Chapter Text
Sunlight filters through the blinds, a gentle wind rolling in through the cracked window of her childhood bedroom. Kate wakes with a dry throat, her head throbbing, and for a moment she isn’t quite sure what year it is.
Her fingers tremble as she blindly reaches for the other side of the bed, but instead of empty sheets, she finds a warm, solid body beside her. A sigh of relief leaves her at the realization.
“Kate?” Tyler mumbles, his breath warm against the top of her head, and it instantly soothes her. When she approached the guest room late last night, face clean of the caked blood and hair no longer matted with dirt, he didn’t hesitate to oblige her only request: for him to stay with her. Despite this, she wasn’t convinced he’d stay the entire night without meandering back to his own bed.
“You stayed,” she whispers, her shoulder protesting as she rolls over. They’re face-to-face, and she finds that his hair’s a mess and he has a day’s worth of stubble lining his jaw, white t-shirt clinging to his skin. His eyes squint against the morning light pouring over them.
“You asked me,” he says, his voice raspy from disuse. “Of course I was going to.”
She hms, and a comfortable silence falls over them. Birds are chirping outside, and she can hear the chatter of the TV downstairs. Her mom’s probably been up for several hours now, always outside with the animals by the time dawn breaks.
“Thank you.” It’s delayed, awkwardly so, but she feels the need to say it anyway.
“Go back to sleep, Kate.” He brushes his fingers against her cheek; his skin is rough, but his touch is gentle. Her eyes flutter at the contact. They don’t speak again. Both are drowsy enough that despite the light creeping in, it doesn’t take long for sleep to overcome them.
When she wakes next, Kate can tell it’s late in the afternoon, and Tyler’s nowhere to be found.
She untangles herself from the mess of sheets, her body aching as she does, and slowly sets herself upright. There’s a mirror in the corner of the room, and after allowing her feet to dangle from the edge of the bed until she steadies herself, she makes her way over to it. Her reflection gazes back at her, and she resists the urge to laugh at herself, bangs awry in several directions with the rest of her hair much the same.
There’s a gash on her forehead that, thankfully, didn’t require stitches, and a collection of scrapes and bruises line her arms and legs.
A scar on her left knee serves as a reminder of the first time she wrecked her bike. She was seven and chasing a cloud she believed was developing into a storm along the edge of her family’s farm. It wasn’t long before she found herself thrown from her bike, its front tire having stumbled over a rock.
Her right elbow displays the aftermath of one too many drinks and a godawful line dance Addy had dragged her into at a bar one night when they were in undergrad. Jeb had followed, bumping into her in the midst of learning the steps, and down she went. That night, while he was kneeling before her with a rag pressed to the wound, she told him she thought she might love him. Always the gentleman, he reminded her she was drunk and, if she really felt that way, to tell him when one too many tequila shots weren’t clouding her brain. (She did, the next day, once her nasty hangover had been soothed by plenty of sleep and the greasiest food known to man.)
Her body is a mosaic of scars, both new and old, most notably the one stretched along the side of her thigh. All reminders of what she’s lost and what she’s lived through. Grief is a heavy weight on her chest, even five years later, as she lifts the hem of her shorts. She traces the puckered skin, pursing her lips as tears burn behind her eyes.
Miraculously, she’s lived through two EF5s. Her friends, who had gone into an unsuspecting storm because of her, didn’t get the chance to survive even one.
Laughter carries from downstairs, and she brushes her hair and changes into a new set of clothes before following the noise. Tyler, her mom, and the wranglers are sitting around her family’s oak dining table, cards in hand.
“Kate!” Boone exclaims before he jumps from his seat, embracing her in a hug. She wraps an arm around him, her hand slowly patting his back. However strange he may be, Kate thinks she could get used to his antics.
The others quiet down as they take her in, and she shifts awkwardly on her feet. She can feel Tyler’s gaze on her as a folding chair is pulled up to the table and she takes a seat beside him.
His jaw works as he chews a piece of gum, his breath minty when he leans in close to tell her, “Your mom’s a cheater,” without explanation, just in time for the woman in question to enter the room. Flour clings to her forehead as she reaches to untie the apron around her waist.
“That cheater is the one fixin’ your food, Owens,” Kate responds, tilting her head. “You’d be smart to watch your mouth.”
“That’s right, Katie.” Her mom takes the empty seat across from them, picking her cards back up. “Being good at the game isn’t the same as cheating, thank you very much.”
“Besides, he’s the one who’s been cheating,” Lily provides, ruffling Tyler’s hair.
“Now that I believe,” Kate grins at him, and he shakes his head in response, leaning back in his seat.
Breaking his gaze from hers, he huffs, “Can you people quit accusing me of cheating and get on with the damn game? C’mon now.”
The smell of bacon wafts in from the kitchen, and she knows her mom must be fixing her renowned biscuits and gravy for dinner. The fact that it’s been Kate’s favorite meal (specifically for dinner, not breakfast) since she was a child isn’t lost on her. She feels bad for ignoring her mom over the past five years and knows she won’t get lost time back. She makes a promise to herself to make up for it from here on out, and throws a smile in her mom’s direction.
“I love you,” Cathy mouths from across the table. Kate does the same, then leans over to look at Tyler’s cards since she’s missing a set of her own.
“Get outta here,” he jokes, moving them out of her sight. She reaches for his hand, bringing it back towards her as she laughs.
“The least you can do is share with me.” She beams.
“After how much you’ve tried to mislead me since we met? I don’t trust you, Sapulpa,” he jeers.
“Oh, whatever.”
The others chime in, insisting she’ll get her own cards when they start the next round. Tyler scoots his chair closer to hers, finally turning his cards so she can see, and as they all carry on, she tries not to think of anything but this.
She’s not okay, but this place, these people make her think she will be; one day.
They eat dinner shortly after their card game dissolves into a multitude of arguments and several more cheating allegations, and Boone walks away as he mutters, “I can’t handle you people,” but Kate knows he’s fighting a smile as he heads towards the living room.
Slowly, the others begin to leave for the night. Dexter insists on staying in the camper, reasoning that it has everything he could possibly need without costing him any money, while the others stay at a shoddy motel a few miles down the road. Her mother offered for them to stay in the living room, but they insisted they stay elsewhere. Kate can’t help but think that may have been the better choice considering the outcome of their earlier shenanigans.
She finds herself on the front steps with her mom, a mug in one hand as she watches Boone and Lily pull out, headlights disappearing as they drive down the road. The cicadas are loud tonight, and in the distance she hears the shuffling of horses’ hooves. The air has a chill to it, and she fights the shiver that makes its way down her spine.
“I’m heading to bed, Kate,” her mom tells her, laying a gentle hand on her knee as she looks at her with soft eyes. In the porchlight, she can see the glint of unshed tears. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Kate bites her lip and nods, throat tightening.
“Me too,” she whispers. “I love you.” Her mom wraps an arm around her shoulder, head leaning against her own. She missed her so much, and suddenly the guilt is all consuming.
“I’m sorry I ignored your calls,” she breathes. “That I never came home. I wanted to, but there were just…so many reminders. Of them. I couldn’t bring myself to even think of this place, let alone actually come.”
“Oh Katie,” her mom sighs. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re here now, that’s what matters. You were hurting, and trying to heal from something no one should ever have to go through. I understand that.” Cathy rubs her shoulder, mindful of the aches and bruises plastering her body. “You can breathe now, Kate.”
A tear falls down her cheek, and she quickly moves to wipe it away. “I’m trying to.”
“Y’know, your friends that were here tonight, they remind me a lot of your old crew. Addy, Praveen, Javi…Jeb. The house hasn’t felt this lively in years. Not since your last chase before-”
“I know.”
“You’re lucky, you know, to find that twice,” her mom reminds her, and she can’t help but feel it has a deeper meaning.
Her mom bids her goodnight again, and it isn’t long before Kate feels a blanket fall upon her shoulders, a warm hand tucking it in against her, its touch gentle. She pulls the blanket tighter and lifts her head to find kind eyes and a tentative smile.
“I thought you might be cold.” Tyler sits beside her on the top step, their shoulders brushing. He runs a hand through his hair, then rests it against his knee. “Your mom said there are leftovers in the fridge.”
Last night, Kate insisted Tyler stay in the guest room as he had before. Tonight, her mom beat her to it, but Kate knows the outcome would have been the same no matter who had asked. (She was definitely planning to ask again, not that he has to know.)
“Thank you.”
Silence falls over them as they take in their surroundings. It’s after eleven now, and she knows he’s probably just as tired as she is, but neither one of them budge, content to be in the other’s company for a little while longer.
“There’s a storm system heading in, a little north of here. Looks like it won’t hit for another couple of days,” he starts. “The others think we should check it out, but the truck’s in bad shape, and... I don’t know.”
“You should do it,” Kate tells him honestly. “It’s not like it could ruin the truck any more than I already did,” she nudges his shoulder.
“Ha ha,” he says, sarcastic. Then, suddenly serious, “You scared the shit out of me, Sapulpa.”
“Sorry,” she offers, and she means it, but offering any further response would require her to confront something within herself that she has neither the energy nor the brainpower to fathom right now. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I know that.” He swallows, turning to look at her. “I also know that you could’ve asked me to go with you. I would’ve gone with you, Kate,” he ends in a whisper, and it feels natural when she leans her head against his shoulder, finding the crook of his neck. Her nose brushes against his pulse point, and his fingers find hers where they rest in her lap.
“If my plan hadn't worked, if I had died out there—if you had died, Tyler, I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself.” Her voice breaks as she adds, “I can’t lose anyone else.”
He lifts her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze when he tells her, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He walks upstairs with her, a limp in his gait; whereas Kate hadn’t needed stitches, Tyler had, and his leg is still sore from the debris he was pinned under. Seeing him there, defenseless against the monster hurtling towards them, telling her to leave him and save herself, had instilled a fear in her that she hadn’t felt since the overpass.
“Goodnight,” he tells her, half smiling. The moon sits high in the sky tonight, its light shining through the window at the end of the hallway. He turns to walk away, but she stops him, grabbing his hand. When he faces her, before she can talk herself out of it, she stands on the tips of her toes and places her arms around his neck, pulling him close. She breathes him in briefly before letting go, though she doesn't want to.
She also doesn’t take the time to gauge his reaction, instead pulling the door open and stepping inside.
Before she shuts the door, she looks at him again, fighting off a smile of adoration at the look on his face.
“Goodnight, Tyler.”