both.
“I thought they were talking about poker, or—”
“It wasn’t poker,” Boston rasps.
Jake looks devastated. “No. It was you. They were passing you around like… like…” He doesn’t finish.
“How many?” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. “How many women at once?” I’m not even sure why I’m asking. Why it matters. It only amplifies the horror.
“Five at most,” Boston says without looking at me. The room tilts. Five. “They’d take turns. Watch. Touch. Just…”
My tears come fast and hot, unstoppable. I lean forward and finally reach for Boston. His eyes open, hollow and watery. “Why didn’t you tell me? When I asked you if you survived girls’ night last summer. Why didn’t you—”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Skye, I sold my body. I whored myself out. I let women use me to—”
“You didn’t whore yourself out.” Jake’s cheeks are wet with his own tears, but his expression is steady.
“They were using you. My mom knew about your situation. She knew you were desperate. That you were killing yourself working so you could save up for a place. She took advantage of you. They all did.”
Boston shakes his head. “Call it whatever you want,” he mutters. “Doesn’t change what it was.” He inhales a shaky breath, directing his gaze at me. “I knew if I told you, you’d never look at me the same. I already wasn’t worthy of you, Skye. And this—” His voice breaks.
My hand tightens around his.
“What are you talking about?” I huff with indignation, eyes hot and stinging with tears. “You were never not worthy of me.”
“Wrong,” he says. “Maybe not when we were five and still lived on the same street and my dad was still alive and my mom wasn’t a drug addict or…” He trails off for a breath. “But I was never able to give you the things you deserve, Stormy. The money. The name. The life—”
“I have to admit I’m a little offended that you really think that would deter me from loving you, Boss.”
His eyes flare, but I’m not ready to give up the mic just yet, or even really acknowledge that the L-word just left my mouth.
“I’m… sick—just sick—over what happened with Jake’s mom and… and the other women… Wait.” A horrible thought spears my brain. “My mom, she she—”
“What? Fuck. No. Of course not, Skye.” His answer comes immediately.
I swallow, relieved. “I’m sick with what happened to you.
I hate the thought that you were forced into this.
And, yeah, it hurts that you didn’t trust me to see you.
To care about you. To… love you”—there’s that word again—“for more than the material things you can or can’t give me.
I don’t know what gave you the impression that those things are important to me. ”
Boston raises one eyebrow. Even Jake gives me an are you kidding kind of look.
“Okay, I guess I do see how you could get that impression,” I relent. “But—” I sigh loudly. “I don’t actually care about those things. I care about you, Boss. I care that you’re okay. That you have a home. That you have your siblings. And I care about them, too.”
I can practically see the lightbulb flicker on, Boston’s reaction shifting to panic in the blink of an eye. “Shit. Where—”
“They’re with my parents,” I say before he can spiral into a full-blown anxiety attack.
“You ordered me to call Skye last night, so I did. She stayed with them,” Jake says, nodding.
“Of course I did,” I say. Boston’s eyes close, the tension cracking. I hold his hand tighter. “They’re safe, Boss. Nobody’s going to come and take them from you.”
His eyes open, watery and filled to the brim with exhaustion. “You sure?” he asks. “Archer’s dad isn’t going to pull some shit?” His gaze shifts to Jake. “Or that your mom won’t make good on her promise to tip off the judge?”
Jake shakes his head, shoulders squared, brow set.
“Hell no. I was there this morning. When things got… discussed. My mom’s terrified of my dad finding out.
As she should be. And Longfellow cares more about his political aspirations than anything.
He’s going to make sure none of this sees the light of day. ”
“What does that mean exactly?” I ask.
“It means strings have been pulled. No arrests. No charges. On paper, it’s self-defense.”
“But—” I start, outrage flaring.