Page 111 of Sunny Undone

“Ifeel like I should be there.” Sunny leans his phone up against something as he butters toast in the clubhouse.

“I’m fine,” I say while I check my lipstick in the rearview mirror in the university parking lot. Somewhere over the last few days, my resolve has hardened as I’ve lined up everything I need to fight the university: A legal perspective on my revised contract. Additional scientists testing the soil and water samples and reviewing the findings that Sunny had made me save to my own files that day by the water. And a backup plan. An exposé. And a promise from Sunny that he wouldn’t kill Bennett so we could nail all of them. “Like you said that day, we’re not going to let them just take all this away from me without a fight. And the feedback Lucy gave me on my contract was really helpful.”

“You’re brave, going in person. Most other people would use email.” I hear the crunch of toast as Sunny takes a bite.

Just a few days of being around Sunny has buoyed my confidence in ways I never thought possible. When I’d fled the university in tears at my suspension, I’d been devastated. Now, I’m filled with the kind of rage feminist poets write about.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got limited time to decide if I want to sign this, I’ve lined up a very solid rebuttal to their claims about my research, and I have questions I want them to answer in person. I’ve learned a thing or two from my biker boyfriend.”

He smiles at the use of the word boyfriend. I’m becoming a bit more comfortable with it. “What’s that?”

“I need to show them I’m not afraid of what they can do to me. I want them to look me in the eye as they try to screw me over.”

“Attagirl.” Sunny reaches out to the phone as if stroking my cheek through the screen. “I feel like there’s one more thing you should know before you go in there, Indy.”

“What’s that?”

“I love you. No outcome of this witch hunt is going to change that.”

For the first time in my whole life, I hear those words and I understand what unconditional love means. Sunny doesn’t care what I do, how much I earn, what university I’m attached to, or how many papers I write. He cares that I know I’m loved, regardless of the outcome.

“I love you, too, Sunny.”

It’s his turn to smile. “When you get home, I want you to say that again while I’m fucking you.”

“I’m going to hold you to that. Now, wish me luck.”

“We make our own luck, Indy. Just remember who you are. Yes, you’re Doctor Della Hart. A leading and respected researcher in your field. But you’re also the soon-to-be old lady of Lucas ‘Sunny’ Reed, tail gunner of the Iron Outlaws Motorcycle Club. Channel both those parts of you, and you’re unstoppable, Indy.”

The sentiment hits me square in the chest. “Thank you.”

We say our goodbyes, and I hold on to Sunny’s words as I make my way to the building. But when I approach the main door, a large SUV with tinted windows pulls up outside the building, and Dale Pritchard steps out of it. After all this time and effort, I’m suddenly face-to-face with the man who’d ruin my career to further his own.

My stomach lurches, and I’m embarrassed by how quickly Sunny’s pep talk seeps from me. I want to hide. And I’m about to run until he looks up, straightening his crisp white shirt sleeves beneath a navy jacket, and catches my eye.

The weird thing is, as much as I know who he is, it seems he knows who I am by sight. Which goes a long way to settle me again.

Just remember who you are. Yes, you’re Doctor Della Hart. A leading and respected researcher in the field. But you’re also the soon-to-be old lady of Lucas “Sunny” Reed, tail gunner of the Iron Outlaws Motorcycle Club. Channel both those parts of you, and you’re unstoppable, Indy.

“Mr. Pritchard,” I say, hurrying over to him. “I have a question for you.”

But I’ve just gotten the words out when Dean Whitaker hurries out of the building, followed by Anita.

“Dr. Hart is on administrative leave,” the dean cuts in. “Her research is under review. And I have no idea why she’s here.”

Pritchard turns and shakes the dean’s hand, but looks at me, appraising. “The studious Dr. Hart. The dean has told me about you. Your passion for wetlands protection is…commendable. Misplaced, maybe. But commendable.”

Sunny’s words echo through me, becoming louder and louder until I feel solid and unmovable. “I’m hoping to ask Mr. Pritchard a question, if he has a moment?”

The dean begins to shake his head, but Pritchard surprises me by nodding. “I’ve always got time for science, when it isn’t being pointed at me or held against me.”

“Then, tell me plainly, why are my wetlands dying?”

Pritchard laughs. “Your wetlands? Isn’t the point of science to be objective, leave emotion at the door and all that?”

“Is the question in any way unclear?” I ask without a hint of a smile. In fact, my tone is decidedly assertive, with just the tiniest hint of menace that Sunny would be proud of.

“Not at all. You know, I hear this kind of thing over and over. People get proprietary all the time about water. They want to know who has access? Who owns it? They care about water consumption, until it’s them using artificial intelligence to decide where to eat out for dinner tonight or creating pictures of what they would have looked like in the eighties, then they don’t care how much water gets wasted.”