FOURTEEN Sebastian #2
She also could’ve fallen, hit her head, and now she’s bleeding out on her bathroom floor, the panicked part counters, and I whip my phone out to call Mia.
“Morning, Seb,” my sister says when she answers. “You’re up early. I thought you’d be sleeping in after your adventure last night.”
“Does Quincy have a spare key?”
“Why are you asking?”
“I need to get into her house.”
“She does have a spare key, but I’m not going to tell you where it is.” Mia laughs. “You probably want to swap out her salt with sugar, and I respect my best friend’s privacy.”
“I’m not playing a prank on her.” I knock again, frustration rising. “She has a show every morning, doesn’t she?”
“Every day at nine. I admire her dedication.”
“Yeah, well, it’s almost half past the hour, and there’s no sign of her.”
“What?” Her inhale is jagged. “Where is she?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” I loop my fingers around my necklace, giving it a nervous tug. “She hurt herself last night and I—” I swallow, the confession about to sneak out. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Go to the right of her porch. There’s a light gray box that looks like a rock but is not actually a rock. There should be a key inside.”
I jump off the steps and search the area.
The time it takes for me to find what she’s talking about feels as long as each second yesterday did.
My breathing is ragged. My hands shake as I sift through the real rocks, finally finding the one that doesn’t belong.
I snatch it off the ground and yank the key out, close to breaking the door handle when I shove it in the lock.
“I’m in,” I say. “Thanks, Mia.”
I hang up and shut the door behind me. A quick glance around the foyer and living room shows no signs of forced entry, nothing out of place. Shoes are lined up neatly against the wall. An unopened barometer sits on the long table positioned under a mirror, and I can’t help but smile.
Classic Quincy.
“Monroe?” I call out. “Are you here?”
A noise answers me, a loud thud followed by a soft moan. It sounds like distress, and alarms sound in my head. I grab a hardcover book wedged between a lamp and a stack of mail, moving down the hall.
I spot a door that’s slightly ajar. Behind it, there’s the rustle of sheets. A whimper of pain follows. I push the barrier open with my hip, book raised above my head and ready to attack whoever might be inside.
Subtlety has never been my strong suit.
I freeze when I see Quincy on the floor, forehead resting against the mattress and arms hanging limp at her sides.
“Quincy?” I say, and her eyes fly open. She screams, reaching for a shoe and lobbing it at my head. I let out a yelp, ducking before the sneaker can hit my forehead, but another one comes flying my way. “Hey. Easy, killer. It’s just me.”
“Sebastian?” She gapes at me. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you. I tried knocking. When you didn’t answer, I, uh, used the spare key Mia told me about to get inside.”
“This is breaking and entering.”
“Technically it’s lawfully opening and entering, but kicking your door in would’ve been way more fun.” A smile pulls at my mouth. “What are you doing on the floor?”
“I took a painkiller in the middle of the night because I couldn’t sleep. It must’ve knocked me out, and I woke up a few minutes ago totally disoriented. Landing on the floor was not part of the plan, and I’m going to have a matching bruise on the other side of my body.”
I walk toward her, crouching down. A full smile bursts free when I notice her hair sticking straight up in three different places. The line down her cheek, courtesy from the crease in her pillowcase. Sleep in the corner of her eye and silky sheets wrapped around her shoulders.
“Damn, Monroe. You look rough in the morning. That bird’s nest on your head is next level.”
“Screw you. I had vivid dreams, okay?”
“Of what? Wrestling a lion?”
“I have a whole closet of shoes, Dunn, and I’m not afraid to use them.”
“Put down your weapons, Pres.” My eyes catch on a stuffed animal half buried under her sheets and I laugh. “Is that Reginald?”
“It is. I told you I tuck him into bed every night.”
“You didn’t tell me you sleep with him too.”
“He’s my emotional support dinosaur.” Quincy reaches for him, holding him tight to her chest. “Of course I sleep with him.”
She kept the stuffed animal I gave her.
I don’t know why it seems like a big fucking deal, but it is.
I’m on top of the world.
“How are you holding up? How’s the ankle?”
“I’m surviving. I’m sure women in the past have told you that you have magic hands, but I don’t think that applies to this situation. You can’t fix it.”
“They have told me that.” I drop to my knees, sitting back on my heels. “You’re still in pain, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Quincy chews on her bottom lip. She untangles herself from the sheets, showing off bare legs. One foot with a sock, the other without. No pajama bottoms, just a big T-shirt with a cartoon avocado on it that hits the tops of her thighs, and it’s a feat not to let my eyes wander.
I’m weak, though. A pathetic excuse of a man, because I do look.
Just for a second.
There’s a scar on her left knee. Faded, a faint shade of white, and I’ve never seen it before. How did it get there? How long has she had it? Farther up are curves I want to run my fingers over. A tiny red mark just below the hem of her shirt.
I want to lick it. I want to find that tattoo she hinted at when we were at the bar, and yanking myself back to reality is the toughest task of my life.
“Can I check to make sure you’re okay? Can I help?” I ask. “Please,” I add, the hint of desperation behind it.
“Yes,” she whispers. “But only because I want to feel better.”
I don’t care what the reason is. I’m just thankful she’s letting me be this close to her.
My gaze falters, moving over the front of her shirt and past her legs again.
Her right ankle is purple and swollen, and I suck in a sharp breath.
A whine works its way up her throat when she tries to move, and I rest my hand on her shin.
“Don’t,” I tell her. “You need to ice and elevate it.”
“I’ll prop it up after my show. I can be bedridden the rest of the day.”
“Your show? It’s almost ten, Quincy.”
“What? No. No, no, no.” That kicks her into high gear.
She struggles to a standing position, unsteady on her feet.
She rests a hand on my shoulder to balance and I grab the first place I can reach—the back of her thigh, which nearly sends me into cardiac arrest—when she wobbles, almost tipping over.
“Slow down. You’re going to hurt yourself more.”
“I need to get to my office. It’s down the hall. I’ll hobble there.”
“Quincy.” She doesn’t stop moving, determined to the very end, and I keep holding her. “That’s not happening today.”
“I’ve never missed a show.” Her throat bobs around a swallow. Her bottom lip quivers. “I show up. I always show up, Sebastian, and now I’m going to let people down.”
Her voice cracks when she says my name. I pop to my feet, making a split-second decision.
My hand moves up to her hip, holding her there and bunching a fistful of her shirt near her waist. Red-rimmed eyes filled with tears blink at me, and I decide that seeing her sad is the worst goddamn feeling in the world.
“I’ll do your show,” I blurt.
“What?”
“I’ll jump on and tell everyone we have a delayed start. I’ll get you taken care of with some more painkillers and a bag of ice, then I’ll fill in for you.”
“You don’t know how to do my show. You know how to do the news.”
“You talk about weather, right?” I ask, playing dumb. As if I don’t have her intro speech memorized. As if I don’t know the theme song that plays right before she goes on the air. “Would you believe that I know how to talk about weather too?”
Quincy stares at me. I hope she can see the white flag I’m waving in the name of her health and the thing she loves the most in the world. An extended truce because it’s what she deserves.
“You would do that for me?” she asks.
“Gladly.”
She touches her hair, running her finger through the knots. “Even with the bird’s nest on my head?”
“Especially because of the bird’s nest.”
“Okay.” She nods after a stretch of silence, resolute. “Under one condition.”
“That depends on what it is, Monroe.”
“I want to sit in my office while you do the show. I can elevate my leg on the couch and show my usual viewers proof of life. I don’t want them to think I’m being held against my will.”
“Please. Like you wouldn’t go somewhere with me willingly.” I toss her a wry grin. “Get dressed, Pres. When you’re decent, your chariot will transport you to your office so we can get this show on the road.”
“I’m kicking you out while I change.” Quincy nudges me and hops on one leg to a wooden dresser under the large window in the room. My eyes travel down her thighs to her calves. She catches me looking and tosses a pair of shorts at my face. “Leave, Dunn. There’s nothing there for you.”