The Land of Rabbits (Long Shot Love Duet #1) (18 page)

He retreats slowly, whispering, “beautiful.”

I reply with a smile and, “you’re irresistible.”

“Get your ass in the tent and take off those wet clothes. I’ve got a dry shirt you can put on.”

“Some of the stuff in my bag might still be dry.”

We crawl inside and I dump the contents—clothing, simple foods like fruit and granola, and some bath items.

“Wallet?” he asks.

“In my back pocket.”

“Good. I keep my money in my pocket during the day and in my sock when I sleep, don’t leave it out. It can disappear if it’s not on your body. Always know where it is. If you plan on staying out here for nay length of time, you can store some of this stuff at one of the lockers at the homeless shelter. Most people down here watch each other’s sites during the day, but anything can happen in the dark. My pillow was stolen the night we picked up Dylan.”

“Your sleeping bag too?”

“No, that’s still here.”

“Why only the pillow?”

“People take what they need, not what they already have.”

I zip the tent, slip off my sneakers, and undress, rolling my wet clothing into a ball and tossing it into the corner.

“It’ll get moldy,” he says, unrolling the ball and spreading each piece out. “There’s a laundry room at the shelter, in case you need it. I use it once a week, but there’s always a long line, like the showers. You have to get there early... here, this shirt’s dry. Forget the bra. You don’t need it.”

“Excuse me?” I yank the shirt over my head, frowning at my flat chest.

“I meant that it’s getting late, no need to put it on if you’re gonna take it off in a couple hours to sleep.”

“Oh.”

“Give me a sec.” He opens the tent and disappears into his own, coming back a minute later in dry clothes and an object in his hand. “Do you have protection?”

“I told you I was on the pill.”

He finds my comment humorous, placing a switchblade between us. “No, to defend yourself. I’m not
always
thinking about sex... except... okay, maybe I am.” He looks down at my cross-legged, no pants, no underwear, pose. “Fuck, that’s a sweet view.”

“Oops.” I laugh, closing my legs with a quick turn. “Sorry about that. I’m a lot more comfortable around you now that you’ve seen it.”

“And I could see it a thousand more times and still get turned on. At my age, my dick’s hard 24/7.”

“Knock, knock, cocksucker.” Dylan’s voice sounds from outside of Quinn’s tent.

“Damn it, he’s not supposed to be here for another hour.” He hands me a pair of underwear, leaving the tent while I search for my driest jeans.

“What the fuck’s this? You got yourself a two-room pleasure palace? Let me guess, you sleep in that one, and shit in that one.”

“My girl’s in there.”

“Aha, so that’s where you get a piece of ass. You got a big heart-shaped bed in there too?”

“It’s
her
tent, not mine.”

“Are you fucking with me? Is she mental? Like, more messed up than us?”

“I can’t stop her. And to be honest, I don’t know if I want to. She might need this. Hell, I might need this.”

“That’s so wrong, bro. You can’t date a woman who has a mind of her own. That’ll end in trouble.”

“Screw you, it’s nice to have someone that cares, ya know?”

I peek out, seeing him grimace in total disagreement with the set-up.

“So you did this today? Came down here and built your little home next to his.”

I nod.

“Is that why your hair’s all fucked up? Cuz you didn’t shower today? You pretending to be homeless?”

“She looks fine. Stop being a punk. We’ll shower at the shelter tomorrow.”

“I don’t get it.” He looks at me. “Trent said you’re loaded. He said your family freaked when you took off in the rust bucket he was driving. Are they coming down to bring you food, maybe a pizza and pop? You think this is a KOA with campfires and smores—”

“You’re a dick,” I cut him off.

“Is that right? Quinn told me the other night that you’re going to college in the fall. That’s exactly why his last girl dumped him. She took off to get smart. Wouldn’t touch his cock anymore if he wasn’t heading off to school. So you gonna dump him at the end of the summer? Treat him like a piece of shit, like she did?”

Quinn steps between us, joining the argument. “That’s not what happened, asshole. I’m the one who told her not to look back.” His tone rises in anger.

“Oh come on, buddy. Don’t get offended. I’m just fucking around. Since when are you so sensitive?”

“Don’t even think about embarrassing me or you’ll get a fist in your face.”

“I can talk to her. What the hell’s wrong with having a conversation?”

I step out onto the muddy ground and move past Quinn, looking to put Dylan in his place. “Don’t fuck with me. Don’t say a bunch of crap you know nothing about, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll... you’ll be...” My mom’s voice is clear in my head, stifling my words.

I thought of you once as an angel... truthful and devoted. But you were born with sinister hands, so evil that you crushed your own wings. And now, my little angel will never fly.

A flash of her body on that hard slab under the fluorescent lights, the cord mark around her neck, the stink of chemicals, her cold hand—

“Adlyn?” Quinn brings me back.

“It’ll be bad. That’s all.”

“Whatever.” Dylan chuckles. “Nice comeback. Hey... can I sit in your tent, bro? I’m tired of being out in the rain.” He gets inside without waiting for a response, changing his tune to scare tactics. “The cops are gonna be here looking for her. You’ll probably get arrested for kidnapping, or brainwashing, or some weird shit like that. Who’s gonna believe a rich chick showed up here to live with a homeless guy? They’ll say you drugged her. Better get your head on straight and stop thinking with your dick. Take her home.”

“That’s enough. Don’t worry about my life,” Quinn groans.

“Don’t worry about what?” He’s completely offended. “Tell me why I just spent three long years in prison because—”

“Okay... okay. I just... I’ll kick your ass if you abuse her, so lay off.”

“I haven’t touched her.”

“Verbally, dumbass. I mean it. Lay off.”

“Fine.”

I crawl into my tent, continuing to unpack... hearing every word coming from Quinn’s tent as I get settled and they hang out.

“... post-release supervision. Two fucking years I’ll have home visits. And I have to pay for it. Do you believe that? It’s thirty bucks a month in fees. Plus I owe three grand in fines, and the fucker’s medical expenses. That’s another two. And for what? The asscock went to the hospital cuz I nailed his face with the handle of my blade? Pussy. And I got this curfew like I’m some nine-year-old kid.”

He sounds like one to me.

“A curfew. A fucking curfew, man. I gotta get a job. You have any cash to hold me over? I couldn’t find a dime at Dad’s.”

My mom’s last words...
my little angel will never fly...
she said that outside my bedroom door before she left for her jog. I heard her whisper it, like she knew I was listening. It was torture to hear. She was sweet sometimes, but such a hardass when it came to punishments. And I knew there’d be more when she got back. Nothing physical, just bitchy phrases uttered in my presence.

They wore on me.

I broke her trust. The time before that I had lied about taking summer classes. I wanted to stay in my friend’s apartment across from campus and hang out, enjoy life during the summer before I couldn’t anymore, before college slipped through my fingers, before graduation came too quickly, and before I’d be tied to a job for the next five decades. Only my mom dragged my ass home after she couldn’t find any charges for the summer session subtracted from her account. She thought I was in the dorms... another lie. It was a devious plan. I should’ve taken the classes instead of being such a jerk to her. The next morning, she had me filling out applications and within two days I had a full-time job. My first summer of college was over before it even began. I hated her so much and now I feel guilty about everything I put her through.

“If I’m staying at Dad’s, his place can get searched without a warrant. Bullshit. It’s all bullshit. I told Trent not to bring over any pot or his gun. Man, I thought serving three years was my sentence, not all this other stuff. I feel like I’m still in prison—all this for protecting my baby brother.”

I sigh, hoping Dylan hears. He’s laying the guilt trip on Quinn. It sucks.

“No one’s gonna check on me at the house tonight. Not the first weekend I’m free. Let me crash until the rain stops. I don’t wanna walk home ‘til it clears.”

“If your parole officer does show up, you’re screwed!” I holler.

“Shut your ears over there!”

I take the whiskey I brought down, an apple, and the bag Quinn dropped in front of my tent, and tap his door flap to be let inside.

“I’m only trying to help,” I say, seeing Dylan out of his wet clothes and stripped down to his boxers.

“Why the fuck aren’t you afraid of me? No woman has ever given me lip before. None of ‘em.”

I shrug and take a drink, passing Quinn the bottle.

“Are you playing games? Trying to act tough so I don’t catch on?”

“Catch on to what?”

“Catch on that you’re afraid of me!”

I shake my head, taking the bottle back for a second shot. “I’m not afraid. You’re a protector. The type of guy who’s an immature asswipe, but who’d sacrifice himself for his family and friends. That’s obvious from your prison time. And since I’m with Quinn, there’s no reason to be afraid of you. If you hurt me, he’ll break your face. Though you wouldn’t, because harming me would harm him. Right?”

Quinn smiles with flushed cheeks and a steady gaze between the two of us.

“Dude, where’d you meet her?”

“Afterglow. And you just got a nice taste of my attraction. She’s tough. I don’t want to be with a helpless whiner. And she’s the first girl I’ve met who isn’t turned off by the way I live.” He opens his bag, removing a box of bandages, a package of rolls, some celery sticks, and a bunch of overripe bananas. “I know you’ve questioned the way your mom controlled your life,” he says. “But damn, you should be thankful. She sure did turn you into a strong ass woman.”

“Thanks,” I say, feeling my face blooming red.

Dylan points at Quinn’s food, interrupting his kind words. “You’ve got money, why don’t you buy a burger instead of eating stuff that’s been chucked? I can’t believe I’m sitting here watching you make a banana celery sandwich.”

“I
had
money. I’m down to fifty now that I helped you out, and I don’t like spending my hard earned cash on food when I can get it for free.” He peels the banana and puts it in the roll. “Don’t you remember eating peanut butter banana sandwiches all the time when we were kids?”

“You can’t compare celery to peanut butter.”

“But I
can
compare food to food. And I’m grateful for it. Think of it as lettuce and stop bitchin’ about every single goddamn thing.”

“And what about you? What are you gonna do down here? Clean the house? Lay around without a bra? Watch your soaps? Do laundry? Make dinner while your husband works all day?”

“Ha-ha,” I say with a hint of scorn, tugging my shirt away from my chest, uneasy about being braless. “I’m getting up early and going to Tivoli Park to see if I can get picked for a job.”

Quinn leans in, about to take a bite, but drops his sandwich when my words register. His mouth remains open as he stares.

“What?” he says. “Hell no. Absolutely not. Those aren’t men you should be around.”

“Oh, and your brother is?”

“He’s not either. I’m sorry we’re both stuck with him.”

“Screw you,” Dylan protests.

“Aren’t there any women who show up there?”

“Of course, but...” He gives me the once-over then tightens his lips, picking up his sandwich from the tent floor.

A lightning strike with a loud thunder crack causes the three of us to jump. The pattering of rain on the tent changes to a hard pound as it starts to pour.

“Is your tent zipped?” His voice rises over the intensity of the heavy rainfall.

I nod. “But what? What were you going to say?”

“It’s like a cattle auction, that’s what. The biggest, healthiest looking men are picked first. They get the best jobs. For women, it’s more about good looks, not size. You’d be their first pick for a cleaning job. Whether it’s cleaning houses, offices, or job sites. You’ve got a gorgeous face and a sweet body that separates you from the rest.”

“So?”

“So a new girl showing up will get her ass kicked by the other women, especially a young white girl. You’re taking their work, money, and food away. Your face will be in the dirt before you have a chance to run.” He closes the roll and smooshes the sandwich together. “Trent and I both got busted lips last year... I’ve learned to stand off to the side and wait my turn... there’s an order. If you’re looking for work, a
legal
job, then meet me at the shelter tomorrow at four. I’m stopping there on my way home to get a mailbox. Once I have an address I can apply for something legit.”

“I don’t know,” I argue.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“How about the other women down here. What do they do?”

“Nothing you want to experience. The ones without jobs either whore themselves out or don’t do anything.” He exhales. “Look, enthusiasm’s good to have on the streets, I’m not trying to take that away from you, but you have to understand the pecking order. You’re not heading over to the park. Period. This is about safety
and
respect. Being down here is dangerous enough without seeking it out or having people hunt you down over a day’s pay.”

“I get it.” I give in, opening the box of bandages while nodding toward his leg. “Does it hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.” He slides off his jeans, revealing red, swollen skin around the wound. “Dylan used to stitch the deep ones for me when we were kids. This isn’t that bad.”

“Fuck, I forgot Dad cut you again. I thought he stopped doing that years ago.”

“He did... but he won’t again. I can guarantee you that.”