“Didn’t have to do a thing.”
“Mr. Martin left town a few weeks after you guys moved in, and now that I think about it, Julie Cranston also went to live with her grandma that year. What gives?”
“Baby girl, when you said we belonged to you, that meant you gave us the right to protect you. We’re not ever going to let anyone be around you who’s going to bring you down,” Zeke explains.
Our girl sighs and sets her cup down. “You guys aren’t going to get in trouble, are you? I’d like our first time to be here in the condo and not in the county jail whenever they allow us to have conjugal rights.” She taps a cute finger against the side of her mouth as worry creases her perfect forehead. “Oh no. Can we even have conjugal rights if we aren’t married?” She jumps to her feet. “We need to go to the courthouse right now.”
“It’s eight p.m.,” I tell her.
“Then let’s go to Vegas!”
I admire her problem-solving skills but step across the room to push her back into her chair. “No one is getting into trouble. Like every bully ever, Hope is all talk and no action. We showed her a couple of pictures of Frat Boy and she packed up immediately.” I don’t mention the cursing and shoe throwing because I don’t want Livvie to get upset. Hope’s temper tantrum didn’t last long because Zeke had compiled a bunch of video evidence of Hope putting other girls in danger out of spite, including some of her sorority sisters. Once she saw that shit, she had no problem leaving school.
Getting everyone to drop out of school if they’re going to bad-mouth Livvie isn’t an ideal situation and it doesn’t protect her once we leave here, but it works, for now.
Livvie sits down with a thud, another dark look creasing her forehead. My hackles immediately rise. I straighten up and demand, “Who do I have to kill now?” I’m not even kidding. I hate seeing dark clouds cover her face.
“I just had an awful thought.” She covers her face with both hands as her stricken gaze ping pongs between Zeke and me. “I can only marry one of you, so if you both go to prison, there can be conjugal rights for only one! This is terrible!”
I don’t have to look at Zeke to know he’s feeling conflicted about Livvie’s sudden understanding of what being with us really entails. On the one hand, fucking finally. We can hash this issue out and get everyone on the same page. This is what Livvie’s mom was worried about, and I guess she had good reason. On the other hand, I hate that Livvie’s innocence is being stripped away.
Her blacklist is short because she genuinely loves people and people respond in kind. She’s the type of girl who thinks that serial killers have a good side. I suppose I should be grateful for that otherwise she probably wouldn’t want to be with someone like me, who’s known for being an unsmiling asshole most of the time.
I wish we could keep her wrapped up in cotton with her rosy glasses shading her vision of this fucked up world with its judgmental people and its stupid-ass rules.
“I can’t marry either of you,” she concludes. “It wouldn’t be fair. We either all get married or none of us get married.”
“You’ll marry Zeke.” We’d already discussed this. Zeke’s the oldest and that shit means something to him. I know in my heart that Livvie’s mine. I don’t need a piece of paper from some clerk in an office to tell me that we’re together.
“What? I can’t just marry Zeke,” our baby girl protests. She points a finger at me. “You’re just going to be the best man or something? That sucks. Let’s move somewhere. There’s got to be a place where we can all get married.”
“Not really,” Zeke says. He leans forward and catches Livvie’s hands between his. “It’s apparently okay in several places for a guy to marry two or more women, but a woman getting together with more than one guy is basically outlawed everywhere. There are a few regions where it’s accepted, but I don’t think our Tibetan union would be recognized by any jail house in this country.”
Zeke started researching this years ago and has all the details, so I let him talk.
“That’s some bullshit.” Livvie presses her lips together in an unhappy line.
“We’re not going to go to jail, so that worry isn’t one you should have. Look, the thing is that there are a lot of shithole people with minds closed tighter than a fist who are going to judge us and, mostly, you.”
The thought of something bad being said about our Livvie makes my blood boil. My fists are going to get a workout if the news of what we did to Frat Boy doesn’t deter the dumbasses here on campus. I wrap my fingers around one fist and crack my knuckles. Livvie looks at my hands and then my grim face.
She tilts her head. “You can’t fight everyone.”
“Maybe I can,” I reply. I’ll fight everyone who hurts her or die trying.
Livvie pulls her hands from Zeke’s grip and gets up. She takes a seat in Zeke’s lap and then grabs one of my fists to press her lips against it. I shiver from the contact.
“You guys. Why do I care what other people think? Do you love me?”
“Of course.” My throat feels scratchy.
“You know we do.”
“Then it doesn’t matter. People can call me a slut—”
“Who the fuck called you a slut?” I roar, straightening to my full six foot five inches. That person is dead.
Livvie recaptures me hand. “Stop it. I’m just saying that if that happened, I’d only be sad because it would hurt you. It doesn’t hurt me. No one’s opinions other than yours and my mom’s make any difference in my life. If you love me and aren’t ever going to want someone else, then that’s all that matters.”