CHAPTER THIRTEEN : GREATEST FEARS, WRINGING HANDS

STILLWATER, OKLAHOMA

STILLWATER IS UTTERLY DEVASTATED. It's even worse off than the town she'd been helping only hours before—complete destruction, with the death toll climbing by the minute. The mother and daughter who sheltered with them make it out, shaken but standing strong, grateful to be alive. The older woman thanks Tyler as the EMTs look them over, her voice choked with gratitude, especially after seeing their car tossed to where the rodeo once stood.

Tyler keeps Willow tucked under his arm, giving her any warmth he has left, while her hand trails out to hold Kate's. They soak up the silence together as they wait for the rest of his crew to show. The motel is out of business, indefinitely, with the way the structure heaves in on itself. There is nothing to salvage; none of the clothes or devices they brought with them worth digging through the drywall and roofing for. Not that they would anyway, not with the heavy exhaustion washing over them. They just want to rest, to settle down after the storm, at the motel the Wranglers shacked up at, somehow missed by the storm.

"Y'all okay?" Lilly asks when they finally arrive, her eyes darting between the three of them, checking them over for any concerns. Willow gives her a nod in assurance.

"This..." Ben trails off, looking at the wreckage around him, on a higher scale than he may have ever seen. He purses his lips. "I don't know what to particularly say."

"It's okay, Ben," Willow says to him, her voice quiet, hoarse from all the terror that tore from her throat, "Thanks for coming to check on us."

"Of course."

Boone, Dexter, and Dani are making their way around them, checking in with the folks climbing out of their shelters, helping search for survivors. They never stray far and Willow can see the fear that aches in them, knowing now what had been at risk during the storm, and holding on to that relief with their eyes darting toward Tyler every once in a while.

The white StormPAR SUV pulls in next, and Javi barely shifts into park before he's out and running toward them. Kate glances at Willow, nodding toward their friend, signaling they should check-in. Willow hesitates, reluctant to leave Tyler's side.

(Not after almost losing him, before she ever truly had him.

One wrong move, one close call, and he could have been gone—torn away as if he'd never been there.

She doesn't want him out of her sight now, just as she does Kate.)

"Go check in with Javi," he tells her softly when she does not move, rubbing her bicep comfortingly. "I'll be right here."

"Kate! Will!" Javi throws his arms around them, squeezing tight, despite all the mud and grime. Willow sees the fear in his eyes when he pulls back, an echo of her own from earlier that day, watching him and Kate face a storm, an echo of what he must have felt all those years back. "When I saw the size of it on the radar and where it was headed, all I could think was..."

"We're all right," Kate reassures him.

Javi's shoulder drops, his eyes flickering over to those watching them. "You've been with Owens the whole time?"

"Yeah," Willow tells him, glancing back at the said man. "Why?"

"Javi," Scott interrupts, his thumb jutting back towards "Apparently, this, uh, place was family-owned, so I'm gonna start working up some numbers. Riggs is gonna want those first thing."

And if that is not enough confirmation for Willow.

"Javi..." Kate sounds a little more willing to still give him the benefit of the doubt. "What is Riggs getting out of all your data collection?

"What's..." Javi's nervous; he knows what he is doing is wrong. "What's it matter?"

"It matters if profiting off of people's tragedy is part of your business plan," Willow snaps, disgust thick in her voice as she looks over the entire StormPAR team, trailing in Javi's wake like vultures. Javi's collecting not just storm data for Riggs, but storm destruction data, marking up the most vulnerable survivors from each twister and sicking that land developer on them to feast on what little they have left.

"Wait, hold on," he doesn't even try to deny it, "Riggs is offering these people a way to move on with their lives.

Kate scoffs in disbelief, having learned better. "He's swooping in and taking advantage of people who have just lost everything. You..." She shakes her head."You have no idea what that's like."

Javi is the one to scoff this time as if he cannot believe Kate's audacity. "I don't know what that's like? How about losing three of my best friends while you two were trying to land a big, fat grant for your science project?"

The words hit like a punch. Kate's face falls first, a small, wounded sound escaping her lips. Javi's anger falters, regret flashing in his eyes, but he barely has a second to react before Kate turns away, hurt and silent, already striding toward his truck.

"Kate. Wait—wait!" he calls, trying to follow, desperation in his voice, mindless to the frozen, hurt figure he's left behind. But she's already climbing into the driver's seat, leaving him behind without a word, pulling away in silence. Javi lets out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair, oblivious to Willow's quiet, seething presence.

Willow breaks the tense silence, her voice low but unwavering. "I can't believe you'd say that." Her glare cuts into him, disappointment searing. "Throwing that grant in our faces when you—"

Javi whips back around on her, jaw clenched. "When I what? Huh? Came back to try to make a difference?"

"You call this making a difference?" she exclaims, gesturing toward Scott taking notes on the wreckage, already eyeing the vulnerable survivors.

Javi's face darkens. "What the hell would you know about making a difference? You talk big, Willow, but you've done nothing except chase a failed science project! You couldn't even use your family name to make something of yourself. All you've got is a local weather gig."

The words tear through her, each one laced with the doubts she's fought for years, now thrown back in her face by the last person she thought would voice them.

So, Scott did have to learn it from somewhere after all.

Willow swallows back her tears, not wanting to say anything she'll regret herself. She wishes she could just go back to missing him desperately, to the feeling that made her cling to him the moment she saw him again. Her mouth twists like she ate something sour and he waits as if he's expecting her to battle him out like they always did.

"You're an asshole, Javi," she responds simply, her voice cracking around the edges.

"Will, I didn't—"

She doesn't stick around to hear him out, moving past him to where Scott is already talking to the local, his hand outstretched as if sealing some deal. The sight sends a fresh wave of anger through her, and before she knows it, she's crossing the road, inserting herself between Scott and the man.

"Hey!" she snaps, shoving Scott's hand back. "Leave him alone. He doesn't need your sleazy deals right now."

Scott's face contorts with irritation. "Back off, Thornton."

"You're a prick," she retorts, her voice hard. "Do you have any concept of right and wrong, or are you just an emotionless slate of pure asshole?"

"At least I'm not some washed-up, legacy chaser with nothing to show for it," Scott sneers. "You think you're something special out here, but what the hell have you done that matters? All you're worth is your silly little weather-girl reports."

Willow's jaw tightens, her fists clenched. "And what are you worth, Scott? StormPAR can't even chase a storm without calling in a 'silly little weather-girl.'"

His eyes narrow. "Well, at least I haven't gotten any of my crew killed." If his last jab in the field had felt like a slap, this feels like a stab to the gut. This stranger, again, reopening old wounds, this time voicing words that only ever existed in the turmoil of her mind, but now out in the world, breathing life into the belief. Willow's face twists in horror at the comment. "Got that going for me."

She doesn't even think. Before he can blink, her fist flies, knuckles connecting with his jaw. Scott jolts under the force, not enough weight behind her to knock him down, but she hopes enough to leave a bruise. Willow feels her knuckles split, the sharp sting coursing through her hand, but she can barely register it.

Chaos erupts around them, someone's arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her back as she hears Javi's outraged voice somewhere behind her. She's too consumed by her hurt to care, her breaths coming in ragged bursts.

"You crazy bitch," Scott mutters, and she silently hopes his jaw is bruised all to hell.

"What did you say?" Tyler's voice slices through, sharp and rough with anger. It takes her a second to realize that it isn't his arms holding her back—it's Dani, restraining her while Tyler, barely held back by Boone, glares at Scott. His eyes blaze as he struggles to break free. "What the hell did you just say to her?"

Scott scoffs, rubbing his tender jaw dismissively. "I get she's pretty, Owens, but she's really not worth all this drama."

Boone pulls Tyler back just in time to stop him from lunging, while Dani loosens on Willow to deliver her own blow. "You're not worth the drama, you asshole," she fires back, but Scott barely reacts, a mocking smile pulling at his mouth.

Willow's gaze shifts from Scott to Javi, who now stands beside him, his silence loud and complicit. They stand there, side by side—united against her as if she were the enemy. She tries to meet Javi's gaze, searching for a trace of the friend she once loved, but he refuses to even look at her.

Her voice cracks, tears welling in her eyes. "You know what?" She glances between them, her face twisted with disgust. "Fuck you both. You're just a couple of fucking sell-outs."

As the words leave her lips, she swallows back her tears, a quiet resolve settling over her. She lets Dani pull her back toward Lilly, her side finally drawn in the 'friendly competition' between the Wranglers and StormPAR.

And if this is who Javi has become, her enemy, she thinks maybe she'll start pretending he's just been another one of her ghosts all along.

◆ ◆ ◆

TYLER, EVER THE GENTLEMAN, LETS HER SHOWER IN HIS NEW MOTEL ROOM. It still feels surreal, the way a twister can rip through one place and spare another, even if only miles apart. Their ragtag group of chasers had chosen to stay a little farther from StormPAR, picking a motel that—lucky for them—stood untouched by the storm.

Tyler offers her his shower, insisting on taking his things to one of the other rooms they've booked out for the night. They're both caked in grime from the wind-slinging rain, mud, and debris, remnants of the storm clinging to them. Willow tries to argue, not wanting him to disrupt his routine just for her, especially with him worse off having shielded both her from the worst of it, but he insists. Relentling, she takes her borrowed clothing; a pair of biker shorts from Lilly and another oversized UofA shirt Tyler tossed her way.

Willow does her best not to hog all the hot water, but she lets herself soak in it just long enough to let the tension melt, resting her forehead against the cool tile. It's hard to believe that everything they've been through has happened within a single day. It feels as if she's aged years in the past twenty-four hours, pushing her well into her thirties, the chaos somehow settling in her bones.

And then there's Kate, her mind a thousand miles away. Willow knows she must be just as exhausted, her flight instinct kicking in, driving her straight back to safety, hopefully Sapulpa before New York. It feels as though Kate has become a phantom limb again, drifting off into the night before Willow can even process it all, leaving her torn.

She sighs as she steps out of the shower, towel-drying her hair. There's a dull ache in her chest, an empty feeling she can't shake, but it lessens a little when she hears a soft knock on the door. Tyler peeks his head in, freshly showered and clean himself, wearing a fresh t-shirt and jeans.

"You decent?" he asks, adverting his gaze. Willow musters up a soft laugh from the edge of the bed, his shirt sliding down her shoulders as she finishes towel-drying her hair.

"If I wasn't, it's not like you'd be seeing anything new," she offers with a small grin.

Tyler smirks, stepping in and settling beside her on the bed, their thighs brushing together. "Excuse me for tryin' to be a gentleman." Willow lifts her chin to give him her full attention. He catches her hand as soon as her towel is set aside, gently tracing the bruised skin on her knuckles, careful not to press too hard. "Dex wants to take a look at your hand. Make sure you didn't break anything."

"Alright." She starts to rise, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he tugs her gently back down, aligning their knees and shoulders until they're side by side, closer than before.

"We don't gotta go this minute," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just give me a sec with you."

It doesn't take long for her to see that he's just as shaken as she is. His thumb moves in slow, steady circles over the back of her hand—a quiet comfort that he tries to pass off as for her, though she knows it's just as much for himself. His gaze has drifted somewhere far away, haunted, shadowed by a guilt she's all too familiar with.

"It's not your fault," she whispers, cutting through the silence between them. "Tyler, you did everything you could."

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching, an ache settling in his features. "I should've done more."

"You did more than anyone else would have," she insists, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You got me and Kate out of there. You got that mom and her kid out of the car and into shelter." Her voice trembles, and she has to take a steadying breath. "You risked your life out there, and I thought..." She reaches up, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. She tries to memorize every part of him—this Tyler, who has faced the storm and come out the other side with her, who she could have lost. "I don't know what I would've done if something happened to you."

At last, he looks up, his eyes meeting hers with a rawness that makes her heart ache. He reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. "I wasn't about to let that happen," he murmurs, voice low and steady. "Not after I just found you."

Her heart stumbles, and she can't find the words to respond. Instead, she leans into him, letting her head rest against his shoulder. His arms come around her, his chin brushing against her hair as he breathes her in. It is new, this gentle comfort from him, no charm or romance expected. She doesn't want to break it; she soaks in the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, hoping, maybe, she'll never have to let go.

After a while, Tyler shifts, gently guiding her up. Together, they head to the room next door, where the rest of his crew has gathered. They're all awake, a little tipsy, passing around cold beers while the news plays softly in the background, the anchor's voice recounting the storm they all witnessed firsthand.

"There she is," Lily whistles at the sight of her. "How ya' feelin', weather girl?"

"Been worse," Willow says with a small smile, remembering the toughest day—the hospital bed, the ache of loss. She sits down at the small bistro table in the motel Dexter is already at, first aid kit out and open. Tyler hovers as Dexter goes to take a look, leaning against the wall beside her.

"You've got one hell of a right hook, Willow," Dexter comments, adjusting his glasses as he lifts her hand to examine it. He squints, bringing her knuckles to his line of sight. Willow averts her gaze with a soft laugh, cheeks flushing.

"I ain't ever gonna make you mad if that's the kind of swing you got," Boone says, grinning as he raises his beer to her in a playful toast.

Dexter chuckles, shaking his head. "You didn't take much damage except superficial. We'll wrap it up, though. Make sure you're icing it to keep the swelling down." He starts reaching for the gauze tape from the first aid kit and gives her a look. "And no more punching those StormPAR bots."

"No, punch as many as you want," Dani chimes in from her spot against the headboard, barely looking up from her phone. Willow catches faint sounds from the video she's watching and hears a laugh escape her. "It'll keep me entertained for the rest of my life."

"Did someone record it?" Willow asks, frowning.

Dani grins, turning her phone around. "Some kid got it on TikTok an hour ago."

"Shit," Willow groans, watching herself land the uppercut again and again in a loop. Comments are flooding in, calling her Channel 9's weather girl gone Worldstar. "The producers are gonna kill me."

Boone snorts, taking a long sip of his beer. "We can only hope they fire ya."

Willow raises an eyebrow at him. "I thought you liked my weather reports."

"I like you chasin' better," Boone says with a shrug, his grin widening. Willow can't help but smile softly. He then raises his glass toward Tyler. "Always been one of us. Told T that after that night at the first motel, didn't I?"

"You did, Boone," Tyler responds from his spot leaning against the wall, a smile tugging at his lips. "Weather girl's actually been holding out on us more than we thought." He glances at Willow with a playful glint in his eye. "Turns out she's been chasin' for longer than any of us—eleven years."

"Eleven years?" Ben questions with a quizzical look.  "You started when you were around twenty, then?"

"Fifteen," she corrects him. "My aunt and uncle were researchers out of Muskogee," she elaborates at their surprise at her starting age. "I spent a lot of my summers livin' out of a van and following storms with em' before I started up there on my own."

"Muskogee," Dexter repeats thoughtfully as he wraps her hand. "There was a study from there a decade or two ago that launched sensors to collect data on a funnel. It increased the timing on the warning system significantly." Willow cannot help the smile that creeps on her face, thinking of the achievements with DOROTHY. "It was Dr. Jo and Bill Harding who led the team if I remember correctly. I imagine one of them was your advisor?"

"Something like that." She's lucky the crew is a little too tipsy already to connect the dots. Tyler might be figuring it out though, with the little furrow in his brow, reminding her a little too much of her other half. "I took some years off, doing the reporter thing."

"Now it really ain't makin' any sense why ya' quit chasin' for reportin' if you've done it your whole life." Boone narrows his eyes at her in confusion. "They ain't nothin' alike."

"Kate and Willow..." Dexter mutters to himself, almost absently, his hands pausing for a moment. Willow sits up straighter, brows knitting together. He looks up, almost as if realizing something. "Kate Carter and Willow Thornton..." he says, his voice trailing off. His face pales, and that's when Willow feels a shift in the air. "You were part of the group caught in the EF5 a few years back, weren't you?"

Willow recoils, her heart skipping a beat. "What?" The word tumbles out before she can stop it. Her eyes widen, trying to process the question.

"I remember your names," Dexter says, his voice softening, almost too much. Sympathy clouds his eyes. "From the news story. You took shelter under an overpass when the storm shifted..."

"I—" Willow tries to cut in, her breath catching. Her throat tightens, eyes stinging at the onslaught of memory again. She cannot seem to escape it: the constant reminder of what she's been through, what she did. "I don't—"

"Your friends—" Dexter starts, but she interrupts again, her voice louder now, almost desperate.

"I don't really need any more reminders of that tonight, Dexter," she snaps, her words sharper than she meant.

The room goes dead silent, the weight of her outburst settling over everyone. It's confessional, unintentional, and she regrets it immediately. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but the words are already out there.

Willow forces herself to stand, keeping her gaze low to avoid the eyes that are suddenly on her—eyes that are now filled with pity, with sympathy. She clutches her wrapped hand to her chest, as if holding it can somehow protect her. It didn't from Scott; it will not from them, shrinking her smaller and smaller, letting her grief swallow her whole.

She needs Kate—the only person who ever understood her, who lived through the same hell. The only one who was there under that overpass with her, who lost just as much, who still carries the same scars, both physical and emotional.

"Thank you for wrapping my hand," Willow murmurs to Dexter, her voice quieter now. She doesn't wait for a response before excusing herself, slipping out of the room with an unspoken apology hanging in the air behind her.

◆ ◆ ◆

STILLWATER, OKLAHOMA

DATA TRACKED IT AS A SMALL CELL. It shouldn't have shifted the way it did but with climate change affecting the atmosphere, weather has become more unpredictable than ever. The cell turned at the last moment, hitting the unprepared, those who hadn't known what was coming.

Dexter shares what he remembers with a downcast look, detailing the losses—three lives, one girl, two men. One of those men had been a boyfriend, his family saying he was planning to put a ring on her finger. Kate Carter and Willow Thornton were the only survivors, huddled together under an overpass, both scarred, thigh and bicep sliced open by debris. Javi Rivera, their analyst, had witnessed it all, helpless, left behind to watch the devastation unfold.

The motel room is thick with silence. No one wants to speak. Not when Willow has been through what they all fear the most. It all clicks now—the hesitance, the wariness, the fear. It's clear where it all stems from—memories too raw, too painful to touch. A past that keeps her from the parts of herself she used to be.

Tyler finds Willow in his motel room, pacing the floor. Her eyes are red, but there's a calmness to her now that wasn't there earlier. The only sign of her still teetering on the edge is the way her nails dig into the scar that peeks out from under his shirt sleeve. He remembers that scar, remembers wanting to ask her about it, but never quite having the chance.

Now, he doesn't have to.

Willow's eyes flicker to him for a moment before she casts them away, tightening her arms around herself. "You get the full story?"

Tyler nods. He approaches her, hands in his pockets, uncertain of himself. He never imagined it was this, that this was all the hurt behind her eyes, all the reasons she avoided chasing.

"I ain't sure what the best thing to say is," he admits, wanting to find the right words but everything he thinks he knows would not be enough. Not when the memory is torn open, fresh, the storm they held out through only a reminder.

(He can still hear her scream, raw and sharp, somehow cutting through the wind. He remembers watching her fight to reach him, only for Kate to grab her, holding her down, her own tears streaming.

Caught in a memory, only this time, she sees him starring in it.)

"I think most people go for the 'sorry' thing," she deadpans, not daring to look back at him.

Tyler huffs a quiet, sad laugh. "And I can tell by the way you just said that you hate every person who's ever said it."

Willow's lips twitch, but she doesn't smile.

"I think you and Kate are stronger than most people in this world," he finally decides to say, his voice softer now. "Surviving something like that and keeping on..." He trails off.

Willow flinches, just slightly, at the mention of her own survival. The fact that she had to keep going through something like that. She presses her lips together, dropping her gaze to the floor, and he watches as the walls he'd only just started to break down begin to rise again.

"I should probably get going."

"No." Tyler moves to stop her, placing himself in front of her. It is instinctual, the way he trucks her hair behind her ears, cupping her jaw in his hands. Willow peers up with round, bloodshot eyes. "Willow, no one thinks of you any differently. And no one's gonna bring it up again, I promise you. You don't have to run from it."

Willow shakes her head. "I should be with Kate," she tries, her voice strained. "I never should've let her go off on her own after what Javi said..." Her voice catches. "We stopped chasing, both of us, and he brought us back out here to help him, saying we were meant for it. And then he says..." Whatever Javi said, it's enough to bring tears to her eyes again.

"What did he say to you?" Tyler asks, ready to erase those words from her memory, to replace them with something better. "What did Scott say?"

"It doesn't matter," she says, stepping back and breaking his touch.

"Willow..."

There is a pregnant pause before she lets out a shaky breath. "That it was our fault; my fault," she finally admits, swallowing hard. She adverts her gaze, ashamed. "Not so far-fetched, though."

He feels a surge of anger. Boone should never have held him back; he should have let him beat that asshole into the ground and made him pay for putting this weight on her shoulders.

"It is far-fetched," he corrects, anger slipping into his voice, but never at her. No, never at her.  "How can you sit here and tell me it ain't my fault but condemn yourself for the same damn thing?"

"If it's not on me, then it's on Kate," she argues back, tears pushing through. "And I'm not letting her carry that—not when I made the final call on that storm."

Tyler shakes his head. "You couldn't have predicted the shift."

"I could have seen it sooner," she almost seems crazed as she says it, as if she's convinced herself of this notion long before StormPAR ever put it in her head. "Noticed it faster, made us get the hell out of dodge instead of sticking to the chase."

"I know you'd have seen it if you could've—like you did with the wheat fields earlier." His voice softens. "It wasn't your fault, Willow."

She opens her mouth, ready to deny it, but her argument dies. She shrinks back, wrapping her arms around herself. "I need to be with Kate, now," she says.

"Baby, you don't even have a car," he replies, keeping his voice gentle, terrified she'll bolt. It's that same look she had that night in the kitchen—the look that haunted him since she left without a word that morning after. Now, he knows what it means: the turmoil of fight or flight, her instinct to run from everything and everyone. He takes another careful step closer. "What are you gonna do? Get to her on foot?"

"I'll figure something out."

And that would be it—she'd vanish, just like last time, slipping through his fingers with nothing to pull her back. No reason to chase again, especially if things between her and Javi were truly broken. She's so close to him now, so close to finally letting him in, her walls down just enough that he can see her in her entirety. If she tears away now, if she runs, he's sure he'll lose her, for good this time.

He can't let it happen, not when he finally knows she belongs here, with the storm, with him.

"Alright," he says, nodding as he steadies himself. "Give me a minute. I'll drive you."

"What?" Her voice is soft, almost fragile, as she stares back at him in surprise. "Tyler, you don't have to—"

"It's not about having to," he cuts in, firm, but still tender. "This ain't something you're dealing with on your own anymore."

Willow hesitates, searching his face, and after a moment, she finally lets out a soft "okay." She sits at the edge of the bed, watching as Tyler quickly packs his duffel, knowing they'll be stay at least the night. He lets one of the others know they're heading out, then takes her by the hand and leads her to his truck without a second thought.

She climbs into the passenger seat, quiet but watchful, her eyes tracing his every movement—cautious, yet wanting.

"You know where she's at?" he asks, buckling up.

"Cathy's." Her voice holds a soft certainty. "Her mom's. In Sapulpa. I can put in the address."

The drive takes about an hour, winding through the curving country roads. Willow fights hard to stay awake, determined to hold onto every second, but about thirty minutes in, exhaustion wins. Her eyes droop shut, and her head rests against the window. Tyler drives a little slower, careful not to disturb her.

When they pull up to Kate's childhood home, Tyler feels a quiet familiarity. It's a ranch-style house, much like his own, with barns and fields stretching out under the moonlight. He notices the white StormPAR truck parked slightly off the main drive—Willow had been right about Kate coming here to hunker down.

He parks behind it and gently shakes Willow's shoulder. "Willow, we're here."

She stirs reluctantly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as he helps her out of the truck. She leans against him, still half-asleep. "That was quick," she murmurs.

At the door, Tyler is the one to press the bell, supporting Willow, who's barely on her feet. When the door swings open, he's met by a woman with darker hair than Kate, but her resemblance softened only by the fine lines that frame her face.

He isn't even sure how to greet her. "I am so sorry, ma'am," Tyler says, still holding Willow steady as she drowsily stumbles beside him.

"It's alright," the woman—who he's sure must be Cathy—reassures him, her voice warm. She gives Willow a fond, almost motherly smile. "I've been waiting on this one to show up anyway. Only reason Kate would ever make her way back here."

Hearing her name, Willow stirs, blinking herself awake. "Cathy?" she mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion. "Did Kate make it here?"

"She did," Cathy replies gently. "Got here just before you did, Will. She's already up in bed. You can see her in the morning."

"Mm, okay..." Willow accepts with a soft murmur, resting her head back against Tyler's chest.

Cathy gives Tyler an approving look. "I went ahead and got the guest room set up for her, just in case," she says, glancing at Willow with an unmistakable affection. "Think you can get her up the stairs?"

"I got her," he replies confidently. He bends down and carefully scoops Willow into his arms. "Alright, up we go, weather girl," he murmurs, cradling her as he follows Cathy into the house and up the stairs.

In the guest room, he gently lays Willow down, releasing her with a quiet sigh. She shifts, her face briefly scrunching as if in protest to the loss of his touch, but soon curls up under the quilt that Cathy drapes over her. Cathy smooths Willow's hair back tenderly, her gaze full of a mother's warmth.

"Kate wouldn't tell me what happened," she says to Tyler, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Willow. She looks up at him with an inquisitive, kind expression. "Think you can catch me up in the morning?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers without hesitation, earning an approving smile from Cathy. "I'm Tyler, by the way," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

"Call me Cathy," she replies, still looking at Willow with that soft, maternal gaze. For someone who isn't her daughter, Cathy watches Willow with all the love a mother might have for her own child. She glances back at him thoughtfully. "You hers?"

"I'm..." He hesitates, taking in a deep breath. "I'm tryin' to be."

Her smile warms, a hint of approval shining in her eyes. "Lord knows she needs a good one," she murmurs. She gives a gentle nod toward the couch tucked in the corner. "There's a pull-out there. I'll grab you a blanket."

As Cathy steps out to fetch it, Tyler sinks onto the edge of the bed, his gaze resting on Willow's peaceful face. In the soft glow from the hallway, she looks almost weightless, all that hurt and exhaustion smoothed away in sleep.

He'd do anything to keep her like this—safe, free from the burdens she carries. Here. With him.

If it means driving a hundred miles in the dead of night or standing between her and every storm that threatens her, he knows he'd do it all without a second thought.

For her, every bit of it would be worth it.

—AUTHOR'S NOTE

TITLE FROM CALL YOUR MOM BY NOAH KAHAN AND LIZZY MCALPINE

me and my homies all hate scott miller AND JAVI AGAIN

I hinted at willow kicking ass in the last chapter with her ex so I had to show it here again. also kate and willow are so ride or die the next chapter is gonna be all about them because I feel like I've been lacking on their relationship BUT ITS SO DEVELOPED IN MY HEAD TH

TYLER WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HER HE GON DRIVE ALL NIGHT. i really like their interactions in this chapter and hope you do too. i think I also got most of the issues editing-wise, but if you see any repeats from where I was reworking things as I edited or any major grammar issues, pls let me know.

i also know there are some age-continuity errors imma have to fix. Willow is like 29-30 tho at this point, only a year or two younger than tyler.

spotify playlist as promised tho:

or alternatively: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2OK60kv3X8kh40giVRTRXE?si=9fac9512f5804536

hope you are still enjoying reading as I am writing

thank you for sticking around,

kari