CHAPTER THREE: THE BOLTER

THE BLINDS IN HER HOTEL ROOM KEEP THE SUN OUT FOR A SHORT TIME, BUT STREAKS OF LIGHT EVENTUALLY PEPPER THROUGH THE CRACKS. It hits her first, her body facing the window, wrapped in a warmth that does nothing to shield her eyes from the brightness of the morning. Willow huffs and moves to roll away, expecting to hit the cold, vacant side of the bed.

But she cannot budge under the solid, steady weight around her. Willow does not have to crane her neck to know- not with the arm around her waist, a hand splayed across her bare stomach. Tyler, remains, keeping her tucked into him until their skin is flush together. The warmth she fell asleep with still shelters her in the morning, the rise and fall of his chest as steady as it had been when he fell asleep beside her.

Her heart skips a beat. It is not that she had forgotten the events of the night before- lord, how could she when he truly managed to ruin all men for her? He spent hours teaching her what it truly meant to be worshiped, a man she is sure would have tried to fuck her soul if he could have managed it.

(And she did her fair share too. She spent much time educating him on her own, well-developed skills of riding, only replacing those mechanical bulls with her storm-chasing cowboy.

He did not last very long the round in the armchair where she took him to the hilt- his hat upon her head and listening to him pant praises in her ear.)

Willow, though, even far removed from the days of chasing after rodeo stars, knows the routine. It is a rarity when one stays long enough for her company; getting what they want and then leaving when the time is right. She's more used to the quiet exits in the middle of the night to leave her with an empty bed by the time her morning alarm rolls around. Those rare few that remained were not much ones for company either, enjoying her pretty face and her cunt for another few rounds over a pattern of days, never truly offering her that intimate warmth or comfort in the night.

But Tyler stays; he stays in the wee hours of the night, sweaty and pleased, to share a sleepy pillow talk with her, through the night, and then into the morning, wrapped around her as if they had been doing it for lifetimes.

"Tyler," she whispers, attempting to wake him gently, "hey, you gotta let me up."

"Not yet, baby," he mumbles in his sleep and shifts to bury his nose in the crook of her neck. Willow feels the soft kiss he presses there. "Go back to sleep."

"I have to pee," she argues back quietly. "I'll be right back."

"Promise?"

"Promise," she assures him.

He groans softly before reluctantly loosening his hold on her. Willow wriggles out from under his arm, the cool air a harsh contrast to the warmth of his body. She stretches to sit up and glances back at him.
The sheets tangle around his hips, framing those deep lines of his pelvis and the trail she spent much of her night giving teasing touches. He watches her through half-lidded eyes when she finally stands up and follows through until she reaches the restroom with a blissful grin marring his face.

It is a moment later when she returns and he is there, still waiting. Tyler opens the sheets for her and she slips right back in facing him, like a perfect puzzle piece.

Tyler moves, just slightly, until his lips are pressed against her sternum. Willow shivers as he lands a second kiss closer to her breast. She can feel him grin against her skin and how he only seems encouraged to continue further. His lips trace along her collarbone and neck, then up to the shell of her ear where his kiss carries more teeth than before. A whine leaves her now when they graze her ear lobe.

"Mornin', sunshine," he drawls, pleased, voice still rough from sleep.

"Good mornin', cowboy," she greets back softly, at a perfect ease for once.

Tyler props himself up on one elbow, eyes flickering over her features. He brushes his thumb along her bottom lip with an appreciative glance."You always wake up this pretty?"

Willow hums and kisses the pad of his thumb. "I think you're still a little drunk,"

"Mmm, no," he shakes his head with a little smirk. "Perfectly sober- maybe drunk on you."

"You just met me," she says with an eye roll.

"And I feel like I've been chasin' you my entire life," he adds, staring at her again as if she is something out of a dream, "ain't that a little crazy?"

Willow doesn't know how to truly respond, her heart fluttering in a way that makes her feel unsteady. It isn't crazy, she wants to tell him, to ask him if it had been instant, when their eyes connected that first moment, just like it had been for her. She wants to ask him how he can be so sure-

Her phone buzzes relentlessly on the nightstand, yanking her out of the moment. She turns her head and glares at the screen lighting up with the basic contact photo with Joel's name across it. It makes her curse to herself, biting back the frustration that's already bubbling up.

She reaches for her phone just as the call slips to her voicemail. Willow checks the records and groans. Joel has spent the past two hours blowing up her phone, simple good mornings, and requesting to meet up to start their day. It is lucky enough that the convention-linked hotel overbooked, forcing him out to another, or he'd be banging on her door.

Willow does not give Tyler much of a chance to protest this time around when she slips from the bed. He only gets to let out a soft huff in dissatisfaction, sitting up and watching as she tugs on a hotel robe and heads towards the closest. She tugs it open,

"You okay?" Tyler pushes himself up against the headboard, the sheets pooling around his waist, giving her a glimpse of his full, shirtless figure. She wishes should could stop and admire without the looming threat of her job over her.

"Yeah," it doesn't sound very convincing, even when she tries to give her best weather girl smile, "it just work stuff. Joel thinks we still have more we can cover at the convention, and I need to-"

Prime herself for false perfection, return to the reality she had been corned into. Willow thinks of yesterday, the hours of useless networking and performative misery, and only feels dread. It makes her shoulders sag; the thought of putting on another one of these stiff dresses and heels and making small talk about ratings as if that had been what she spent her life studying.

(Especially with Tyler there, eyes still on her, watching her slip into the skin of weather girl she has become used to.

He does not know her; did not spend hours learning every inch of her skin, kissing the scar on her bicep she hides on screen. It feels wrong, knowing he met her past.)

"You hate it."

The sound of his voice makes her jump, breaking her stare from her stare at her closest. Willow pauses for a beat, brows furrowed as she tries to piece together a response. "What are you talking about?" she asks before jumping into defenses. "I don't hate it. It's just overwhelming sometimes."

He gives her a look, a clear one that tells her he manages to see right through her. "Let me guess, the only time it doesn't feel overwhelming is when you're talking about the weather without a camera in your face," he notes, much closer to the truth than she's ready to admit. "which is never."

"I know what I signed up for.," Willow mutters back, trying to end the conversation with some sort of finality. He trenches into dangerous territory; the

"Before all this," Tyler started, his voice soft but curious, "what did you do? You know, before the reporting gig?"

Willow's nails dig into her arms, catching the scar she always seems to trace when things get hard. The weight of his words acts as a stark reminder it's there and all the heavy memories that are buried within it. "What do you mean?"

Tyler leans forward on the side of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at her. "I mean, you've got all those degrees," he starts, not pushing, but searching for answers that she thought she had been safe from giving,  "you talk about storms like you were chasing them your entire life, so what did you actually get all those for?"

"It doesn't matter," she tells him and full-heartedly believes that's the truth. It should not matter to him because it cannot matter to her; she is not that girl anymore. Even though Tyler brought out glimpses of her, breathed life back into the parts she thought had died, she knows better. That life doesn't belong to her now. Not when reality keeps calling her phone every fifteen minutes.

"This is what I do: reportin', the weather girl life. This is who I am."

Tyler's eyes narrow, unshaken by her avoidance. "You sure about that?"

Willow furrows her brows at him, her defenses rising as he seems to try to dig further into the part she is too careful with. "You seem to care a lot for a one-night stand," she snaps, her words biting, more out of instinct to protect herself from the past. She turns back towards the closet, not wanting to see the hurt on his face, but rather face the silence, the sound of him collecting his clothes and running for the door.

But Tyler doesn't leave. Instead, he stands up to her, taking her waist gently and turning her towards him. Willow blinks, caught off guard by his still-soft touch.

"I ain't tryin' to be a one-night stand," he says. His eyes burn with such intensity- no anger, something deeper- at how she dares insinuate their time as something so meaningless. "If that's all it was to you, then fine, but that ain't what it is to me." He pauses, searching her face for a reaction. Willow feels her breath catch. It was never a one-night stand for her and he must know that, deep down. "If you leave, like this, I am goin' to wind up missin' you the rest of my damn life."

"Tyler I..." she began, trailing off, unsure of what to say with the weight of his words.

"I wasn't tryna' upset you," he says gently, letting out a sigh. "I just saw how much you care about all this- storms, the science, everything- and whoever the hell you become for this job ain't that. It ain't the girl I spent all day with yesterday." He takes a beat before he goes on. "When you're ready to tell me what the hell got you here, I'll listen, but right now, don't push yourself for something you clearly couldn't give two shits about."

"I can't just quit my job."

"What if you just played hooky for a day?" He is finally smiling again, something a little hopeful. "Maybe two," he adds to make her chuckle. "And we don't have to talk about your job or anything real important. We can just be Willow and Tyler for a little bit."

It's tempting, the kind of offer that makes her toes curl like standing on the edge of a diving board, knowing the jump would be exhilarating but terrified of the plunge. She bites her lip and glances down at her feet. "What would I tell Joel?"

Tyler tucks a stray curl behind her ear as he gently cups her face and brings her gaze back to him. "Whatever would let me get to keep you for a little longer," he says, tender yet full of intent.

Willow swallows, defenses crumbling. "Okay," she finally agrees with a nod, "okay."

He smiles, brighter than before, and kisses her again. It is softer than their last, the one that they had shared in the throws of passion, but full of more meaning than ever before.

The phone buzzes again, interrupting them, and she knows she has to pick it up this tim. Willow steps away from Tyler with a sigh and reaches across the bed to grab her phone. She swipes to answer before pressing the phone to her ear.

"Willow! Finally!" Joel cuts through the line with a chipper voice that is far too early for. Willow rubs at her temple. "Where are you? I thought we would meet for breakfast before we hit the convention again,"

"Yeah, sorry. I got caught up in something," she lies smoothly. Tyler listens, hovering next to her. Willow pauses for a moment, her eyes meeting his as she decides. "I, uh, might have an exclusive with a local storm chaser," she starts, trying to sell a story. Tyler lets out a soft snort at her lie and she waves at him to try to get him to hush.  "Figured it'd make a good feature piece on an easy weather day, you know? You said the viewers were really interested the last time I talked about chasing equipment so..."

"Really? That sounds amazing. I can meet you with the equipment if you give me some-"

"No, don't worry about it," she cuts him off quickly. "I've got the hand-helds in my carry-on. It should be enough." She feels Tyler come up behind her, dragging her to his chest from her waist and holding her tight. He places a soft kiss in the crook of her neck, a silent thank you. Willow cannot help her smile; a genuine one, nothing close to her weather girl persona.

"You sure, Willow?" Joel presses. "I don't mind sending backup—"

"Don't worry about it," she interrupts again. "I kind of want it to be more personal anyway. This guy's really old school." She casts a sideways glance at Tyler, who mouths back her words mockingly. Willow rolls her eyes at him and he nips playfully at her shoulder in response, his teeth grazing her skin. She barely manages to hold in her squeak of surprise.

Joel, sweet, oblivious Joel, continues completely fooled by her. "That's a bummer. I know you love having the whole set-up."

Willow stops herself from snorting; this man truly knows nothing about her. "Yeah, well, you know," she says, her tone hopefully masking her annoyance, "sometimes you just gotta work with what you have."

"Well, let me know if you need anything, and if you end up free by dinner, I'll take you out—my treat."

"Thanks, but this guy's got me booked out for the whole day. I'll keep you posted if anything changes."

Willow hangs up before Joel can say goodbye, sighing full of exasperation as she tosses her phone back on the nightstand. Tyler spins her around in his arms and leads her right back towards the bed. He pushes the robe off her shoulders, wanting her bare skin before him again.

"When you said clingy..." He mutters as his knees hit the bedside. Tyler situates himself first up against the headboard and then tugs Willow down on top of him.

Willow huffs. "I wasn't exaggerating," she says. She adjusts herself on top of him, lying on her stomach and resting against his chest. There is this instant peace she feels when her green eyes meet his blue. "I think he means well, but he can be a bit much sometimes."

Tyler brushes a loose strand of her behind her ear fondly. "You sure he's not in love with you?"

"I doubt it," she replies, shaking her head. "He don't know enough about me to love me. And even if he was, I ain't interested."

Tyler tsks, his mock disappointment corrupted by the mischievous grin he wears. He leans into to capture her lips with his. "Heartbreaker."

Willow pulls back just before he can make contact. "I ain't kissing you," she playfully denies him. Her cowboy pulls a pout and she raises her brow. "Don't play with me. You were tryna' get me in trouble on the phone."

"It was moral support," he counters, feigning innocence and returning to the grin that has pulled her in more often than not.

Willow scoffs with another playful shove. "Moral support, my ass."

"Hey," Tyler says as if he is absolutely offended by her statement. "You handled it like a pro because of me. I stood there, supporting you- so perfect and gentlemanly..."

"Mhmm, was that what it was?" she teases lowly, looking up at him with hooded eyes and a lazy half-smile.

He hums in agreement before he continues. "I think I deserve a reward," he decides, leaning in closer again,  "especially for being so courteous and givin' you the idea to play hooky in the first place."

"Oh, so now you want credit for me lying to my assistant?" she lets out a small snort in disbelief.

"Not lying," Tyler corrects, lips inches from hers again, his nose bumping gently against hers, "just making better use of your time."

"You're impossible."

"But you like me anyway," he whispers and finally manages to brush his lips against hers. Willow cannot help but give in, leaning up into his kiss with a soft smile gracing her features.

◆ ◆ ◆

PLAYING HOOKY CERTAINLY  SLIPS INTO DAY TWO. Tyler argues that the accomplishment is his and his alone, tempting her with the offers of more poorly-written shark-attack movies, beer, and his tongue on parts of her that he's learned makes her squeal. Willow certainly agrees with him, but will never admit for she's learned he has too much of a big head already.

Gullible Joel takes the bait once again regarding her storm chaser story, how there is much more there to explore, but it is her responsibility alone. She spins a new tale of having to camp out with these chasers, to see how they prepare for a storm, and all she gets is praise for how dedicated she is to the weather-reporting cause. Joel tells her he will certainly see her in the morning and a part of her wants to tell him not to hold out hope for it.

Tyler wakes her up with the same enthusiasm, except this time, there's a plan- one that requires actually getting dressed. She digs out the pair of jeans she shoved to the bottom of her suitcase, grateful she thought to pack them 'just in case.' Tyler tells her to ditch the blouse she pulls out though, deciding it is far to dressy for their venture. He tosses her the well-worn flannel she met him in instead and she slips it over her tanktop.

"So, where are we going, cowboy?" Willow asks on their way out of the hotel. Tyler's truck is still at the convention center, which is only a short walk from where she's staying.

"Don't ask me to spoil the surprise now," he drawls with a grin.

Tyler brings them to a beaten truck in a parking garage, decked out to nines with weight and lights that would be any chaser's dreams.

"Extra weight on the chassis. Anchoring down two feet," He boasts proudly, opening the passenger door for her with a wild grin. When he rounds the truck and slides into his own seat, he slaps his hand down on the dash appreciatively.  "Withstand up to an EF3 in this thing."

The truck rumbles to life beneath them and by the time Tyler is backing out of his spot, Willow is practically bouncing her seat. Her hands itch to touch everything there is; the harnesses assigned to each seat, including Tyler's own, the wooden box tucked in the back seat floorboard clearly labeled explosives. The truck bed holds a radar system built by hand that she might beg to examine.

Her eyes land on a panel of switches by the gear shift. "What are these for?" she asks, her fingers hovering above them.

Tyler chuckles and reaches to occupy her wandering hand with his. "I love your enthusiasm, baby," he drawls, "but you can't be shootin' off rockets in the middle of a garage."

Willow raises her brow, his words doing nothing to sway her. "Rockets?"

"Boone chases with me," Tyler explains to her as if it clears everything up. "He's still got a thing for em', but instead of parking lots, we shoot em' off out in the field." It makes her laugh, the idea of mixing storm chasing with fireworks; in what world would people connect the two?

As they pull out of the parking garage, her attention shifts to the GoPro mounted on the corner of the dash. She pokes at it with the tip of her finger, finding it odd that the camera is angled inward. It ain't unusual to have a camera for storm-chasing, but more often than not it would focus out on the open road or the stormy skies they were meant to chase, not the chasers.

Tyler notices her and brushes it off way too casually. "Ah, don't worry about that," he says, keeping his eyes on the road with an easy smile. "It's just something we use on chases."

Willow narrows her eyes at him, knowing there's more to the story than he's letting on. But she decides she will let it go, only to give the same space he would offer her. She settles back in her seat with a small, playful, smile tugging at her lips.

"Can I shoot off a rocket when we get to wherever we're goin'?"

"We'll see," he replies with a wink.

They don't drive for too long- a mere thirty minutes driving out of the city ain't nothing to her when she's spent more time living out in the backroads than on bustling streets. Tyler runs the radio, the honest rule of 'driver picks the music' staying true to his truck, but she knows most of the songs. She sings along quietly with them, staring out the window at the passing wheat and cornfields as they drive further out.

(And Tyler, in turn, stares at her. She has to bat him away with her hand more often than not, telling him, "Focus on the road, cowboy.

He pouts playfully each time, hitting her with a smug little grin. "It isn't my fault you're not safe to drive with," he counters, "too pretty not to be a distraction.")

It isn't long before they hit a dirt road, traveling further out into the ranches and land. Willow rolls down the window, letting the wind catch in her hair as she leans in, folding her arms against the window seal.

Tyler finally turns down the last beaten path, framed with wooden fences and a little red mailbox at the front with "Owens" scripted across the front in faded paint. He pulls to a stop in front of a house, painted yellow with a wrap-around porch and wind chimes swaying in the wind. There's a barn off in the distance that matches the red on the little mailbox, a little more worn from weather and work from the years past.

Without even thinking, Willow unbuckles her seatbelt and steps out into the front yard of the place, dirt crunching beneath her sneakers. She shuts her eyes and takes it all in with a deep breath- the air always feels fresher, cleaner out in places like this, where the world seems to slow long enough for the folks living there to catch up.

Tyler steps up beside her, his hands tucked away in his pockets as he watches her take it all in. "You like it?"

Willow opens her eyes slowly, glancing around at the land again in awe. "Yeah," she tells him a little breathlessly. "I ain't been out in a place like this in a long time." Not since the house she grew up in. Not since the Carter barn was full of their storm-chasing equipment. "How'd you get someone to let us out here?"

"Just know someone," he says simply. "I always love it out here." His tone shifts to something softer when he appreciates the world around him. It draws her to him, catching that easy smile of his.  "Has a way of reminding you what really matters, you know?"

His words settle in the air between them, and she feels it- the comfort of home in a way she hasn't felt in years. Whether it is him or the familiarity, she isn't too sure, but she lets the peace of the moment linger.

"Yeah," she agrees, "I know."

"I thought we could go for a ride," he nods towards the barn, "get some sunshine since we spent all day inside yesterday."

Willow lets him lead her over and watches as he throws the barn doors open. She sees the other passion for the first time- the cowboy he is at heart- as he greets each mare with as much enthusiasm as the next. He introduces them to Willow too, knowing each by name, and encouraging her to be as affectionate as possible with them.

Tyler saddles up two horses from them with ease. He straightens out all of the straps and holsters to ensure it is all set for their ride out as if he practiced it every day of his life. He leads them both out to an open field to make it a little easier to mount.

"I can help you up," he offers, already reaching for her hips. He seems so sure she'll need it and it's just too sweet to deny him. She plays along, letting him guide her, placing her foot in the stirrup as he helps her swing her leg over the saddle. His grin, proud and a little smug, spreads wide once she's settled. He moves to mount his own horse, already opening his mouth to guide her again.

But she has other plans.

The second he mounts his horse, she taps the side of hers, and with a smooth, practiced tug of her reins, they take off out into the open field. She hears Tyler shout in disbelief from behind her and his scramble to catch up. Willow grins at the familiar feeling; the motion of the horse beneath her, the wind whipping in her hair. It has been years since the last time she's been on a horse, but it becomes second nature again.

Tyler pushes to reach her, his horse kicking up dust behind them. Willow pulls her reins to slow her horse to a slow trot. When he's finally beside her, he playfully glares. "You knew how to mount a horse," he calls out, half-accusing, half-amused.

"I thought you were being sweet," she teases over her shoulder. "Wanted to feed into your cowboy fantasy a little bit.

"Where'd you learn to ride like that?" Tyler asks, a little impressed. "Those cowboys you got a thing for?"

Willow laughs and shakes her head. "I'm from Oklahoma," she reveals with a smile. "Grew up with some land, but we didn't have horses." Mose had been the only animal ever to wander their barns unless you counted their storm-chasing trucks and vans in the mix. "Kate's mom did, though, and she always roped me into taking care of them."

"Kate your friend?"

Willow cannot help but smile at the thought of her, no matter how much grief is etched in it. Sometimes it feels like a competition- that a certain smell or phrase will make her miss one or the other more. She aches for Javi on the days that bring her joy, wishing he could bask in it with her, with that same infectious laughter he always had.

Kate is like a missing limb, though- this phantom ache that always rests in her soul. She has grown so used to it that it rarely hurts but is reminded of it every time she peers in the mirror. The other half of her soul, wayward and lost with a matching scar from their past.

"Yeah, my best friend," she says, fond and sad, all at the same time, eyes towards the horizon. "I ain't seen her in a long time, though."

(The first goodbye is also dawned in black, a celebration of life instead of achievement happening right before.

Addy's funeral had been the last. The rescue crews gave up weeks of searching and her parents decided burying an empty casket would be the closest thing they could get to putting her soul to rest.

"I'm sorry," Kate followed up in the barn, surrounded by the memories of their work, the ones she planned to run from, "it just hurts too much to stay."

Willow stayed on that workbench- the one she built DOROTHY on- long after the other girl departed, only leaving when Jo finally came to take her home.)

Willow swallows down the memories and tightens her hands on the reins. When she glances back at Tyler, she finds him watching her closely, his gaze full of unspoken questions. 

"Where'd you grow up?" she asks to shift the conversation.

"Here."

"Arkansas?" she asks, her brows furrowing. "Wait- you mean here here?" Willow's eyes widen slightly. She pulls her horse to a full stop as it hits her- this is not some hideaway, this is his home.

She looks around her again, taking in the land with fresh eyes. She imagines a growing Tyler running the fields, tending to the barn, painting the name 'Owens' along the mailbox. She thinks of him learning the ways of the cowboy out in these fields, sitting on the porch and watching storms roll in, torn between destinies. It is beautiful, serene, and all the more special knowing it belongs to his memory.

Tyler shrugs, a casual smile pulling at his lips. "It was nearby, my folks are out visiting family. Figured you could do without the noise for a little bit."

Willow's heart skips. To share this with her, this part of his life feels more intimate than anything they have shared- more than their dance, more than their first fight over her job. It makes it all the more real between them; something that should be so carefree, so simple, shifting into something more personal.

"Tyler..." Her gaze softens. He glances at her, letting her find the words she wants to say. "It's beautiful," she says sincerely, so full of warmth and gratitude, "thank you for bringing me here."

Tyler's smile widens, and for a moment, there's nothing but the sound of the horses and the gentle breeze around them.

"C'mon," he eventually says, kicking his own horse into motion, "race me to the lake, cowgirl."

"You're on," she agrees. Without hesitation, Willow kicks her horse into a gallop behind him, laughter bubbling up as they tear off across the field together.

◆ ◆ ◆

THEY END UP SWIMMING IN THE LAKE. It starts as a joke until Tyler is tugging off his clothes and jumping into the water, pestering her until she follows him in. Willow takes the bait, strips down to her bra and panties, and dives right into the water.

They spend hours out there, lounging on the shoreline, swimming laps around the bank. They laugh like teenagers, taking turns trying to dunk one another before crashing back into each other. It's cold, but worth every moment.

By sunset, Willow sits perched on the kitchen island in the house, hair still dripping wet after her shower, wearing only her panties and an old UA Little Rock shirt of Tyler's. She tugs at the hem absentmindedly as she watches him, shirtless in some old ball shorts. It's quite the picture—a half-dressed cowboy over the stove, soaking in all the warmth from the burners. She almost didn't believe him when he said he'd cook for them, not until she had fully showered and found him downstairs, hard at work, throwing together some quesadillas.

"You know, I didn't peg you as the domestic type," she teases, her gaze tracing the stretch of his back muscles as he flips the quesadilla in the pan

Tyler shoots her a glance over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe it's something about you just domesticates me," he flirts. His gaze lingers for a moment before he turns back to the stove. "Momma made sure I was able to feed myself before I went out on the road chasing- said I wasn't allowed to live off take-out."

Willow smiles at the thought, swinging her legs slightly as she sits on the counter. "What's she like?"

"She's great," he tells her, genuinely. "Always wants the best for me; proud as hell at whatever I do even if it terrifies the shit outta her."

"I guess she's not a big fan of your current work, then."

Tyler lets out a sigh as he places the spatula down on the spoon holder. He reaches next to the stove hood, opens a cabinet, and grabs a pair of plates. "I think she always wanted me to do something more practical," he admits.  "Run the ranch with Dad or get a business degree, but she's still supportive. Anytime there's a tornado warning mentioned on the news, she's blowin' up my phone to see if I'm already chasin' it. It ain't to say she ain't worryin', though." he recounts fondly as he goes to pick up the spatula again. "What about your family?"

Willow shrugs. "I got raised by my aunt and uncle," she answers simply enough, careful to leave out any names. "Took me in when I was about six, been their kid ever since."

She can see the corner of his mouth turn up into a grin, even without him looking at her. "I bet they're something with the way you turned out." He flips the second quesadilla one more time before shutting off the stove. Any siblings?"

"Not that I am aware of." Willow then narrows her eyes at him playfully. "You seem like an only child."

Tyler scoffs as he plates their food. "I wouldn't be rude to the person cooking your dinner, weather girl," he comments just as he turns around, plate in hand for exchange, and peppers a soft kiss on the tip of her nose, "but on the nose."

They eat in the kitchen, Tyler sitting on one of the stools at the island while she stays on the countertop. He tells her stories about the ranch, and what it was like to run around as a kid on the land, and she in turn shares her own childhood stories, the easiest memories of hers to pick through.

He dips the last bite of his quesadilla, mouth half full, before asking, "I remember you saying you stormed chased before, right?"

A brief mention, barely close enough to the truth that it should have long slipped his mind. "Yeah," she says quietly, "a long, long time ago, just a little in school." It is that same half-assed truth, hoping it is enough to sate him and move on to another conversation topic.

"You ever think about givin' it another try?"

Willow nearly chokes on her food. "What?"

"There's this storm developing in the west that we were gonna' chase tomorrow," he starts after finishing that bite off and wiping his hands clean. "If you could get outta one more day of the convention; I think you'd have a hell of time."

Willow's heart stumbles at his words, her stomach twisting. She pauses eating, forcing herself to swallow the bite that nearly made its way back up, before sitting her plate to the side. She wasn't expecting to ever hear him ask—especially not now, not here in the comforts of his home, without any preparation.

"You want me," she pauses, unable to even meet his gaze, "to chase with you?"

"Yeah," Tyler says and she can hear the excitement in his voice. "Meet my crew, put that mind of yours to some good use. I bet you'd be the best damn chaser there ever was out there."

It catches her off guard, the invitation hanging between them as she tries to process her sudden drop. Her mind races with memories, with strings of thought she's been working through in therapy session after therapy session, counting herself back from the edge, the losses, the fear-

His enthusiasm makes it hurt more- how excited he sounds to offer it to her. She has to remind herself that he doesn't know- he doesn't understand why she doesn't chase anymore. He listens to the way she can ramble on about a storm and assumes that she has the perfect mind to fit into his world.

And she would have, five years ago, before her storm-chasing escapades killed four people.

"Tyler, I don't know..." she trails off, her voice soft and pleading, hoping he'll hear the uncertainty and just let it go. She doesn't want him to ask this of her- doesn't want to disappoint him, but cannot face the part of her buried so deep that even he can not revitalize.

But Tyler does not take the bait. He reaches for her, taking her hands in his and resting them gently on her knees.

"You've seen my truck," he attempts to reassure her. It is easy to think her fear centers around the thought of getting too close to danger. "We'd be safe, and I'd never let anything happen to you out there."

(It is the storms that scare her sometimes, the strong winds catching debris, but even as they appear in her nightmares, they are not center stage. It is her chasing again that sets the scene, with her so brilliant mind that chooses a storm that grows exponentially and it kills and takes and scars-

It is a rush of thoughts- what happens to her cowboy and his crew with her there? What if she fucks it up again and they are hurt? What if she makes the wrong call and they die-?)

Willow feels a lump forming in her throat. 

She counts to fifteen in her head- breaths in and out to bring herself back from the edge she is always toeing the line of.

Tyler tugs her back again.

"Hey, baby," he murmurs, concern flickering in his eyes, "you still in there?"

Willow blinks at him, feeling it all sink in. What a fool she had been, thinking the slivers of the girl she used to be would ever be enough for him. She has been offering him only fragments, thinking he'd be satisfied with glimpses he digs out.

Tyler- he wants more. He is desperate for every piece, to dive deep and see every part of her, no matter how broken or crumbled. And she knows, deep down, that until she set foot in the storm with him- passion for passion- it would never be enough.

She can't punish him for that- can't let him accept scraps of her old self when he deserves more, despite how much she wants to cling to him. No matter cosmic connections- he deserves someone who can match the life still burning in his eyes, someone capable of living fully.

But she never tells him; she cannot bear to. Willow forces a shaky smile instead and runs her thumb gently along the back of his hand. "I'll think about it."

The words hang in the air, a promise she knows she can't keep.

The next morning, Willow leaves without a word, not even a note.

It's better that way.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

AND THEY NICKNAMED HER THE BOLTER!

i headcannon that tyler falls in love fast just based upon how obsessed he was with kate in the film. so, it would make since this boy would be all in after a few dates and the dick riding of his life.

here's the morning vibe: she wakes up, kisses tyler on his forehead while he's still sleeping, collects her things but totally steals the shirt, and she heads back to her hotel. joel calls to tell her that lucky she's back- their flight back is actually today, he booked it wrong like an idiot and willow checks out.

she is very sad about doing this- that girl is obsessed with tyler but self-sabotages!

CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM IS HELPFUL especially as I head into the Twisters plotline!

lots of love,

kari