The Breakaway

Okay, tough guy, Abby thought.

“I’m not a tough guy,” Sebastian said, and made a noise that sounded like laughter but contained very little humor. Abby realized she’d been talking out loud. Oops.

“No,” she said, mostly to herself, “you’re just inconsiderate.”

“You’re right,” he said, through his chattering teeth. “You’re right and I’m sorry.”

She washed the grit and rainwater off her fingers before opening the packets of Neosporin and starting to dab it onto his scratches.

“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.

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.

“I want to explain,” he repeated. “The thing is…” He swallowed, and stopped talking, evidently unsure of what the thing was. “Maybe I am scared,” he finally admitted, very quietly “My parents…”

Abby waited, until he said, “It’s kind of dysfunctional. Kind of a mess.”

Abby considered, then said, “I think most people’s parents are some flavor of mess.”

“And if you see a woman only once, she doesn’t get a chance to hurt you,” he said, opening his eyes to give her a look from underneath his unfairly long lashes. “Or ghost you.”

“I didn’t ghost you.”

He shook his head. “I woke up and you were gone, Abby. That’s pretty much the definition of ghosting.” He shook his head, sending water dripping from his nose. “I wasn’t even sure you were real.”

Abby didn’t know what to say to that… but she found herself wondering how she would have felt if a guy she’d gone home with had fled from her bedroom before she’d had a chance to say goodbye. She swallowed hard, feeling off-balance. And guilty.

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