“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 aroundmy 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 forgood, 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—”
