Page 8 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

Far enough away that I don’t have to deal with how empty our house will be.

5

SLADE

At the edge of the trailer park a huge tree looms over the houses. Maybe there was a time when it was alive and pretty, but now it’s a dead husk of its former self with an old rope hanging from one of the branches. Georgina says there used to be a tire swing, but someone took the tire. That probably was for the best. I don’t think the rotting branch could hold a tire now, much less the weight of a child.

Dalton is visiting, and we’ve never gotten along. He thinks she’s his personal ATM, car repair shop, and bartender. I think he’s full of shit. It’s better if I stay out of it.

I sit down on the ground and rest my back against the trunk of the tree. The land around here is nothing but rolling hills of prairie grass and wildflowers as far as the eye can see. It’s still hot, even this late at night, and a sheen of sweat coats my face and arms. I wonder if it’s any cooler in Austin. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.

Tonight is my last night at Georgina’s house.

In the distance, a small figure walks toward me. It’s late enough at night that I can’t see who it is from this distance. Asthe figure gets closer, I recognize Quin’s face. He’s hunched over, hugging his chest. His body shakes, like he’s sobbing.

What’s going on? Is he crying?

I wave to him, but he doesn’t notice. He keeps walking until he almost runs into me.

He stops, his body straightening. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He wipes a hand across his face. His cheeks are pink and a little puffy.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He drags his hand across his face again and sniffles. He is definitely not okay.

I know I’m not the guy who gets to wipe away his tears and tell him everything will be fine, but I hate the idea of this sweet, sunshine boy hurting.

“Want to play a game?” I ask.

He hunches over again and looks away from me. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Do what? Play a game with a cute guy? Yeah, I know.”

He meets my gaze. “Cute?” His voice is fragile, like he thinks I’m teasing him.

“Yeah, cute. Would you like it better if I called you hot? Or sexy?”

His cheeks flush a bright shade of pink. “Oh, I wouldn’t… I mean… I don’t know. I’m not… that.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “That’s not true.”

He hugs his chest, clearly uncomfortable. I’m fucking this up.

“You’ve lived here your whole life, right?” I say.

He nods.

“Well, everyone around here is either a raccoon shifter themselves, so they wouldn’t be interested in you, or not allowed to date raccoon shifters. Otherwise, you’d have your pick of alphas to choose from. When you leave home you will, I promise.”

He considers me for a long moment. “Is that what your foster mom said? That you aren’t allowed to date raccoon shifters?”

I can’t help but laugh. “No. She likes you. It must be all that bread you bring over. It’s hard to dislike someone who gives you warm bread.”

He smiles. “Yeah, that’s true.”

I pat the patch of ground next to me. It’s hard and prickly, but he ventures over and sits down gingerly.

“You said you wanted to play a game?”

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