Page 57 of A Million To Fall

“Seatbelts,” Boston calls automatically.

“We know,” Cassie says with the long-suffering exhaustion of a child who has definitely been told that a thousand times plus-minus three.

A woman with kind eyes and frizzy brown hair leans across the front seat. “Hey, Boston.”

“Hi, Mrs. Reed,” he greets her. “Is there anything you still need for Cassie’s birthday party?”

She waves him off. “No, no, we should be all set. You sure you won’t be able to join us?”

Boston shakes his head. “I have to work, but I promised Cassie a fancy ice cream cake when I see her here next week.”

And it hits me. Mindy Reed is Cassie and Bronx’s… guardian? Foster mom? They don’t live with Boston. They were probably taken when their mom was arrested, and even though Boston has been back in Stillwater since March, they’re not with him. Just like that, all the lightheartedness drains from me, too.

“I want cookies and cream,” Cassie announces, and hugs Boston. Hard.

Her little arms lock around his waist with enough force that Boston actually rocks back half a step. His hand cradles the back of her head automatically.

“Okay,” he says with a chuckle. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

“You better.”

Then Bronx hugs him too, quick and rough and boyish. “Later, Boss.”

“Later, New York City Borough.”

Boston shuts the van door once they’re buckled in, stepping back onto the curb while Mrs. Reed gives him a small wave before pulling away.

He watches the minivan until it disappears from the lot. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

I step beside him quietly, my clipboard tucked against my stomach.

“You really love them,” I say softly. It’s not a question. He’s always been absolutely in love with his little brother and sister. Maybe they offered him something he lost when his dad died. Or maybe that’s just how siblings love each other. I wouldn’t know.

Boston huffs out a small laugh through his nose, eyes still fixed on the road ahead. “Yeah.”

There’s so much packed into that one word it makes my chest ache.

I glance at him carefully. “Can I ask something?”

He finally looks over at me. “Sure.”

“Why can’t they stay with you?”

Boston’s expression shifts again, this time into something more guarded.

“Sorry, you obviously don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business, really,” I say quickly. I don’t want to interrogate him.

“No, it’s okay.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “I’m working on it. There’s just… a lot of stuff I gotta figure out first. And… paperwork.”

I just nod. I know nothing about what it takes to have kids live with me that aren’t my own, but I imagine it’s quite the process.

We start walking toward our cars side-by-side. The parking lot’s mostly empty now, the air heavy with late-afternoon heat.

“How often do you get to see them?” I ask.

“Every Sunday.” He nods back toward Riverfront. “And here.”

That makes me pause.