The Breakaway(77)

“It’s easier if you just keep moving,” he said.

Abby looked up. His eyes were shut, lips pressed tight together, rain streaming down his face. “What’s easier?”

“Everything.”

She wondered if he was talking only about the day’s ride, or if he was referring to something else. The TikTok mess? Their own history?

“You were right about me. I’ve never had a girlfriend. Not a real one.”

“That’s okay,” Abby said. She finished with his left kneecap and moved on to his right. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

“No. That’s not it. I just”—he extended his arm, palm flat—“kept it moving. Different girls, all the time. Maybe one of them was the right person.” He made a rueful noise. “Maybe it was even the girl who made that first video.”

Abby considered. She’d seen the first video, and the petite, dark-haired girl who’d made it. The girl had been pretty. She looked like a good fit for Sebastian. No one would stare at the two of them and wonder at the mismatch.

In a voice almost too soft for her to hear, Sebastian said, “Or maybe it was you.”

Abby felt herself stiffen, her face suddenly warm in spite of the rain. “Oh, I don’t think…”

“It’s okay,” he said. Kindly. “I just want to be your friend.”

Which should not have been a disappointing thing to hear, Abby thought. She should have felt relieved, if she felt anything at all. And yet.

She finished his second leg, considered patting his thigh, or even squeezing it, and decided, instead, to say, in a cheery, chipper tone, “All done!”

“Great.” He got to his feet, wobbling slightly, with his eyes still shut. “You go ahead and I’ll catch up.”

Abby stared at him. “Sebastian,” she said, slowly and clearly. “We’re not riding anymore. We need to go to a hospital. Remember?”

“I’m fine,” he said again. “I want to ride. By myself. Just go.”

Abby just stared at him. She took a few deep breaths and then, when she trusted herself to speak calmly, she said, “You have a flat tire.”

“I’ll change it.”

“You can barely change a flat even when it’s not pouring rain, and you didn’t just fall off your bike.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sebastian—”

“I just want to keep moving.” He stood up and started walking toward his bike. That was when Abby snapped.

“Jesus Christ, you big, dumb asshole! I’m not letting you ride by yourself in the middle of a thunderstorm, after you just wiped out! Even if I wanted to—and believe me, I very much want to—I’d lose my job if I let you ride alone.”

Sebastian turned around and stared at her.

“Look, I get that you want to keep moving. But sometimes you just can’t.” Abby licked her lips. “You just can’t,” she repeated.

There was a rising, rippling noise as the wind gusted… and then it was as if the sky had ripped open, sending torrents of water down to douse them. The rain poured down, so concentrated that it seemed to fall in sheets instead of drops, blurring the edges of the world, turning everything gray and opaque.

Sebastian reached out and took Abby’s hand. His wet fingers closed around hers, and he pulled her back under the tree, until they were right up against the trunk, where the leaves and branches gave them some small measure of shelter. Abby tried to reclaim her hand, but Sebastian kept his hold on her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Abby could still hear the minute tremble of his voice. “I’m sorry I made you come out in this.”

“It’s okay.” Abby did her best to keep her voice low and calm. She was speaking to him, she realized, the way she spoke to the most skittish puppies at Dog Jawn, the tiny, trembly, snarly purse dogs who spent every minute of every day on high alert, with their teeth bared, probably because they were afraid of being torn apart by the bigger dogs. Maybe, in spite of his maleness, his whiteness, and his good looks, Sebastian was like that; big and strong and confident on the outside, tiny and terrified on the inside; a quivering little purse dog in his heart. The thought of a chihuahua’s trembling body with Sebastian’s face made Abby smile, and Sebastian must have noticed.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“No. Tell me.”

“I guess I was just thinking that you’re all bark and no bite,” Abby said. “Like the little dogs at the doggie daycare that growl at the big dogs because they’re scared.”

“You don’t scare me,” Sebastian said. “I like you. Remember? That’s why I want to be your friend.”

He’s concussed, Abby decided. “Hey, are you sure you aren’t feeling dizzy?”

“I’m fine. Sit down with me,” he said and, still holding her hand, pulled her down onto a patch of grass against the tree’s wide trunk.

“I’m going to see if I can find us an Uber.” Again, Abby tried to extricate her fingers. Sebastian didn’t seem inclined to let her go.

“Can you…” he began, and swallowed hard. “Would you look and see if I’m still bleeding?” he asked.