CHAPTER SIX : NEVER LEFT ME

TULSA, OKLAHOMA

SHE TREATS HER FIRST DAY OF CHASING AGAIN MUCH LIKE SHE WOULD HER FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. It seems silly, to be that kind of nervous, but she rather let those first-day jitters bubble up in her rather than the dread she could feel at the thought of facing another twister.

Willow spends her first day off packing, taking her "vacation" a day early to emotionally prepare herself for the week ahead. She has the PTO for it; it isn't like she spent any time in the last three years traveling the world, utilizing her benefits to their full potential when the station could be a perfect, unhealthy coping mechanism. She spends the entire time with her mind racing ahead to Kate—the thought of seeing her again stirs a whirlwind of emotions.

It takes a lot to wrap her mind around the idea that she will see her again: the other wayward half of her soul. Five years apart and she will be before her again; storm chasing at her side again. Would they click instantly again, like she and Javi had? They should; they were soulmates in every sense, yet the fear of awkwardness hangs over her like a dark cloud.

Willow tries to distract herself by laying out her outfit for the next day—a pair of chinos and a button-up blouse, casual yet professional enough to keep up with whatever vibe business entrepreneur Javi might throw her way. She even pulls out her old boots, the ones caked with mud and debris from storms past. They're not the originals, but a new version of the pairs she wore until they frayed and split at the soles.

But when the task is done and her mind quiets, it's Tyler she can't help but think of.

It always comes back to him—this promise of her fate-driven chase on the horizon. She thinks of her therapist's final encouragement from the comforts of her sofa, staring down a radar full of chasable cells she is sure Javi already took his pick from. Her mind forms a plan. It's simple enough: get her bearings again, and prove to herself that she can still storm chase. Then, if all goes well, she'll find Tyler on Instagram, make sure he doesn't hate her, and maybe, just maybe, work up to actually seeing him. They'd start with a few casual messages, rebuild that spark slowly, and then—then they'd storm chase off into the sunset together.

That way, if she fucks it all up again, she can disappear off the face of the earth, and he'd be none the wiser.

Perfect, solid, foolproof plan.

Saturday morning comes sooner than later and at a crisp seven AM, Willow sits on the stoop outside her apartment, bags at her feet, and her leg bouncing in anticipation. She knows she can wait inside, wait to see a white, Storm PAR truck pull up through her balcony doors, but she cannot stare at the bare white walls anymore.

She watches a truck finally pull up, stark white the Storm Par written on its side. Willow stands when it comes to a stop, expecting Javi to roll down the window with some dramatic announcement, but the driver's door swings open instead. It isn't Javi that rounds the truck—it's someone new. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a stern, frown paired with dark sunglasses.

"You are not Javi," she acknowledges, certainly not with the way she has to crane her neck to look up at him.

"No," the man responds, his tone dry and unbothered as he smacks his gum in his mouth. The taller man reaches his hand out for her to shake. "I'm his business partner, Scott. He asked if I'd pick you up."

"Willow," she greets him with her own outstretched hand, her brows still a little furrowed. His grip is firm as she shakes his hand. "Is everything okay with Javi?"

"Yeah," Scott assures her, sounding bored. "Your friend's flight got delayed. He figured if he came to get both of you, there wouldn't be enough time to show you the PARs before we went out."

Willow's face immediately lights up at the mention of technology, the awkward, unexpected change in plans much more acceptable now with something to focus on. "Oh, yeah. I've been thinking about those things since he told me about them. The NSSL has been using PARs for more accurate pictures of storm formations for a while now, but it'll be fascinating to see how they'll function at a portable level."

He gives a tight nod, his gaze shifting back to the road. "Right," he says, voice even. He gestures to the truck. "But maybe keep the tech talk for the ride? Probably not the best idea to give your neighbors a radar mechanics lecture before eight."

Willow laughs, taken aback that he's capable of a joke—even with that dry tone. "Fair point," she replies with a small smile. Scott opens the back seat for her, and she tosses her duffle in before sliding into the passenger seat.

The inside of the Storm Par truck is sleek, decked out with high-quality storm-chasing equipment. Willow feels an itch to touch everything, but Scott's permanently furrowed expression gives her pause. She decides to comment instead, "Your funding must be insane."

Scott just shrugs off the remark, pulling out of the parking lot without so much as a nod.

Settling in for the two-hour drive to Chickasha, Willow starts rambling about the new tech, unable to contain her excitement. She can't tell if Scott's genuinely interested or just awkward enough not to interrupt, but either way, he lets her go on.

"So, Javi mentioned you were an engineer?" he asks as they hit the highway, his tone still flat but not dismissive.

"Oh, no, not really," she corrects him, turning against her seat belt. "I have degrees in physics and atmospheric science, but you just spend enough time building and fixing storm chasing equipment, you become a pseudo one. I actually rebuilt the device we used to use for data collection," she remembers the countless hours she poured into her moded version of DOROTHY, soldering scars still engraved into her fingers, "It was my uncle's design, but a few modifications made it more compatible with current technology."

"Hm," Scott hums, either impressed or simply acknowledging, though she can't quite tell. "These PARs are a long way from your DOROTHY, though."

Her brows raise slightly at the direct mention of the machine. "Javi told you about DOROTHY?"

"Javi told me about your family. I've read the study. Not hard to put it all together."

Willow pauses, feeling the familiar knot in her chest tighten at the mention of her family. The tension with her aunt, the ache of her uncle's absence—it all lingers, clinging like a shadow she can't shake. For a moment, she considers brushing it off, but instead, she just nods. "Very perceptive of you," she says softly.

Scott hums, a sound almost dismissive, yet focused. "I don't care who you're related to," he adds, glancing back at the road. "I care if you can do what Javi says you can do." He pauses, his expression revealing a hint of calculation. "And you sound like you're already more than some pretty weather girl."

Willow raises an eyebrow, momentarily caught off guard. "You think I'm pretty?" she asks, half teasing.

Scott's gaze remains fixed ahead, and his lips curl slightly at the corners. "You're conventionally attractive."

(She realizes Scott doesn't look at her once.

In that singular moment, she knows he is no cowboy, more clean-cut than any rodeo boy that she's ever shacked up with, but he seems to flirt the same. As if she needs to earn his affection; earn his gaze.

She won't play that game anymore; not when, just weeks ago, there had been another man in the driver's seat of a storm-chasing truck. A man who had deemed her beauty such a distraction that he could barely keep his eyes off her, weaving glances between the road and her face.)

The rest of the drive goes smoothly, slipping into a comfortable silence as Scott weaves them through the Oklahoma highways. It isn't long before they reach Chickasha, meeting a matching fleet of white, pristine trucks and SUVs at a gas station.

Other storm chasers mill about, forming clusters of rain ponchos and GoPros. The sight of tourist vans beckoning the average person to join them on the chase makes Willow roll her eyes as she steps out of the truck. Scott narrowly avoids the over-enthused crowd for them to join the crew of blue-collared shirts and Storm Par regalia. Javi isn't there yet, only a sea of unfamiliar faces.

"Holy shit, you're that Willow Thornton," one of the men instantly greet her with his hand to his heart. "Ma'am it's an honor."

It was the worst thing she could immediately hear. Willow offers a polite smile, trying to keep her discomfort in check. "I take it you're fans of the news?"

"I didn't until you started reporting on the weather," he replies, his gaze roaming over her in a way that makes her skin crawl. "You made things interesting."

Her eye might just have twitched in annoyance. Willow opens her mouth to snap back at him but Scott scolds his team instead. "I highly doubt Ms. Thornton is interested in being objectified by you, Mike," he interjects sharply, stepping closer to Willow as if to shield her from the unwanted attention. "I'll let Javi introduce you to the rest of them. I'll show you the units."

Scott's tone shifts to business as he gestures toward the trucks, his demeanor a stark contrast to the casual banter of his coworkers. "Three trucks will be equipped with one," he explains as moves the back of the truck they drove in. He opens the trunk, revealing one of the PAR units Javi had raved about. "We'll have our data analyst in another truck keeping track of the status of each PAR.

He doesn't take it out of the van but moves it just enough to provide a thorough demonstration of the PAR. His dedication to his work is evident in the way he describes each component. He details the front panel of radar sensors, the intricate anchor deployment system, and how everything will translate back to their data analyst in another van. She studies the units closely, listening intently, trying to absorb all the technical information while being super aware of Scott's scrutinizing gaze on her as she does so.

"Am I allowed to touch it?" she asks, a spark of curiosity igniting her voice. He nods slightly, not expecting her to take a heavy hand and shake the main panel.

Scott winces, his expression somehow tightening even more than it already had been. "I wouldn't—"

Willow stops at his interjection, but she's seen enough. Her shaking the PAR would be at a lesser strength than the lowest of wind speeds, but enough to show that the panel might be too light for anything they would truly want a scan of.

"Are you worried about durability at all?" she presses, her analytical mind kicking into high gear. "The bulk of the weight seems to be in the anchor system; makes me think the physical radar could detach under enough wind pressure. And what about the scanning rate..." Willow trails off, slipping into mumbling to herself. She picks at her lip as she stares down the machine, lost in thought. "DOROTHY was designed to withstand a tornado's destruction. The sensors require active flight for readings; it was never intended to be stationary because equipment like that in the path was sure to be a goner."

Scott's patience wears thin as he meets her gaze. "This won't be a goner," he says, his tone edged with irritation. "It's been through simulations of high wind speeds. It stood its ground."

"Simulations aren't the real thing," she counters. "It hasn't been near a tornado, so you can't be certain it won't be affected by real high wind speeds. An EF1 is one thing, but anything higher, I think you have about sixty seconds max of data collection before it gets swept up—not to mention the debris hitting it."

Scott shakes his head slightly as if trying to dismiss her concerns. "There are tracking devices installed on each device," he replies, the assurance feeling nothing like one with the way the words come with a bite. "But they'll be fine. The anchor system stakes into the ground."

"Into ground that will soften under the rain shield?" she retorts back with her own frustration mounting; for someone who seemed to want to respect her other, he takes none of her suggestions to heart. Willow backs off with her hands raised in defense, but her tone gives anything but that. "I just hope you have replacements is all."

Scott glares down at her over his sunglasses. He opens his mouth to deliver another blow, but the familiar, chipper tone she's been waiting on all morning cuts in. A hand slaps down on each of their shoulders and Willow turns to meet Javi's grin.

"And here I thought you two would get along," he quips teasingly. His humor cuts through the tension like a knife and Willow allows it to wash over her, unlike Scott who still clearly lets it simmer below the surface.

She turns towards Javi who stretches his arms out wide for a hug and takes her right in. "Will, I am so glad you came." When he pulls back, he gives her outfit a once over. "I ain't ever seen you wear a dress shirt into a chase, though."

"You all are out here dressed like you're goin' to the office, I ain't lookin' out of place," she slaps his shoulder playfully.

Javi chuckles, gesturing over his shoulder. "Yeah, I think Kate got the memo too—all the way in New York."

Willow turns, and there she is. Kate.

For a second, the world stills as she takes in the sight of the other half of her soul. Her hair is blonder than ever, styled in a way that says she's spent time in a place where appearances matter. Her clothes are polished, a far cry from the weather-beaten jeans and scuffed boots they once wore. At the core, though, nothing changes, not in the ways that matter. She remains the other half she always knew, her partner in everything, the one who stuck by her through every storm, very literally.

In Kate's gaze—the expressive, all-telling eyes she could read better than anyone else, even Jeb—Willow sees the same hope and fear that swirl within her own chest, the same emotions that have tugged at her since the moment she agreed to chase again.

"Hey, Will," Kate says softly, her voice carrying both a quiet joy and a lingering uncertainty.

Without giving either of them a moment to think, Willow crosses the space between them and pulls Kate into a fierce embrace. For a moment, Kate stands still, stunned, but then she returns the hug just the same. It doesn't need to be said, Willow feels it in her squeeze: she's been waiting for this too. Her chest tightens, and she holds on even harder, refusing to let Kate go. Javi may feel like home, but Kate feels like being whole.

It's like remembering how to breathe again all over, only this time, she can keep her head above water—no longer needing to remind herself to keep going, to live for something when it's standing right before her.

Willow does not detach from her when she pulls back, hands still around her forearms. It is almost as if she is afraid she will disappear again, running away to New York, much too far for her to bear anymore. The tears welling in her eyes do nothing to dim her truly, bright smile.

"I missed you," she murmurs to Kate, her voice choked with emotion. "I can't believe you're actually here."

Kate lets out a watery laugh, her eyes shimmering with her own tears. "Yeah, me either," she whispers. "I missed you too."

Willow smiles at her, taking her in in all her glory, the new blonde locks and all. "I can't believe you dyed your hair blonde," she says, reaching up to brush a loose strand from Kate's face. "That was my thing."

Kate gives a little shrug. "What can I say? You know how they say blondes have more fun."

"Oh, come on. You know that's a crock of horseshit," Willow teases, nudging her.

For a brief moment, it feels like a distraction, their easy banter beating away the weight of the chase. Yet beneath the teasing, Willow feels it too, the anticipation simmering inside of Kate,—the pull of the chase, the thrill mixed with traces of dread, only reversed for them now. She slides her hands down to Kate's, taking them in hers and squeezing tight, a silent promise between them, a reassurance she knows they both need.

"I'd give y'all a minute," Javi interrupts, hands on his hips, a familiar grin tugging at his mouth, "but you know these storms don't wait for anybody."

Kate looks to Willow one last time, searching for a last bit of reassurance, that flicker of disbelief still in her eyes—how in the hell are they here, doing this again? Willow knows: if anyone is going to change the game and finish this, it's going to be them, together, not just Javi.

Hand in hand like a united front, Willow and Kate turn to face his crew. Javi's gaze shifts warmly between them, pride washing over him as he whistles to round up his team. The sea of blue and white Storm PAR uniforms forms a loose half-circle around them. Willow stands on the outer-edge, closest to the convenience store. Scott, who Willow had all but forgotten in her need to anchor herself to Kate, stands closest to her in the circle, his gaze fixed on her through those dark sunglasses.

Javi turns to his team with a grin. "Alright, you guys have heard me talk about Kate and Willow, the best in the game," he says, gesturing toward the two women. Both give an awkward small wave in greeting. "No one's got better instincts than Kate," he continues, "and Willow here—she'll drive head-first into that storm if it means getting the data we need."

Javi pauses, turning back to address Willow and Kate. "And you will never work with a more talented team than this one. Look, we got PhDs from NASA, FEMA, NOAA, NWS."

Kate lets out a low, impressed whistle. "Oh, you've got the whole alphabet."

"Only the best," he replies. Javi steps over to Scott, his much taller business partner, and claps him on the shoulder. "Except for Scott, my partner here. He went to MIT instead of Muskogee State. But, uh, he makes up for it with his beautiful, amazing personality." Scott gives a dry, mocking smile, and Willow doesn't miss the side-eyed look Kate shoots her in response.

With renewed energy, Javi claps his hands together, rallying his team. "Well, Kate and Willow are only giving us a week, but while we have them, ooh! It's gonna' be the wildest tornado week you've ever seen, fellas."

Scott scoffs, folding his arms as he surveys the growing crowd of chasers drawn to the excitement. Willow watches as some even climb into a tourist van that's wildly unequipped for serious storm-chasing. "Yeah, and everybody with a $10 weather app knows it. We got to stay ahead of this circus."

The team gets ready to spring into action, and Willow knows this is her one shot to get someone to listen to her tech concerns before they hit the field. Javi is the only one who might be open to it since Scott is apparently a brick wall when it comes to such things. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can get a word out, a loud guitar riff suddenly erupts, drowning everything around her.

The crowd of chasers in the lot suddenly surges with excitement, rain ponchos flaring as the sound reverberates through the air. There is that roar of an engine, heavy tires crunching the gravel beneath them, and it only seems to egg them on more. Willow tries to turn and see what could be causing such a commotion, but suddenly, a bright light and camera are shoved right into her face, blinding her with its harsh glare.

She stumbles back around, and large hands grip her shoulders to steady her. Willow shields her eyes, blinking rapidly to regain her focus.

"Idiots," she hears Scott mutter, his voice close enough to tell her he's the one steadying her.

"Hey, Storm PAR!" a thick Southern accent calls out. "We're live on YouTube—say somethin'!"

"Blow me, Boone!" one of the Storm PAR crew yells back, bumping Willow's arm as he raises his hand, likely flipping the guy off.

"Hey, smile, man! Science is fun, right? Whoo!" the stranger taunts and tires scratch against the gravel again, peeling away from them.

There are still spots in her vision when Willow finally looks up to graveled the lot. She squints through the chaos and pulls away from Scott with a small nod in thanks. Javi is next to her, his brows furrowed in concern. "You good, Will?"

"Yeah," she mutters, blinking hard. "Who the hell was that?"

It is hard to see among the crowd that surrounds it. Willow stands on the tips of her toes to take a gander at what attracts all the chaos— red, beat up pick up, awfully cared for with the way it's modified up for the toughest of battles, the black railing around the cab holding up lights and chasing equipment. From her spot in the distance, Willow can see enough to tell it's the kind of rig she'd want to get her hands on—if she hadn't just been blinded by its entrance.

As the crowd parts a bit, her eyes land on the truck, and she pauses, her brows knitting. She knows that equipment, memorized it just so she could ask about it driving down a beaten path with her feet kicked up the dash, humming along to old country tunes, admiring glances tossed her way instead of keeping eyes on the road.

No. No fucking way.

For a fleeting moment, she convinces herself it can't be him—it's got to be someone else, some stranger with a truck that somehow looks exactly like his. They couldn't possibly end up at the same gas station, on the same day, at the same time: the odds are astronomical.

"Chasers out of Arkansas," Javi offers, tone twinged with annoyance at them. That has to be a coincidence.

"Hillbillies with a YouTube channel," Scott adds. Willow shakes her head. Couldn't be him—he never said anything about a Youtube channel and if he had one, he would've told her all about it in the midst of his storm-chasing tales, right? She has to be off the hook.

Then, the driver-side door opens. He steps out, tall and cocky, as if he owns the very ground he stands on, with that damn hat on his head and there is no mistake— it's him, Tyler. Her storm-chasing cowboy, standing amongst a sea of chasers who seem to be clamoring for him, adoring him like some damn celebrity, that all too familiar smirk adorning his face.

Boone—the name didn't even connect until now; his rocket-loving best friend apparently with a damn ring light capable of out-shining the sun— is there, pointing the camera up towards Tyler, shouting something at him that she cannot quite hear.

"And if you feel it..." Tyler calls to the crowd, hearing his voice again for the first time, rich with that same charm around the same words that made her laugh on that very first day.

"Chase it!" The crowd responds in unison, a chant so practiced it sounds like a ritual.

Tyler grins wide. "I said, if you feel it..."

"Chase it!" They echo again, louder this time.

Willow's heart stops, her throat goes bone-dry, and fight-or-flight jolts her whole body like a live wire. Her instinct to run—to get out of here before he even sees her or straight into his arms, she isn't really sure—pulses through her.

(She isn't ready. Not now. Not like this. 

It's too soon. Much, much too soon. 

She was supposed to figure herself out first, to get back on her feet, to prove she could still do this. There had been a plan; a damn easy, logical one, designed to keep his heart intact and her dignity in place in case she screwed it all up again.)

"That's Tyler Owens," Javi says to her and Kate, his voice breaking through her haze, "He calls himself a Tornado Wrangler."

"What does that even mean?" Kate asks, but Willow barely registers the question, her attention fixed on the man stepping down from his truck, gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Then, his eyes—hidden behind those aviators—find her.

Willow goes completely still, breath catching as his stare lands on her, unmistakable even through the dark lenses. She watches as recognition dawns on his face, his lips parting in surprise.

"It means our world is going to shit."

No, her world. Her world is going to shit. 

—AUTHOR'S NOTE

TWISTERS PLOT ENGAGE. wrote this as I was watching twisters again. 

scott is not hard and heavy flirting because he's emotionally constipated but its there and javi is def trying to hook them up but willow KNOWS WHO HER MAN IS.

what do you think should happen next? i have a plan, but not sure if I want to hit Tyler's POV or continue to let Willow spiral in her own narration for a while before we get another tyler pov

CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM AND FEEDBACK ALWAYS WELCOME! comments really bring me joy, I love reading you all interacting with the text and reacting to it.

thank you, again, to those reading, you do not know how much you mean to me right now,

kari