31. Chapter 31
thirty-one
Boston
Five minutes ago, I was sure I’d donate my left kidney for a little peace and quiet. But the second I slide back into my car after dropping my siblings off with their newest fosters, I regret the mere thought.
I’ll never not hate leaving them with strangers at the end of the day, even if they’re nice.
They’re still strangers. They’ll never love them like I do.
They’ll never quit every job at the drop of a dime, move towns twenty-four hours later, or do things they’ll hate themselves for if it means Cassie and Bronx are okay.
But I would.
I did.
I glance at Skye sitting in the passenger seat, just to make sure she’s not somehow reading my face. I swear, sometimes it feels like everyone can see the shame. Like it’s stamped across my forehead.
But Skye isn’t looking at me. She’s too immersed in typing something on her phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask, mainly to fill the unsettling silence in the car, watching my siblings’ temporary home disappear in the rearview mirror.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her look up.
“Texting with Lil.” She shows me her phone, like I could or would read her messages. “She’s back in town. I’m going to sleep over at her place tonight.”
I nod. “Good. So you won’t be alone.”
“Yeah. How about you? Got grand plans for the rest of the day?”
“No,” I say. “I might try and call it an early night.”
Skye huffs a breathy laugh. “Good call. You didn’t exactly get great sleep on that couch last night.”
I smile, even though I have a sneaking suspicion I won’t get great sleep tonight, either. I’m bound to owe Mrs. Davis for not coming back to the house last night.
Skye’s phone buzzes. I suspect it’s Lily, calling to solidify plans for dinner or whatever show they’re going to binge tonight. Or maybe to discuss nail polish colors. I don’t actually know what twenty-year-old women do when it’s just them. Maybe plot world domination. Wouldn’t put it past them.
But when I glance at her, Skye’s face is guarded, head turned toward the passenger window. “Hey Arch,” she answers the call. Suddenly my car feels like a metal box—stuffy and claustrophobic.
“You have reception?” she asks.
I try not to eavesdrop, but… yeah, okay, I’m eavesdropping. Not that I can really avoid it. Archer’s voice is audible even without him being on speaker.
“Just stopped in town for some supplies and thought I’d check in on you,” he says. “Where are you? You’re not home.”
“Oh, uh, just on my way back home, actually,” she says.
“But why were you in the ghetto?”
I frown. Not because of the ghetto comment—though that sure as hell doesn’t help—but because Archer seems to know exactly where she is.
He knows she isn’t home.
He knows she’s driving.
He knows what side of town she’s on.
My stomach tightens.
He’s tracking her.
“Oh, I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Skye,” he growls before she can get another word in. I grip the steering wheel tightly.
“I went to the park with… some families I know from the rec center.” Not a lie. Not exactly.
“Why?” he barks.
My jaw ticks.
I see her shrug, even though he obviously can’t. “I’m all alone, Archer. What do you want me to do, collect dust until you get back?”
Feisty girl. I like it.
“I don’t want you hanging around weird people, baby. You know I worry about you,” he says. The irony is almost enough to make me laugh.
“I know, Arch,” she says, all the fight gone from her voice. “I’m not with weird people, I promise. Just a few kids I got to know working at Riverfront.”
“Was Boston there?” The question lands extra sharp.
Skye’s eyes flicker to me for a second, her lips forming a thin line.
I’m on the edge of my seat. Archer knows she and I work together, that we see each other at least twice a week—more if our friends crave AJ’s on a night I’m working.
I don’t need verbal confirmation that Archer hates my guts.
I can tell by the look on his face when he spots me—like he drank straight vinegar.
Apparently, Skye comes to the exact same realization. “No.” But I hear the wobble in her voice. She’s such a bad liar. Always was.
“Skye!” Just her name. Like a warning.
I’m beginning to sweat with how hot it is in my car. Or maybe it’s just the rising temperature of my blood. For a millisecond, I want to grab her phone and let him know she’s lying. That she’s with me.
Because he left her.
And I showed up.
But I know how narcissists work. I know that my involvement would make things exponentially worse for Skye. So, I just throttle the steering wheel and clamp my mouth shut.
“Why are you picking a fight, Arch?” She looks and sounds so much younger than just two minutes ago. I hate it. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just trying to pass the time as best I can, okay?”
There’s a long moment of silence. I hope to God he’s getting a grip on himself, because I need to get a grip on myself.
Finally, “Sorry, baby,” he says with much less heat in his voice. “I worry about you. I want to protect you.”
Bullshit.
“I know that,” she says, so sweet and earnest that I want to throw the car in park, launch her phone out the window, and pull her into my arms. “Well, because I know you won’t have reception again once you get back to the campsite, you should know I’m going to spend tonight at Lily’s.
And my parents are coming home tomorrow.
I’m working tomorrow and Tuesday,” she says, rattling off her schedule for the next few days like she’s delivering a status report.
“And then I’ll be home,” he says.
She nods. “And then you’ll be home.”
“Alright, baby, I have to let you go,” Archer says. “I’ll call you as soon as I have reception again.”
“Okay.”
“Please don’t go hanging out in sketchy places again, baby.”
Sketchy my ass.
“Okay,” she repeats, then returns his enthusiastic I love you with a noticeably less excited-sounding love you, too.
I stare at the stretch of road ahead of us.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” she says quietly.
My grip on the steering wheel loosens. “For what? You didn’t do anything.”
She nods, lips tight.
“Does he always talk to you like that?” I ask as gently as I can. Last thing she needs is another asshole barking at her. And Archer treating her like garbage is hardly her doing.
“No,” she says a little too quickly for my liking.
“Does he hurt you?” I ask, even quieter, hoping she’ll say no… and mean it.
Her eyes widen. “No.”
I turn my head, studying her for as long as is reasonable while driving. I want to believe her so badly. “He tracks you.”
“He’s just worried about me.”
She sounds exactly like my mom when she’d tell me Eddie was just having a rough day.
I just make a sound, something akin to a grunt.
“He installed the app when I left for college,” she volunteers. “We’re in different states, Boss. He just—”
“Worries about you.”
She nods.
“Skye—”
“I know. You don’t like how he treats me,” she snaps, making air quotes.
“That’s not—I mean, yeah, but—”
“But let’s be honest, Boston.” She swallows, her eyes suddenly a stormy ocean. “You were gone.”
I flinch, the words like a shove to the chest.
“For two years. You don’t know the first thing about my relationship.”
I open my mouth. Then close it again.
She turns back to the passenger window with a quiet sigh. “Just take me home, Boss. Please.”
The rest of the drive passes in silence. There’s nothing to say.
She’s right.
I was gone.
And no matter how much I hate what I see now, I wasn’t here to see how it got this way.
Or stop it.