“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.
Iknowthey 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.”
