“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.
She looked at his knees. “No. Bleeding’s stopped.” She opened both of her rideshare apps. Neither of them showed drivers available anywhere in a ten-mile vicinity. Just her luck.
“I need to call Jasper again,” she said. “I’m not seeing any drivers around here, so he’s going to have to come get us.”
Sebastian nodded. She noted, with amusement, that he had closed his eyes again. The apex predator, the alpha dog, brought low by a skinned knee. It would be funny, except he was so obviously freaked out.
She tapped Jasper’s number, gave him an update, and sent him a map with a pin dropped to show where they were.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said.
“Sounds good,” said Abby. She ended the call and sat down again. “Jasper’s on his way.”
Sebastian didn’t seem to have heard her. His eyes were still shut, his face was still pale, and he’d tilted it toward the sky, heedless of the rain that was making its way among the tree’s branches to patter against his skin. “I want to talk to you about the TikTok thing,” he said. “I want to explain.”
Abby shook her head. “You don’t owe me an explanation,” she said.