Page 38 of Redeeming Rabbit

“I’m never drinking again,” I swore, pressing a hand to my temple in a failed attempt to stop the assault.

A shuffling in the darkness alerted me to the fact that I wasn’t alone. “Welcome to Flaccid Avenue,” Rabbit said, his tone raspy with sleep.

The overhead light turned on, blinding me and making my head spikes explode into mind-shredding shrapnel.

“Holy fuck.” I squeezed my eyes closed and prayed for an expedient death. Or at least a plunge into unconsciousness until the pain subsided to a more manageable level. How much had I drunk last night?

“Sorry.” The hint of humor in Rabbit’s tone made me question his sincerity.

Memories trickled in like raindrops, each feeding my expanding pool of dread. Soon, I’d recall every moronic, humiliating detail of last night. Unlike some people who experienceden blocblackouts when they drank, alcohol never inhibited my brain from storing short-term memories. Even idiotic behavior I’d do almost anything to forget.

Like vomiting on Rabbit.

The memory elicited a worrisomely aggressive gurgle from my stomach seconds before bile crept up my throat. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Bucket on the floor beside you.” The urgency of his words was mirrored in the pounding of feet as he hurried toward me.

Squinting through the head-splitting pain, I fumbled for the bucket, which was thankfully empty, and bent over it. However, I must have expelled my entire stomach last night, including the lining, because all I could do now was dry heave. And man, did it hurt.

Behind me, the bed dipped, and hands brushed my hair back, holding it out of my face. “You’re okay. I’m here. I got you,” Rabbit soothed with a practiced tone.

Another memory flashed, this one of me kneeling in front of a toilet with Rabbit holding back my hair. Apparently, we’d been in that position a few times last night, a realization I could have done without. Now, I didn’t know how to feel. About him, about being around him….

Rabbit had taken care of me.

Besides Tina and Mom, nobody had ever really done that before. My aunt and uncle had been guardians in the loosest sense of the word, providing food and shelter but little in the way of affection or concern. Once, when Tina and I came down with the flu, they essentially locked us in our room and delivered meals to our door.

Having never been in a committed romantic relationship, I was admittedly naïve about the common practices of such, but I wasn’t ignorant of typical human behavior. Rabbit had attempted to cut off my alcohol supply last night, and I’d thwarted his attempts, insisting I was a grown-ass adult who knew my limits. A declaration that hadn’t aged well. Regardless, he hadn’t abandoned me. Instead, he’d calmly walked me down to the bathroom and helped me into the shower, fully dressed. Careful not to touch me inappropriately, he’d cleaned me off before calling up Shari to remove my clothes.

“We’re keeping your panties on,” she told me. “And I promise you they’ll be there all night. Rabbit won’t take advantage of you in this state. He’s got a reputation for being crazy, but he’s a good man. I hope you get to know him well enough to appreciate what I mean.”

Looking down at myself, I confirmed I was still dressed in what she’d given me to wear: Rabbit’s Offspring T-shirt that I’d discarded before I’d vomited and a pair of drawstring shorts about two sizes too big. The panties she’d refused to remove were still in place, and there was no telltale sign of soreness between my legs. Rabbit had taken care of me, just like he’d promised he would.

He rubbed my back. “You okay?”

I set the bucket down, willing my gag reflex to stop contracting so I could turn and face him, even though my chest tightened with anxiety and I lacked the courage to meet his gaze. “I’m so sorry about last night.”

He shrugged off my concerns. “Why? I’m not. Haven’t had that much fun in… well, ever. But you are a lightweight. Next time, you might want to think about setting a limit with the bartender. They won’t serve you—or anyone plying you with drinks—after you hit it.”

“That makes me sound like an alcoholic with no self-control.”

“Or… like a woman with a prominent competitive streak who flat-out refused to let a handful of bikers drink her under the table.”

Had I… said that last night? Sure enough, the memory came filtering in, making me want to groan in irritation at myself. It wasn’t unusual for my competitive streak to get the best of me, but the results weren’t usually this excruciating. “In retrospect, that was not my brightest moment.”

He beamed me a smile. “Mistakes fertilize the soil of life.”

“Insightful. Did you just make that up?”

“Yeah. It sounded better than what I was thinking: mistakes are the literal shit of growth. Necessary, but messy as fuck.”

Laughter bubbled up my overtaxed throat, but I swallowed it back, wincing at the pain. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

“I know what you need.” A drawer opened, and something rattled. “Drug of choice?”

Clutched in his hands, he held several variations of over-the-counter painkillers. I accepted the ibuprofen, washing down the medicine with the entire bottle of water he handed me.

Rabbit watched me with barely suppressed amusement. “Need anything else?”

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