The Land of Rabbits: Long Shot Love Duet (Book One)

by Aven Jayce

  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 says.

  “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 lightnin
g 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.”

  He positions a large bandage over the area, carefully smoothing it out before taking another bite of his sandwich.

  This is all so unexpected.

  “I never would’ve thought I’d be sitting in a tent, in the middle of a rainstorm, with two men in their boxers, drinking whiskey and talking about getting beat up for wanting to get a job.”

  Quinn laughs, but Dylan acts bothered every time I speak. It’s obvious he’s suspicious of me... he doesn’t think I should be with his brother.

  “Do you doubt yourself or any of this, Little Miss Picture-Perfect?”

  I give him the finger and take a big swig of whiskey.

  “I’m serious. Got any worries about living out here with the rest of the rats?”

  “I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t.”

  “Tell me,” Quinn asks tenderly. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

  I turn away for a moment—watching drops of water invade the corner of the tent, plopping down onto one of Quinn’s shirts. I move it away from the spot and push the roof of the tent, dispersing the pool that’s formed.

  After listening to the rain and pondering the situation, I take two bites of my apple and pass it to Quinn before giving them a vague answer...

  “My mom often quoted the bible when she was mad at me. If she were here, she’d be lecturing us about eating the forbidden fruit.”

  He stops halfway through his bite, making eye contact for a moment, then finishes sinking his teeth into the apple.

  “My self-doubt got stuck in a murder scene last year and never checked out.” I take another gulp of whiskey and offer some to Dylan, who immediately starts to chug a good amount down. “Most of my reservations are trapped back there, with my mom, in that time... solely because there’ve been no answers. I’d say my emotions now have more to do with disorder and bewilderment, than doubt... if that makes any sense. And just so you know, she thought not believing in yourself was a weakness. That’s ingrained in my head.”

  Dylan cracks up and hands the bottle back. “You have no idea how fucking vulnerable you are... and you’re also so full of shit. I don’t believe a word you just said.”

  I swirl the bottle, scrunching my nose at the amount he drank.

  “Quinn, something’s gonna happen to this chick and the cops are gonna come for you. She’s too confident to be on the streets. She has to have some fears to survive.”

  “I’ll watch over her.” He wipes the crumbs from his hands and takes another drink, rubbing his mouth with his fingers when he’s done.

  “She’s a fool. A sitting duck.”

  “No, I’m not. I said I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t have any worries about being here. I chose to talk about my mom instead. Deal with it.”

  “But I’m still waiting to hear.” Quinn leans back on his elbows and stretches his legs next to mine.

  “Later,” I say softly, not wanting to say too much in front of his brother.

  I no longer hear heavy drops above my head or distant thunder. The tent brightens as the rain slows and the skies start to clear. I smile at Quinn as he strokes his stubble, preoccupied with his own thoughts. He gazes at his brother then back at me while we sit in silence.

  “You know what?” he says, opening the humid tent to let in some cooler air. “I think we’re fucking happy. Every damn one of us. Come on, beautiful.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s go relax in front of the TV at your place.”

  I take his hand with a smile, stepping into a light drizzle as Dylan teasingly whines, “Wait, you’re leaving me? For pussy? Again?”

  I inhale the fresh scent of the rain before opening my tent, checking to see if it stayed dry.

  “Stop by tomorrow night. Tell me how the job search went.”

  “I think I’ll hang here for a while. Trent said he’s coming down. He’s been looking for a new spot since the cops won’t stop harassing him at the park.”

  “Why doesn’t he stay at his cousin’s?”

  “She’s got a new guy who’s always over.”

  “Okay... as long as you don’t bother me, it’s cool.”

  “You mean don’t listen to you fuck?”

  I hear a smack then a boisterous laugh from Dylan... I’m pretty sure Quinn hit him.

  “Thanks for the cash, bro.”

  “No problem,” Quinn says, creeping inside my tent, moving toward me on all fours. He brushes his nose along my cheek until his full lips capture my mouth for a long, slow kiss. “I was getting hard when we were in my tent,” he whispers, tracing the outline of my face as he speaks.

  I touch his stiff dick through his thin cotton boxers, starting a chain reaction... a heavy breath, a sudden nip of my neck, and a hand under my shirt for a gentle caress of my breasts.

  “If my brother wasn’t four feet away, I’d fuck you.”

  “I can hear you!” Dylan pokes fun.

  “Go for a walk!” Quinn yells.

  “Ahh, Trent’s here.”

  He rests his palm along my jawline, devoting another passionate kiss before slowly backing away with a grin.

  “You made my day again.”

  My legs are pulled around his waist and we sit and talk, making plans as Dylan helps Trent pick a spot to crash for the night.

  “Did you bring a blanket?”

  “A small one. It’s a bit wet, but might dry by the time I go to sleep.”

  “If not, you can use my sleeping bag... what about water?”

  “Yep, and toilet paper, my birth control pills, a flashlight, the basics. And I brought pepper spray, but thanks for the knife.”

  “You bet... I just hope you never have to use it. Keep it hidden, like your cash
. You don’t want the cops to ever see you carrying a weapon.”

  “Got it.”

  “Adlyn...” He lowers his head with a hard swallow.

  “You can call me Addie. It’s what my mom called me.”

  He nods, biting his top lip.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m just worried about you... about a lot of shit. I’m falling for an innocent girl who shouldn’t be out in this camp.”

  “Quinn, I—”

  “I don’t want to fuck this up. I don’t want Dylan to fuck it up, or Trent, or my Dad, either. Why don’t you walk into the city tomorrow morning with me, instead of staying down here? Maybe hang out at the library until I get off work...” He sighs. “I just wish I had more so I could get out of here.”

  “Well, what do I have? You’re looking at this as being one-sided. We’re equal now.”

  He shakes his head, hesitant to accept that’s the truth.

  “I didn’t come here because I want more, I did it because I want less. I hope you understand that.”

  “I do,” he says, massaging my lower legs, moving his hand slowly along my body. He guides me to lie back, taking off my jeans to stroke my bare legs. My mind’s soothed by his touch while our whispered conversation continues.

  “Who’s the guy that walks around in his underwear?”

  “Joshua? He’s pretty cool. He told me he has a Ph.D. in religious studies.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Not everyone’s homeless because they’re uneducated or broke. He’s the type who wants to be here. He said homes force limits on their owners. You have to stay within a boundary, like you’re in captivity.”

  “That’s sorta how I was feeling... guilty too.”

  “He’s one of the smartest men I’ve ever met, and fun to talk to. He has some cool stories from when he was a professor.”

  “And Connie? She seems okay.”

  “Somewhat okay. She heads out at night and works the streets in exchange for whatever drug she can get her hands on. I thought she’d be dead when I got back. She’s the reason I was reading that drug addiction book—I thought I could help her.”

  “You’re awesome,” I say in a hushed tone, watching his face fade with the dwindling sun. He inches on top of me, kissing my neck and ears, sliding his body quietly over mine—our underwear rubs, our hands delicately touch each other’s hair, and my lips are cherished with the most affectionate kisses... God, I love how connected I feel to him... an intimacy I’ve never experienced before.