51. Chapter 51 #6
“There’s no point fighting this Skye,” Jake says. “Archer’s dad made sure everyone’s stories were straight. And Officer Reed? He was handpicked. The reality is that Archer has all the power behind him. Boss has nothing.”
“Story of my life,” Boston mutters.
“Yeah,” Jake agrees ruefully. “You know Mr. Longfellow wasn’t even shocked by what my mom did? He didn’t even flinch. Wealthy people paying for sex. Infidelity. Girls’ nights. It’s all just part of the game.”
“That’s bullshit,” I snap. “So everyone just gets to keep on keeping on, but what about Boss?” I ask like Jake has the power to change things. “He might not even be able to work for weeks. How’s he supposed to support himself? And his siblings?”
Boston squeezes my hand. “I’ll figure it out, Stormy. I always do.”
“You shouldn’t have to figure anything out. This wasn’t your fault,” I argue, voice tight.
Jake hesitates. “Archer’s dad mentioned something about covering Boss’s medical bills. Like a… gesture.”
“Hush money,” Boston says, stony-faced.
Jake nods. “Pretty much.”
A fresh wave of outrage begins to crest in my chest, but Boston just shrugs. “I’ll take it,” he says. “Trust me, I have no desire to publicize any of this. Not if it risks Cassie and Bronx.” His gaze drops to our hands. “They’re all I have.”
The room goes quiet, silence stretching heavy and thick.
“You have us,” I say, voice cracking.
His eyes lift to mine. I look at him—at the exhaustion carved into his features, the bruises, the shame he’s still wearing like a second skin.
“You have me,” I add, soft but steady.
His brows dip like he doesn’t understand. Or maybe he doesn’t trust me. Guess I can’t blame him.
“After everything,” I say. “After all of this… I’m here. And I—”
I swallow.
“I’m not saying this because I feel bad for you. Or because I think you need saving.”
My eyes lock on his. And hold.
“I’m saying it because I should’ve never been anywhere but here. With you.”
I feel rather than see him flinch, his eyes flitting between mine as if trying to read me.
“You think you’re not worthy of me, but you were the one person who never saw me for anything but me. Even the messy, chaotic, emotional, sometimes irrational parts of me. The parts I tried to suppress and minimize. Usually for someone else’s benefit. The parts I tried and failed to shake.”
I scoot to the very edge of my seat, my other hand wrapping around our already-conjoined hands. “You accepted. You… loved them.” My throat tightens.
“I still do,” he chokes out.
I nod, desperately trying to maintain an ounce of composure. “Yeah?” I squeak.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice just as pitchy as mine.
“Yeah, well, the one thing I’ve never been able to shake, no matter how hard I tried”— my voice breaks, but I rally—“is you.”
His breath comes shallow and shaky.
“I love you, Boston.”
He doesn’t move or respond. He just stares at me as if trying to decide if he heard right.
“Say that again,” he finally whispers.
My heart stumbles.
“I love you,” I repeat, the words settling in my bones. I’ve said them to him before, but they never felt this… real. This solid. This life changing.
His gray eyes bore into mine, deep enough to reach the very edge of my soul.
“I love you, too, Skye,” he says, his voice quiet but steady. “I always have. Always.”
Before I overthink it—before I can overanalyze or second-guess myself or ruin the moment— I shift from my chair to the edge of Boston’s bed.
I lean in carefully—mindful of his IV, his shoulder, and every bump and bruise from last night—and gently slide my hand to his jaw, still giving him every chance to pull away if he wants to.
But he doesn’t.
Not even a little.
Instead, his hand glides to the back of my neck and pulls me in.
Our lips meet.
Soft.
Tentative at first, like we’re afraid to break each other again.
I sigh at the feel of his mouth on mine. The sound must spark something in him because Boston deepens the kiss, not greedy or careless, but sure. Like he’s certain of his moment.
Certain of us.
Like he’s done holding back. Done pretending this right here isn’t everything either of us has wanted. Needed.
All I know is him.
The warmth of his mouth, the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the way his thumb brushes against my skin like he needs to feel me to believe I’m real.
And for a moment, I don’t know where I end and Boston begins.
Maybe I never did.
Maybe it’s always been like this.
Too tangled.
Too close.
Too much.
And still not nearly enough.
A choked, completely unhinged sob splinters the moment.
“Oh my god.” Jake’s voice comes from somewhere behind me. “I can’t handle this sappy bullshit right now.”
I pull away from Boston just enough to glance over my shoulder.
Boston’s gaze follows mine to Jake. “Are you… crying?”
“Nope,” Jake lies, wiping at his eyes, then swatting a hand at us like he needs us to rein it in.
I giggle.
“Yeah, okay, maybe,” Jake mutters. “But, man, I just watched my best friend get shot, and now I’m over here all emotional because you two finally got your shit together. Fucking stupid.”
Boston huffs a weak laugh.
I roll my eyes, but don’t stop smiling. “Better get used to seeing us like this.” My gaze settles back on Boston. “Because I’m not stopping.”