32. Chapter 32
thirty-two
Skye
Dinner wasn’t originally supposed to be this big. Archer told me on the drive over to the Davises that sometime between tracking deer and cooking breakfast on their camping stoves, Mr. Longfellow and Mr. Davis shifted conversations from hunting to legal strategy.
My dad’s firm has been handling a lot of the Longfellow estate’s compliance work lately. When Mr. Davis heard Mr. Longfellow gush about my dad’s legal prowess, Mr. Davis decided they should all have dinner before he leaves for Denver this Friday.
Archer, Jake, and their dads made it back to town only six hours ago, but here we are: Jake’s family. Archer and his dad. My parents.
Three households braided together by business, campaign donations, and long-standing favors.
I don’t say much. Not that I couldn’t chime in—I’ve heard my dad talk about business structuring since I was born—but more because there isn’t really space here for me. I’m just kind of an accessory. A bridge between families.
So instead of listening to my dad’s spiel about tax exposure and liability shielding—yawn—I just keep trying to figure out which version of me is sitting at that table.
The good girlfriend? The perfect future daughter-in-law?
The girl who can’t stop thinking about someone she shouldn’t, questioning things she never questioned before?
I haven’t seen Boston since he dropped me off at home Sunday afternoon, feeling like too much of an ass to even show my face at Riverfront.
I snapped at him, held his disappearance against him, made him feel like crap only because I was embarrassed.
I still am. About… everything.
But it’s not just embarrassment.
I thought I could keep it all compartmentalized. Keep the questions in one box and the answers in another. Keep the life I’d always planned for separate from the one I suddenly can’t stop imagining.
But that’s getting harder by the day. Especially after this last weekend, and everything Cassie said. I feel it all… shifting. Changing. Reprioritizing.
And it’s all so unsettling.
Now, I’m standing politely in the foyer while we say our goodbyes to Jake’s parents. Archer’s arm is wrapped around my waist, his thumb stroking lazily at my hip.
“Dan, if you could prepare the initial paperwork and send it over, I can review everything while I’m gone,” Mr. Davis says, clapping my dad’s shoulder.
He nods. “I’ll get it drafted and over to you by next week.”
“Great. Let’s plan to have dinner when I’m back.” Mr. Davis looks from my dad to Mr. Longfellow. “I’ll have Lexi here make her delicious venison ragu.” He shakes Orson Longfellow’s hand.
“Alright, that sounds like something to look forward to,” Mr. Longfellow booms, his voice a slightly more authoritative version of Archer’s.
“Hopefully next time your wife can join,” Mrs. Davis says with a girlish giggle.
Archer’s mom has been spending the week with Archer’s brother, Wilder, the oldest of the four Longfellow boys. Archer, Mr. Longfellow, and I are set to join them in New York on Friday.
“I’m sure of it, Lex,” Mr. Longfellow chuckles. “Although, I have no doubt you two will be connecting before then.”
I glance toward the front of the house as the front door creaks open. Mrs. Davis's response gets swallowed by the sound of my heartbeat thrumming in my ears.
Boston steps inside, fresh from work, his dark hair mussed.
Like he can sense me, his head turns. His eyes find mine instantly.
Something inside me uncoils. And Archer’s arm feels heavier than it did a second ago.
“Boss,” Jake calls, always so happy to see his best friend. The conversation around us comes to a stop.
“Hey,” Boston says, a soft smile on his lips. “How was hunting?”
“Fuck, it was great. Shot myself a beautiful red fox,” Jake says. “Let me just change really quick and then we can head out to meet Pace and Jon,” he adds and disappears down the hall into his room.
I wonder if he and Boston actually have plans tonight, or if Jake just made something up on the fly to give Boston a reason for being here.
Boston nods appreciatively, then looks around at each of us. Our eyes connect, linger.
It hits me. I’ve missed him. It’s only been three days. But I’ve missed him.
Next to me, Archer shifts.
My mom interrupts the moment, her face bright. “Oh my goodness, Boston!”
She steps forward and wraps him into a tight hug.
He smiles, hugging her back. “Hi, Mrs. Monroe.”
My mom releases him, studying his face. “Look at you! Oh, it’s so good to see you. Skye told us you were back.” She sounds emotional. “We’re all so glad to have you home. Skye was so worried about you.” She glances at me fondly.
Archer’s fingertips press into my hips.
“Yeah, it’s good to be back,” Boston says just as my dad steps in.
“How you doing, son?”
“Really good, sir. Keeping busy.”
My dad gives him an approving nod. “Glad to hear that. You look great.” My eyes widen when my dad reaches out and squeezes Boston’s bicep. “You work out a lot?”
“Uh, just here and there,” Boston mutters.
“Huh, great genes, then.” My dad chuckles. “What are you up to these days? College?”
Boston’s expression falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “No. Just working right now.”
“Boston can be found all over town,” Archer says smoothly. “Gym. The rec center. AJ’s.”
He says it like he’s merely providing information.
I know better.
My head snaps to him, brows furrowed at Archer’s casual cruelty. As if Boston’s situation was something he had control over.
“Nothing wrong with that, Boston,” my dad says, giving Boston a pat on the arm.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Mr. Longfellow says, reaching a hand out to Boston.
He takes it. “I’m Boston. Boston Rawlings.”
Mr. Longfellow’s eyes narrow. “Rawlings?”
His gaze lingers on Boston. I know exactly what’s happening.
“Huh.” Mr. Longfellow lets go of Boston and turns his attention to Archer. “Well, we should head out. I have an eight-thirty hearing before Judge Dupuis. Gotta look sharp. Lexi, Rick, thank you for having us tonight.”
“Come on, baby, I’m itching to get you alone already,” Archer says too loud, already nudging me toward the door.
Heat crawls up my neck.
“You better consider putting a ring on my daughter’s hand soon with the way you’re talking, young man,” my dad says, no doubt only half-joking.
My parents have told me more times than I can count that they think Archer and I “are a match made in heaven.” Why wouldn’t they, considering how beneficial this relationship has been for everyone involved.
Archer beams like he just won himself the biggest prize. I, on the other hand, swallow hard. Because Boston heard that.
Something behind his gray eyes goes dark.
Jake reappears, keys in hand. “You ready, Boss?”
Boston nods. “It’s good seeing you all,” he says to no one in particular. Then his eyes find mine again. “Glad you’re not alone tonight.”
He doesn’t sound “glad” at all.
Boston doesn’t wait for a response. He just turns and follows Jake out the door.
And I’m left standing there, still next to Archer, suddenly very aware of who stayed… and who walked away.
“So, this Boston Rawlings kid…” Mr. Longfellow starts as we wait for the gate to their seemingly miles-long driveway to open. Why someone needs a gate to a home located in an already-gated community is beyond me. A fortress inside a fortress.
Archer groans from the passenger seat. “Don’t get me started, Dad.”
“Any relation to that woman who was arrested during that raid in Oak Park? Charged with possession and then prostitution?” Mr. Longfellow continues while my stomach contorts itself into knots even a gymnast would be envious of.
“Yep,” Archer scoffs. “Boston’s her son.”
“Really.” Mr. Longfellow says it like he’s just made an interesting discovery. “He wasn’t around in March?”
“No.” Archer shrugs. “He vanished like two years ago when we were still in high school. And then he just came back. Not totally sure when.”
“You went to high school with him?”
“Uh-huh,” Archer chuffs.
“How come I never heard of him?”
“Uhh, probably because I didn’t hang with him. Not unless I was forced to.”
In the rearview mirror, Mr. Longfellow raises an inquisitive eyebrow.
“He and Jake are best friends,” I chime in from the backseat.
“Yeah, which makes no sense,” Archer cuts in. “I mean, Boston’s a total loser, always has been.”
I bristle. “Archer, that’s not true.”
His head snaps around so fast, I worry he’ll get whiplash. “The fuck you talking about Skye? The guy’s mom is a drug-addicted hooker. He—”
“Archer!” Mr. Longfellow’s voice cracks through the car like a whip. “First,” his dad says evenly, “you will not raise your voice at your girlfriend. Secondly, until a court of law proves otherwise, that woman is neither of those things. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Archer mutters.
“Good.” Mr. Longfellow exhales, smoothing his hand down his chest like the conversation is already behind him.
“Skye,” he continues, his tone lighter but still deliberate, “you obviously know this young man as well.”
I nod. “We grew up together. Went to school together until… he disappeared.” My voice falters, my throat dry. Only now that he’s back do I realize how large a piece was missing while he was gone.
“Your mom mentioned you were worried about him,” Mr. Longfellow reminds me.
“I was,” I admit readily. “I’m glad he’s okay."
For a moment, nobody speaks.
“You know, our names carry weight in this town,” Mr. Longfellow says, all practiced warmth. “Reputation matters. Best to be wise about the company you keep.”
His words float through the car before they settle in my chest like lead. I know exactly what he’s saying. Boston is risk. He’s bad for optics. A liability.
For a second, I feel the weight pressing in.
I could make this all go away right now. I could agree with Mr. Longfellow, distance myself from Boston, make my friendship with him small. Make him small.