Page 51 of A Million To Fall

He scans me, probably for signs of intoxication. “You sure? You looked like you were passed out.”

I nod. “I was about to fall asleep. It’s been a long day.”

Jake huffs an uneasy laugh. “Uh, okay. If you’re too tired to make it home, I can drive you,” he says, still looking at me like he’s not totally convinced I’m not strung out.

I wave him off. “You don’t need to drive me anywhere, Jake.”

“Boss, it’s no problem,” he says. “I don’t need you getting into a wreck because you fell asleep behind the wheel. How much have you been working, man?”

“A lot.”

“Come on then, let me give you a ride. Give us a chance to catch up, too,” he says, motioning his head toward his Audi.

He’s always been an incredible friend. Even after everything went to shit—after my dad died and we had to leave our neighborhood, when I started showing up to school in the same hoodie several days in a row, when the rest of our friends rolled up in new cars while I took the bus—he never made me explain.

But this is different.

I know I won’t be able to dodge it forever. He’s going to find out someday—somehow, anyway. And maybe now’s as good a time as ever to just… say it.

“Jake… there’s nowhere for you to drive me to.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

I force myself to look at him. “I sleep in my car.”

For a moment, he just stands there. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “I… what?”

“I sleep here.” I nod at my car. “Every night.”

Jake looks like I’m speaking gibberish.

I shift my weight. “I’m homeless, Jake. Been homeless for a long time.”

With each word, I deflate a little more. I try so damn hard to keep that part of my life under wraps. People hear “homeless” and immediately make assumptions. Drug addict. Mental health issues. Lazy. They don’t get that it’s nearly impossible to work your way up when you start with nothing. And what I had when Eddie forced me out amounted to exactly that.

Nothing.

Jake takes a step back, eyes flicking between me and my car. “Since you left? Since you were… seventeen?” he says, like that can’t be right.

I nod.

He frowns.

A good five seconds of silence pass between us.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I had no idea.”

I shrug. “That’s kind of the point.”

“But… how?” That frown’s going nowhere. “Did… Did bad shit happen to you?”

“Define bad shit.” The past eleven years have been a series of “bad shit.”

“I don’t know…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I know your mom got arrested in March.”

My back stiffens. “How do you know that?”

“The news,” he says with a small shrug. “And Archer,” he adds sheepishly.