NINE Quincy
Mia
Be safe today, Quin. I know you’ve been in more dangerous storms than this one, but I always worry about you.
I promise I’ll be careful.
Mia
I’d miss you very much if something happened to you.
Harlow
I tuned in to your show this morning. Thirty thousand people were watching. That’s WILD. You’re such a badass, Quin.
I think they might’ve been there for Sebastian. Every time he sneaks into one of my broadcasts, the viewer number skyrockets.
Mia
Give him a hug for me and tell him I need him to be safe too!
Best I can do is elbow his ribs and hope he stays on his side of the camera.
Mia
Acceptable.
Harlow
Love you, Quin. Text us when you can.
Love y’all too. I’ll be back tomorrow.
Sebastian and I take cover in the lower level of a parking garage when Claudia comes through.
Both of our cameras record the rain falling in sheets around us.
I live stream the first part of the storm to show the impacts we’re experiencing.
Sebastian films a couple videos of himself discussing the deteriorating conditions, and we work around each other to capture the footage we want to grab.
A tarp at the construction site across the road rips in two, part of the blue awning tumbling into the bay. A dozen palm trees snap in half, falling like bowling pins in the road and blocking most of the evacuation routes.
I’m glad we left our cars parked a couple blocks away. It’ll be easier to get out when everything quiets down.
The power in the hotel next door to the garage flickers on and off then goes out completely, the darkened windows making it feel like we’re the only ones in the world.
We argue over where they’ll mark landfall on the map. He guesses somewhere north, near Hollywood. I stay with my original idea of the greater Miami area, elated when the NHC reports Wynwood as the official spot of hurricane entry, a mile up the road from where we are.
“I wish I could’ve seen those assholes’ faces when they found out they were wrong.
” I slip off the hood of my rain jacket and squeeze out my drenched ponytail.
The eye is passing over us, offering a reprieve from the wind we’ve been fighting against the last three hours.
“I hope they don’t get any footage they can use on social media. ”
“Don’t you know how to read a map, sweetheart?” Sebastian scoffs as we walk down the road, assessing damage while conditions are calm. He moves a small branch out of the way so I don’t have to climb over it. “Is that how it always is for you?”
“What? People thinking I’m not capable of doing my job because I’m a woman? Pretty much. You should see the emails I get.”
He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and puts his hand on my forearm so I have to stop too. “What do they say?”
“We’re in a hurricane. The messages people send me shouldn’t be a priority.”
“Quincy.” Fiercer now, there’s a bite behind my name. “What do they say?”
“Stuff they’d never say to you.” I shrug and dig my phone out of my back pocket, snapping photos of the missing shingles on the roof of a business up ahead.
I take another picture of the sky and its swirling grays.
“All those things Ernie tossed around earlier? I’ve learned to tune it out.
The people who hide behind a keyboard are worse, because they know I’ll never be able to confront them.
They ask how many men I’ve slept with to find the success I’ve had.
They tell me I’m wasting my best child-rearing years by talking into the void—that they should be the one to shut me up and give my mouth something else to do.
” I pause, not sure how much more I should share.
“My favorite is when they mention the only PhD I should have is one of their pretty hard dicks.”
“You’re fucking joking.” Sebastian whips off his hat and bends the bill. “How often does this happen?”
“Every day.”
“Every day? Do me a favor. The next time you get one of those emails, send it to me.”
“What are you going to do? Call them out?” I laugh. “Please. It’s not going to change anything. And I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”
“I’m not fighting your battles for you.” He runs his hand through his hair.
Pulls on the strands by his ears and lets out a frustrated groan.
It’s a distracting noise. “I’m tossing you a sword when a fire-breathing dragon is coming at you and trying to distract it so you can escape.
It’s helping because I want to help, Monroe.
I know you’re capable. I know you’ve been doing fine taking care of yourself and shutting those losers up.
But not anymore.” He steps toward me. A raindrop catches on his nose.
The toes of his boots knock against mine, and I inhale sharply.
“Forget our shit. From now on, as long as I’m around, this is a battle we face together. Do you understand?”
I don’t know if I’m nodding or gaping at him. Maybe it’s both, because my breath is stuck somewhere in my chest, a mess of tangled emotions I can’t unravel right now no matter how badly I want to.
I’ve told Mia and Harlow about the comments and messages. It’s always been met with anger on my behalf. Passionate declarations about how men are trash, about how they have my back.
And they do.
I know they do.
Those girls would do anything for me.
It’s a different feeling entirely when Sebastian is the one saying it.
There’s more weight behind it. A sure thing, and it’s confusing the hell out of me.
“Understood,” I whisper, the word a screech in the quiet solitude we’ve found ourselves in.
“Good.” He puts a pin in that conversation, shifting to the next. “That was a lot of rain in a short amount of time. Probably, what? Eleven inches in three hours? And Biscayne Bay is flooding from the storm surge. Watch yourself there. Avoid the puddles.”
“Good estimate.” I pull a tape measure from my bag, sidestepping away from a pool of still water, and Sebastian barks out a laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“You carry a tape measure with you?”
“During a hurricane? Of course I do. It’s good to be prepared.”
“What other things do you have hiding in that bag of yours?” He points to the backpack slung over my shoulder. “Let me guess. A weather radio? Probably a Midland?”
“Obviously it’s a Midland. Do I also have ski goggles and a headlamp? Maybe.”
“Ski goggles? My god. I need to see you with those on.”
“Never going to happen. I only wear them if there’s flying debris. I will not let you make fun of me for wanting to prevent a stick from poking my eyes out.”
“Monroe, please.” His voice hitches. His grin is wild. “This is the only thing I’ve ever wanted in my entire life.”
“You need to dream bigger.” I shove my tripod and bag into his arms, glad when he doesn’t argue. I catch him unzipping the backpack, peeking inside. “Fine. I’ll put them on after the storm passes only if you help me find the best backdrop for my live stream later.”
“Easiest deal of my life.”
“Good.” I grab a stick and look around, spotting an empty flowerpot in front of a boarded-up business. I hold the stick in the clay for a handful of seconds then pull it out, using the tape measure to find the waterline on the wood. “Wow. Seven inches.”
“Huh.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “Above average, then.”
“Do men actually know what seven inches is?”
“Yeah, Quinny baby.” The smirk Sebastian tosses my way is cocky, assured. A guy who’s never doubted himself a day in his life. “The smart ones do.”
This feels like dangerous territory to teeter toward, and I toss the stick to the side.
“I’m surprised ABC isn’t making this storm into a whole production.” I gesture around us. Weather is a safer topic. “Seems like it would be a big deal.”
“They’re saving the budget for what might happen later in the season.
This one is mainly a rainmaker. I haven’t seen much wind damage, which is a good sign.
The next one might be different.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen.
“They do want me to go live on the national news in a few minutes to give an update on Claudia while it’s safe to be outside.
Could you be my camerawoman? It won’t take long. ”
“Do I get to talk to David Muir?”
“Do you want to talk to David Muir?”
“I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” We find a dry spot thirty yards away, up a small hill, to set down our gear.
He hands over his phone and trudges toward the flooded road closer to the bay, using another stick to test the depth of the water.
I follow his exact path, stopping when the water reaches my shins.
“He’s cute. Handsome, I guess, is the more appropriate description. ”
“Is that your type?” Sebastian shakes out his hair. Droplets fling from the ends of the dark strands and land on my arm. “Men who wear suits?”
“Maybe? I’m not sure. Not a lot of free time to find out, you know?”
“I get it.” He shrugs. Takes off his rain jacket and fixes his collar with long fingers before squeezing out a handful of water from the center of his shirt.
It’s translucent, obnoxiously sticking to every curve of his body.
There are visible pectoral muscles. The hint of abdominal muscles, too, and a deep V-cut I have no business seeing.
I’m not sure how he’s going to be allowed on national television without being censored.
“Settling down isn’t easy with this job.
We’re constantly going out on assignment.
Chasing the next big system. Finding time to spend with someone is difficult. ”
“You’re probably dating half of New York, aren’t you?”
“I might be.” A soft chuckle. The lift of his shoulder. Water sluicing down his neck in slow motion and catching in the hollow of his throat. It’s borderline obscene. “Jealous, Pres?”