Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,70

skulls eye us up and down as they drive by—machetes, nail-filled baseball bats, and sawed-off shotguns at the ready.

They sneer at me as I scream—for real this time—shoving Wes off of me just enough to break out into a full-on sprint.

Satisfied with our performance, the Bonys take off down the road as Wes chases after me, catching me by the wrist and spinning me around in his arms. He kisses me as furiously as he did the day I pulled him out of the Renshaws’ burning farmhouse.

I might know all of Carter’s smiles, but I’m quickly learning all of Wes’s kisses.

This is his post-near-death-experience kiss.

I hate this kiss.

I hate the Bonys.

I hate this new world.

But mostly, I hate how good the sun feels on my skin right now because, once we go back inside, I’m pretty sure I’m never going to feel it again.

May 5

Wes

“Bailiff, bring out the accused!”

Governor Fuckface is turning into more and more of a glorified game show host with every broadcast. He sweeps his ham hock of an arm out to gesture toward the five convicts being ushered out of the capitol building—each one bound, gagged, and wrapped in a matching burlap jumpsuit—as if he were Vanna White, revealing today’s grand prize on Wheel of Fortune.

I shovel a forkful of eggs into my mouth and wash it down with boiled rainwater as I watch them parade the guilty past the bloodsucking saplings that have already been planted. There must have been another execution while we were out yesterday because now there are three baby oak trees growing in Plaza Park.

In a few minutes, it will be eight.

Rain pushes the food around on her plate next to me as they read out the crimes of the accused. A few more hospital workers who refused to remove life support, a woman who continued tube-feeding her disabled husband, and a mother who saved her child’s life with an EpiPen after he had an allergic reaction to a bee sting.

These are considered high crimes now, but murder and rape are totally legal.

Go fucking figure.

Just before the first of the accused gets to say her last words, I turn and cup my hands over Rain’s ears. She’s not watching the broadcast—her gaze has been glued to her untouched breakfast ever since it came on—but I know she’s listening.

Her big blue eyes lift, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.

Bam!

I force a small smile as the sound of a body landing at the bottom of a dirt hole reverberates through my fucking soul.

Bam!

I smooth my thumbs over her cheekbones, being extra careful with the right side, which is now sporting a gnarly green-and-purple bruise.

Bam!

The third convict takes a bullet between the eyes as Rain drinks me in with hers. The corners of her full pink lips twitch as if she wanted to smile back, but she pulls them down and drops her gaze instead.

Bam!

I can’t say that I blame her. I’m probably the only motherfucker who can smile while people are being executed on live TV.

Bam!

Because I’m the only motherfucker who gets to look at her while it happens.

Across from us, Quint pushes his plate away and cups a hand over his mouth in disgust while Lamar stares blankly at the screen as if he were just watching another bad horror flick.

I pull Rain’s head against my chest, thankful that she’s not freaking out, thankful that she’s here with me instead of lying in the bottom of a dirt hole in Plaza Park, and I begin to get the feeling that the executions aren’t the only thing people are watching in the food court.

I glance up and find Carter’s parents staring at us from a few tables away. His sister is wearing headphones and playing on someone’s cell phone—no doubt to protect her from the mass murders happening on live TV—but her folks are none too happy. Mrs. Renshaw has the Southern decency to look away, but Carter’s dad holds my stare for what feels like hours. There’s no challenge in his puffy, bloodshot eyes—the old bastard can hardly walk—just a deep sadness.

I know that feeling. I’ve lost her before too.

Carter didn’t come to breakfast with them, and honestly, I don’t fucking blame him. Just the idea of seeing Rain with someone else was enough to make me pack my shit and go. I want to feel bad for the guy, and I would, if he deserved my sympathy. But I know assholes like