TWENTY-NINE Sebastian
I wake up to a cramp in my calf.
My skin is a sticky, sweaty mess, and I smell like I’ve spent the last two days rolling around in a pile of garbage. I yawn and stretch my neck to the side, clueless as to what time it is.
It could be noon. It could be three a.m. Without windows or any idea what’s happening in the outside world, all I’m sure of is the porcelain bathtub cold under my ass. The scent of sex in the air. Quincy wrapped around me, her head on my chest and her breath warm against my neck.
I don’t want to move.
She looks so peaceful, and it feels like I get punched in the gut when I see the tiny scratch right above her collarbone. I make a vow right then and there that I will never let her get hurt again.
When she peels her body away from mine and sits up, a wince crosses her face when she opens her eyes.
“It smells like roadkill in here.” She sniffs and wrinkles her nose. “There’s no running water, so a sponge bath is going to have to do.”
“Hey.” I scoot back so she can have more room. Two tall people in a small bathtub hasn’t been comfortable, but we made it work. “Did you get some sleep?”
“I think I did. I don’t know what I was dreaming and what’s real.” Her gaze flicks up to the ceiling then back down to me. “How long have you been awake?”
“Only a few minutes. I thought about checking what time it is, but my phone is on the counter. I didn’t want to wake you up before you were ready.”
I need to get a hold of Cooper and Mia and make sure everyone is okay. My texts stopped going through late afternoon yesterday, and I’m not hopeful I’ll have any service until we make it out of town.
If we can make it out of town.
Navigating home is going to be a nightmare, but that’s a problem for later.
I want to do a lap around the town and make sure there’s not an urgent need for help.
We can’t rebuild damaged property, but we can lend a hand in search and rescue efforts.
It’s probably going to be needed after last night.
“I’m ready. I think my body is going to ache for days after being in that position for so long, but I know how lucky we are.
” She uncoils her limbs from around mine, groaning as she stretches her back.
The line of her spine pops when she stands, offering me a hand.
“We should get ready for the day and see if—”
“Anyone needs help?” I finish for her, and she smiles.
“Exactly what I was going to say.”
I stand, testing the weight of my hurt leg. The pain isn’t as intense as last night, and I’m hoping I only twisted it wrong. “How do you feel after our first Category 5 hurricane together? Things are getting serious.”
“No complaints just yet.” She kisses my cheek and I run my hand up her thigh. “What comes next?”
“Don’t know. You are mine, after all.” I rest my forehead against hers. “I might ask to take you out to dinner. Maybe I’ll buy you something nice so you don’t forget about me when I’m not around. Would you like that, Quinny baby?”
“I think I would like that very much.” She grabs a T-shirt from my bag and slips it over her head. “Dinner sounds nice.”
“Hungry?” I pull away from her, digging through our bag of food. I find two bagels and a small container of peanut butter. “How’s this?”
“Breakfast of champions,” she says, knocking her food against mine.
“I guess it is breakfast time.” A quick tap on my phone tells me it’s just past six. “Wonder what it’s going to look like outside.”
“It’s always beautiful after a hurricane. I know there’s a scientific reason behind it, but I always pretend it’s the universe asking for forgiveness for the damage it caused. A sinner repenting.” Quincy takes a sip from the water bottle I hand her. “Thank you.”
“We should try to get out of here as soon as possible after we see if anyone needs assistance. The roads are going to be littered with debris. Bridges might be destroyed, and I don’t want to be driving at night.”
“Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll be ready.” She polishes off her bagel, licking her fingers clean. “You know. If I had to be stuck in a hurricane with anyone, I’m glad it was with you, Sebastian.”
“Yeah.” I rub a hand over my chest, my heart pounding. “Me too.”
Test test.
Is this going through?
Coop?
Hello?
Are y’all all right? Power there? PG has no evacuation route yet. Will text when we can get out of city limits.
Fuck. Still no service.
When these start to go through, let me know how y’all are doing.
Hey, Johnathan. Pretty sure I got some great footage last night. When I’m back to my laptop with Wi-Fi, I’ll send you an email with all the videos.
It takes us nine hours to get home. Almost every surrounding structure has been leveled.
The storm surge wasn’t as high as forecasted, but the winds caused catastrophic damage.
The parking garage where I left my car is still standing.
The SUV, miraculously, only has a couple dings on the hood, but other people aren’t as lucky.
Quincy is quiet on the drive out of Punta Gorda.
She stares out the window, wringing her hands together while she takes in the fallen trees and power lines we pass.
I reach over and put a palm on her thigh, wondering what’s running through her mind.
She looks over at me and smiles, exhaustion behind her eyes, but the hint of happiness too.
“How are you doing?” I run my thumb up the line of her leg, stopping when I get to her knee.
“I hesitate to say fine, because everything around us is very not fine. I’m doing okay, but it’s very clear others are not.
” She sighs. “It’s so sad to see an aftermath like this.
I know it’s inevitable. I know it’s what happens after every storm, no matter where you live, but knowing the rebuilding these folks are going to have to do is a tough reality to grapple with.
They lost everything, and here I am, wishing I could take a shower. ”
“Can I tell you a secret?” I say, and she turns in the seat so she’s facing me. She leans in close, an arm on my shoulder, and I squeeze her knee.
“You can tell me anything,” she answers, and I know I can.
“Deep down, I think that’s one of the reasons why I’m unhappy at work.
Every time there’s a natural disaster, they want me there.
I’m talking to people who have been through it.
I’m parading around town with a camera and microphone, asking for interviews when all I want to do is help.
After the cameras shut off, I jump in where I can.
But in their weakest moments, I’m … it’s like I’m putting them on display and showing off their grief to the millions of people who are watching.
” I grip the steering wheel tight, my knuckles starting to turn white.
“It’s hard to remember there’s good in the world when you constantly see so much sadness around you. ”
“I never thought of it that way.” Quincy’s voice is soft, understanding. “That must be really hard.”
“It’s part of the job, but it never gets easier.”
“If I had the means—and the time, because people in need deserve to have my full attention—I’d create a …
a foundation. Or an organization that donated money and supplies like clothing, bedding, and toys for kids who lost their favorite stuffed animal in the storm.
Everyone is quick to want to provide monetary support, which is so important, but in those first few hours, I imagine folks want some semblance of normal.
For a seven-year-old who just heard a tornado outside their window, a teddy bear might be their idea of normal. And worth more than money.”
“I bet you could get something like that off the ground.” I merge off the highway, taking the Oak Valley exit. “I’d love to help you.”
“That’s another reason why I applied to the NWS.”
“To donate stuffed animals?”
“No.” She fixes my sleeve, rolling it into a neat cuff around my bicep.
“To make an impact. People on the outside see what I do and make assumptions. At the end of the day, I don’t care about followers.
I don’t care about how much money I make or how many sponsorships I have.
I care about helping at a state and federal level.
I care about encouraging the next generation of kids.
And that starts with showing folks you care. ”
This fucking woman.
She’s so headstrong, but none of it is in favor of her own success. The platform she’s built is for everyone else, to use her notoriety for good, and when I sneak a look down at her, cheek still on my shoulder and eyes fluttering closed, my heart does something stupid.
It somersaults.
It stops racing for the first time in hours, and I feel it square in my chest. A bull’s-eye behind my ribs.
Admiration.
Respect.
Love.
I’ve never loved a woman before, but this has to be what it feels like.
The constant urge to be around her. To want to take care of her and keep her safe. To watch her succeed but also spar with her, going toe-to-toe because she’s my most favorite when she’s fiery and relentless.
Perfect.
Fumbling with the dial on the radio, I turn up the song that’s playing. I turn on Mia’s street and hum along, only to slam on the brakes a few seconds later.
Quincy jolts forward. The car screeches to a halt, and I throw my arm out in front of her to keep her from hitting the dashboard.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, following my gaze out the windshield. “Holy shit.”
Ahead of us, the road isn’t drivable. Trees are down, massive fallen oaks blocking our path. I shift the car into park and turn off the engine, dread washing over me.
“Mia,” I whisper, and Quincy moves at the same speed I do.
We unbuckle our seat belts and take off for my sister’s house, navigating around branches and downed power lines. I help Quincy when we get to the larger limbs, hoisting her up and over the wide stumps until we reach Mia’s front yard.
The picket fence around her home has collapsed in the grass. Her roof is missing dozens of shingles, and it looks like a tree crashed into the screened patio in the backyard. The lamppost is bent sideways, and the light fixture she loves so much is shattered across the walkway to the porch.
I take a deep breath and approach the front door, telling myself this was the safest place for her to be. She was with friends. She wasn’t alone, and they would’ve helped if things turned to shit.
Quincy presses her chest against my back, sensing my discomfort when I bang on the front door.
“Mia,” I yell, my fist aching from how hard I’m pounding. “Are you in there?”
“She’s going to be okay,” Quincy whispers. “She has to be okay. They all do.”
“Cooper,” I try next, stepping back and pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes. “No. No. No, no. Did a tornado come through here last night? There aren’t any signs of flooding. Fuck. Did they use a generator inside and get carbon—”
The door flies open and there’s Cooper, haggard and exhausted with a hole in his shirt and his shoes on the wrong feet, but alive, and I almost burst into tears.
“Seb.” He reaches for me, hugging me tight. I throw my arms around him, not caring if I’m being dramatic. “You’re okay. We’ve been worried sick about you two.”
“Is Mia okay?” I ask, stepping back and using my shirt to wipe my eyes. “And Harlow and Nate?”
“Everyone is fine.” Cooper holds the door open, gesturing us inside.
He gives Quincy a hug, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.
“We crammed into the closet in the master bedroom late last night when it sounded like the roof was going to go. Barely got any sleep. Had no clue what time it was. They’re still in there, but I came out when I heard the banging.
Guess the storm is over, huh? How long have you two been back? ”
“We just pulled into town. Can’t drive down the street. We had to park at the corner and walk.”
“I haven’t been outside yet.” He glances around Quincy’s shoulder, eyes widening when he spots the front yard. “Christ. It’s like a war zone.”
“It’s like that everywhere. Punta Gorda is leveled. Nothing’s left, and the rest of the state suffered severe damage too. I’m going to go find the girls,” Quincy says, her hand brushing against mine as she hurries down the hall.
I watch her go, realizing I’m staring when Cooper snaps his fingers in front of my face.
“Looks like someone had fun storm chasing,” he teases, and I roll my eyes.
“Mind your business, Coop.”
“Hard to do that when you have a hickey on your neck. Nate is going to roast you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I glance in the hallway mirror and fix my shirt, hiding the mark as best I can. “You’re seeing things.”
“Sure I am.” He turns on his heel, following behind Quincy and singing something that sounds an awful lot like first comes love, then comes marriage under his breath.
A window in Mia’s master bedroom is broken, the flowerpot that smashed into it lying on the floor.
There’s some water under the door that leads to the terrace out back, and the carpet is soaked and squishy.
I find my friends gathered in the closet, a stack of pillows and blankets and supplies surrounding them.
“Seb!” Mia jumps to her feet and launches herself at me, hugging me tight. “Oh, I’m so glad you two are here. Quincy was telling us about what you went through.”
“Never again,” I say. “The next Category 5 hurricane we’re hunkering down with y’all. Is everyone all right?”
“Fine.” Nate stands and holds out his hand, giving my palm a shake. I swat at his arm and pull him into a hug too. “Cooper took care of us and kept us safe.”
“He really did,” Mia adds. “He stayed awake all night so he could look after us.”
“Just wanted to make sure y’all were okay.” Cooper busies himself with folding a blanket. “I’m glad that’s over.”
“Me too. I’m starving, and my knees hurt from keeping them curled up to my chest all night.” Harlow stretches her leg and winces. “We’re getting old, and Nate is too tall.”
“I can’t help it that I’m six five.”
“We don’t have power, obviously.” Mia gestures at the lack of electricity and air-conditioning. “Food options are limited.”
“We have bread and peanut butter in the car. A picnic could be fun,” Quincy suggests.
“I’ll grab it.” I look around my group of friends, imagining them spending time together without me around.
It stings, and I rub the ache in my chest away with my knuckles.
“Look. I know we don’t do sappy stuff, and all six of us don’t usually hang out together at the same time, but I’m glad everyone is safe. ”
“You’re going to miss us when you go back to New York, aren’t you?” Mia teases, standing on her toes so she can ruffle my hair.
“Yeah.” My eyes snag on Quincy. That word echoes again, a drum that won’t stop beating. Love. Love. Love. “I’m going to miss y’all very much.”