My phone is in my purse with the rest of my stuff in the living room. I squelch over to it in my soggy sandals, grab my phone with shaking hands, and open the app.
Panic descends.
“If I change the password on my Instagram account, will it send an email? She has access to my email too. And my Twitter and Facebook.” I swallow because talking about this—really, truly defying her—feels about as safe as poking a White Walker in the eye.
Beau’s chest rises as his lungs fill, and he nods. “Do you have a laptop?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get mine, too. We’ll have to do it all at once.”
“Holyfuckingshitballs.”
Beau nods again, the picture of composure. “Yeah.”
While I dig my laptop out of the overnight bag I packed to stay at Jonathan’s, Beau goes to his truck in the garage. I set the MacBook Air on the cushioned ottoman that doubles as a coffee table and sit on the loveseat. Beau drops beside me a moment later.
My hands are practically convulsing as I try to type in my computer passcode. I have to hit the delete key three times. Nerves aren’t the only source of the shakes. I’m still drenched, my shirt and shorts darkened with rainwater, and my hair drips water down my back. The blast from the air conditioner sends goosebumps down my arms and legs.
With athletic grace, Beau reaches out to the overstuffed chair next to us and plucks the cream flannel throw off its arm. He shakes it out and tents it over both our shoulders, uniting us in its warmth.
The gesture is so unexpected, so comforting, I have to hold back a sigh. I manage a hoarseThank youand log into my email and Instagram accounts. Beau opens tabs to the Twitter and Facebook login pages.
“You trust me with this?” he asks, his eyes earnest and open. “Because you can—”
“I trust you.” The words come easily because I have no doubt. I’ve only known Beau for about a month, but somehow he’s here when no one else is, helping me do something I should have done a long time ago.
I give him my usernames and passwords. “But hold on. Don’t log in yet,” I say, trying to think three steps ahead. Beau’s laptop is a new device. “When you log in, it’ll send an email notification here,” I say pointing to my Gmail account.
Beau nods. “Then change your password there first.”
I blow out a breath, wondering if Moira has any two-factor authentication methods set up that I’m not aware of.
I bite my lip and check the time on my laptop taskbar: 10:54. I have six minutes before Moira makes a move on her own.
“What’s most important to you right now?” Beau asks, breaking through my worries.
“Being me. Being real,” I say without hesitation. “That what’s posted on my platforms is authentic and my own.”
Beau’s eyes spark as he looks at me.Whoa. Is that admiration?
I tear my gaze away. I’ve got five minutes now.
“And you’re okay locking her out of this first?” He gestures to the laptops. “The social media stuff first? Not your bank accounts and all the rest.”
I shake my head. “There’s no time. I can’t worry about the money right now. My authenticity and my integrity are more important.”
I look up at him to find that his brown eyes aren’t just sparking now. They’re blazing.
Dear God.I feel the strength of his gaze all the way to my lady parts.Holy Clenching Muscles, Batman!
“Ready?” My mouth is so dry the word is little more than air.
“Whenever you are.” The certainty in his voice gives me courage.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Three minutes.
I change the password on my Gmail. The world doesn’t come crashing down around my ears, but the wind picks up outside and branches of the backyard mimosa tree slap the side of the house.
