Page 123 of A Million To Fall

Archer isn’t on his phone. He’s on mine. Reading the message Boston sent me last night—after Archer dropped me off—the one I left on read.

Archer laughs, but there’s nothing funny about the sound.

“‘Hope you’re okay,’” he mocks. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I shrug. Archer’s thumb keeps swiping over my screen, clearly reading through the messages between Boston and me over the last couple of months.

His jaw flexes. “Why didn’t you mention that you’ve been texting Boston?”

My pulse starts to race.

Because the answer is embarrassingly simple.

I didn’t think I needed permission.

“He’s my friend, Arch.”

“No,” he growls, his gaze icy as it locks on mine. “Lily’s your friend.”

I frown. “So is Boston.” The words hang in the darkness.

Archer is rigid next to me. Not calm.

Worse.

“Your friend.”

“Yes.” The word comes out meek, shaky, like my voice is setting me up.

His eyes flick back to my phone, finger scrolling up, then down, then up again, apparently reading and rereading the same message thread.

My stomach twists.

“Nothing’s going on,” I say, already defending myself before he’s even lodged the accusation.

Archer stares at me, his thumb hovering over the screen.

“Do you think I’m stupid, Skye?”

“No.”

“Do you think I don’t see what’s happening?”

I push myself up on one elbow. “There’s nothing happening.”

Archer’s laugh is sharp and ugly. “Bullshit.”

He tosses my phone onto the mattress, his attention laser-focused on me. “You defend him every chance you get.”

Yeah, because Archer’s judging Boston unfairly.

“Archer—”

“Are you fucking him?”

I huff an incredulous laugh. “No, of course n—”

Archer shifts suddenly, rolling on top of me, his weight pinning me to the mattress. “Don’t lie to me, Skye,” he growls, quiet but deadly, that vein in his forehead pulsing like it might burst.