Page 74 of A Million To Fall

“The Riverfront Sports Complex. Stillwater, Minnesota. Are you going to ask me about the color of my underwear next?”

Boston opens his mouth, then closes it again. This time, his lips do turn up.

“I really am alright. Just need to sit for a moment.”

He nods, motions for the kids to make some room, then helps me up slowly.

“For your information, they’re lilac,” I say for I don’t know what reason as Boston maneuvers me over to the foldout chair Valentina procured. Yeah, maybe a concussion.

Something dark flickers behind his eyes before disappearing just as quickly. “That’s good to know,” he says, voice fraying. He clears his throat. “But I still don’t think you should drive yourself home. I’d feel a lot better if you got a ride.”

The concern in his voice feels almost embarrassingly comforting. “My parents are tied up,” I say feebly.

He nods, his eyes drifting to the floor. “How about… Archer?”

I blink. “Oh.”

It honestly hadn’t occurred to me to call him. He’s golfing, which usually means he doesn’t answer my calls. Learned that a long time ago. Golf time is Archer time.

“I… I can try.”

I pull out my phone—squinting at the harsh brightness of the screen—and dial Archer’s number. It rings. And rings. Just when I’m readying myself to leave a message I’m sure he won’t get until hours later, he picks up.

“Hey, baby,” he says, decidedly distracted. I hear male voices somewhere in the background. “Everything okay?”

“Uh…” I glance at Boston. “I kinda got hit in the head with a soccer ball.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“What?”

“At Riverfront,” I clarify quickly. “I’m okay, though. Mostly. I just got knocked down for a second.”

“For a second?” Boston repeats beside me.

I shoot him a look.

“You good, though? You’re not, like, bleeding or throwing up, right?” Archer confirms, then punctuates his question with a barking laugh that probably—hopefully—wasn’t meant for me.

“I’m okay,” I say. Out of my periphery, I see Boston cross his arms over his chest.

“Good. That’s good. Maybe lie down a little when you get home,” Archer suggests.

“I was wondering if you could come pick me up,” I say reluctantly.

“Oh, baby, we just got to the back nine. Jake’s on a roll here,” Archer says. “You really feeling that bad?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to interrupt your game. I could maybe see if Lily—”

“Yeah, call Lily,” he says enthusiastically. “And I’ll come over this evening and take good care of you. Bring you some food, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight,” I say, avoiding eye contact with Boston, whose gaze I can practically feel boring into my pounding head.

“I love you, Skye. Take some aspirin. Lie down. And I’ll see you later.”

I lower the phone slowly, hyper-aware of Boston standing right there.

“He’s not coming?” Boston asks, his voice calm enough to almost hide the tension underneath it.