PAIRING; TYLER OWENS X OC
RATING; EXPLICIT
SUMMARY;
Kylie Mathers has spent years hiding behind the name Kylie Rose, determined to build her own storm photography legacy instead of living in the shadow of her parents...two heavily admired chasers who were killed by a tornado five years ago.
She's used to working in the background, slipping from one chase team to the next with her camera in hand. But everything changes in the summer of 2024 when she runs into her old college roommate, Lily, and gets pulled into a new crew; one that includes Tyler Owens, a famous chaser whose livestreams she's only ever seen clips of.
What starts as another season behind the lens quickly turns into something deeper: a fight with grief, an intense attraction, and a confrontation with a storm similar to the one that shattered her life.
Because this season, Kylie isn't just chasing storms.
She's chasing closure.
And she just might find love with one reckless cowboy.
The clouds always looked heavier in Oklahoma compared to other states I’d chased in. They carried secrets, low enough that my stomach pinched with a familiar, anxious thrill just standing beneath their vast, tumultuous ceiling. It was the feeling of standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing something huge was about to happen. I shivered, but not from a chill in the air.
The wind was stiff, carrying the dry, dusty smell of the plains mixed with the distinct, metallic tang of an approaching storm. Perfect light, though. I lifted my Nikon D850, the familiar weight of the lens a comfort in my hand. I framed the shot: the endless stretch of empty blacktop bisecting the flat horizon, the sickly, expectant green hue that bled from the bottom of the clouds, and the dark silhouette of the gas station sign in the foreground.
I adjusted the aperture, focused on the swirling texture high above, and clicked. The shutter sounded crisp and professional, a tiny, satisfying punctuation mark in the vast silence. The image that popped up on the review screen was stunning. The green was sharp, the clouds' underbelly looking like bruised silk. That single shot, just one fraction of a second, was the distillation of hours of driving, waiting, and calculating.
It wasn’t always glamorous work. For every transcendent shot of a mesocyclone or a perfect shelf cloud, there were days spent photographing the mundane logistics; mud-splattered chase vehicles, exhausted teams huddled over laptops, or the frustrating sight of dented equipment being loaded back up. But those once-in-a-lifetime shots of the storms? The ones that captured nature’s terrible, beautiful majesty? They were totally worth it. They were why I kept coming back to the chase, year after year.
I’d been working as a freelance storm photographer for two years, ever since I graduated college and finally admitted I couldn’t stay away. My parents, Doug and Melinda Mathers, had been storm chasers; the kind of chasers that were practically legends in the community. They were innovators, known for their unwavering dedication to data collection and their incredible footage, before... well, before that storm took them. The memory was still visceral: standing behind them as a kid, my small body vibrating with the raw energy of the wind whipping around me while they shouted over the roar of the atmosphere. The excitement was overwhelming, intoxicating.
Losing them left a massive, howling hole in that adrenaline-fueled world. For a long beat, during the start of college, I wanted nothing to do with it. The sight of a dark cloud made my heart pound with dread, not anticipation. But the obsession, the inherited love for the atmosphere, was in my blood. I couldn't cut it out.
So, during my second semester of college, I built a life around the storms in my own way, carving out a safer, quieter space behind the lens rather than behind the data instruments. I was still chasing the rush, but I was doing it on my own terms.
Being freelance meant my name wasn’t plastered on flashy YouTube thumbnails like the big chasers or slapped across the bottom of a weather broadcast like the celebrity weathermen. Just a quiet byline credit whenever my work was shared: Kylie Rose. Exactly how I liked it.
I specifically left my true last name off everything it didn't strictly need to be on. The Mathers name was a heavy one to carry. It carried expectations, tragedy, and a legacy I wasn't sure I could ever measure up to. I didn’t want clients or fans to seek out my photos because of who my parents were; I wanted them to do well because of my talent, the sharpness of my eye, and the uniqueness of my angle. I needed to stand on my own merit, not on the shoulders of giants.
The wind shivered through the tall, dry grass of the field across from the battered gas station. I walked slowly back to my vehicle, a reliable but unremarkable black Equinox that had driven more miles than it had any right to. The trunk hatch was open, creating a perfect mobile desk. My laptop was balanced precariously on the edge, the radar display on the screen glowing with a vibrant, anxious map of greens, reds, and yellows; it looked like a radioactive Christmas tree.
The atmosphere was primed. A significant cap was holding strong, but the storm indices were screaming instability. If that cap broke, today would be huge. I was so engrossed in the data, analyzing the wind shear and the convergence zones, that the shout nearly made me jump out of my skin.
I glanced over my shoulder, my hand instinctively gripping the camera strap. The voice was familiar, high-pitched, and charged with energy.
Lily. It was Lily Vance, my former college roommate and my very first unofficial chase partner. We hadn’t chased together in about two years, not since she decided to drop out right before graduation and pursue full-time streaming with a crew from Arkansas. But here she was, standing in front of me with the same blinding grin, looking like she’d just stepped out of our last Meteorology lecture.
She wore a bright blue branded hoodie that clashed magnificently with the moody sky, her auburn locs pulled back in a bun. Her eyes were wide, taking me in. “Wow,” she breathed, already moving. She pulled me into a fierce, breathless hug before I could even fully register her presence. Her scent was still the same, a mix of sunscreen and Diet Coke. “You look exactly the same. What are you doing out here? Freelance job?”
I leaned back from the hug, my heart rate finally slowing down. The warmth of the reunion was a pleasant distraction from the storm anxiety. “I’m getting some pre-storm landscape shots for my Instagram portfolio,” I smiled, gesturing to the laptop. “I assume you still chase?”
Lily nodded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling, and she gestured behind her. A man was leaning against a massive, red pickup truck that looked like a tank; fully equipped with an arsenal of antennae, a roof-mounted barometer, and reinforced metal plating. He was tall, easily six-foot-five, and dressed in a dark, worn denim shirt and jeans. The brim of his weathered cowboy hat cast a shadow over sharp, sun-squinted eyes that were fixed on us like a spotlight. For a flash of a second, I thought he looked genuinely annoyed at the interruption. Then, his hand lifted in a slow, lazy wave, and his face softened into an easy, slightly challenging smirk.
Tyler Owens. The name popped into my head instantly. I might not watch chase streams, but you couldn't be in this world and not know who he was. Streamer. Daredevil. Chase celebrity. A little reckless, maybe even dangerously so, if the viral clips I’d seen online of him driving through baseball-sized hail were anything to go by. I hadn’t known Lily had partnered with HIS crew.
Lily followed my gaze. “We’re part of his main team now. We stream all our chases, can you believe we have almost a million followers now?” she said proudly, practically vibrating. “I fly the drones now! No more cheap college drones, either.”
“That’s awesome, Lily,” I grinned, genuinely happy for her. I reached out and squeezed her arm. “I’m glad you found your team.” I remembered fondly when it had just been us, crammed into my old Toyota, chasing miles of empty road for a single, barely formed funnel cloud. Our chases were quiet, focused on data and safety.
This setup was... different. My gaze slid back to Tyler. He was no longer looking at us. He stood with another teammate now, a younger guy whose face was buried in a tablet. Tyler’s head was bent in concentration, the intensity of his focus visible even from a distance. He looked like a general planning a military campaign. I couldn’t begin to explain what it was that instantly intrigued me about him. It wasn't just his reputation. It was the way he commanded the space around him, a calm center in the brewing chaos.
His type of chasing was everything I deliberately avoided; the celebrity, the hype, the danger taken to the edge. And yet, I couldn't look away.
“Hey, I have a crazy question,” Lily began, suddenly plopping down onto the edge of my tailgate, breaking my gaze away from Tyler. “Would you want to come photograph for us this season?”
I paused, the intensity of the opportunity hitting me like a physical punch. I snuck another glance at Tyler. He was looking at his truck's monitor now, a subtle frown creasing his brow. This could be a good opportunity… a really good opportunity, I thought, the internal debate instantly commencing.
Freelance assignments of this caliber didn't come often. A few high-profile, credited photos with a name like Tyler Owens could solidify my reputation for years and finally make the Mathers name irrelevant to my identity. And the chance to work close to such a... noted individual? Impossible to ignore. Dangerous, perhaps, but impossible to ignore.
It was the kind of professional leap I’d been waiting for. I pushed the fear of the spotlight down. “Sure. Let’s do it,” I said, the decision surprising even myself. I grabbed my laptop and secured my camera.
The smile that spread across Lily’s face was dazzling. She practically vaulted off the tailgate, grabbed my hand, and tugged me straight across the lot, right into Tyler Owens’ orbit. I shuffled behind her, trying to maintain a semblance of professional calm. The camera was secured around my neck, and the laptop was tucked firmly under my arm.
My inner monologue was frantic. Keep it cool, Kylie. This is a job. You’re better than he is, photographically. Focus on the light, not the man.
Despite the mental rehearsal, I couldn't help but study him as we approached. He was even broader up close, radiating a low-level heat that had nothing to do with the weather. His truck smelled faintly of gasoline, dust, and something woodsy. Tyler’s gaze lifted from the monitor and met mine. My face, to my utter horror, instantly burst into a rush of heat. It was childish, unprofessional, and completely unavoidable. His eyes were, admittedly, a beautiful, clear green/blue, fringed by impossibly long lashes; the kind of eyes that could spot a tornado from ten miles away.
“Kylie,” Lily began, breaking the tense silence, her excitement oblivious to the undercurrents. “This…” she gestured dramatically to the man who still hadn't moved, “is Tyler Owens.”
He straightened up from his truck, a casual, almost predatory movement. He gave me a quick, full once-over, his gaze lingering only a second too long on my camera before sweeping back to my face. I could feel the weight of his stare, an unnerving focus that seemed to dissect me and made all my well-organized thoughts scatter like loose papers in the wind.
“Tyler,” I managed, extending a hand firmly, determined not to seem intimidated. My fingers brushed the rough calluses of his palm. His grip was strong, surprisingly warm. I swallowed hard, feeling the brief, electric contact. “I’ve seen a few clips of your chases,” I said, forcing a calm smile, praying I didn’t look as flustered as I felt. I couldn’t believe how physically reactive I was being to a man I’d just met.
His smirk widened, a subtle tilt of his mouth that suggested he knew exactly the effect he was having. “I’ve seen your photos,” he countered, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that vibrated between us. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing in open, challenging appraisal. “You’re THE Kylie Rose, right? The ones who got the time-lapse of the multi-vortex EF-3 over Cheyenne?”
I froze for a beat. Sure, my work was known in the community, but hearing my carefully constructed pseudonym from his mouth, accompanied by such an accurate reference, was a jolt. He knew my work. He was aware of my talent. “Yeah,” I said finally, allowing a small, professional pride to override the sudden shock. “That’s me.”
He registered my slight, awkward pause but didn’t press. Instead, he flicked an amused glance at Lily, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I take it you’re about to ask if she can be our official photographer?” He grinned knowingly, folding his arms across his broad chest.
Lily nodded eagerly. “Best shots you’ll ever get, Tyler. She sees things no one else does.”
“Freelance?” he asked, the curiosity flashing across his eyes now purely professional, dissecting the potential terms
“Yup,” I confirmed, keeping my voice steady. His next words were quiet, confident, and made me blush harder than I wanted to admit.
I forced a genuine smile, fighting the urge to step back far enough to escape his immediate gravitational pull and calm the butterflies taking over my stomach. Why did this reckless streamer make me feel so fundamentally unsettled? This wasn't professional. This was ridiculous.
“Well,” Lily said brightly, clapping her hands together, oblivious to the silent, charged exchange. “I think you two are going to get along just fine. Kylie, show him your latest! You know, that landscape you just took.”
I nodded, fingers tightening on my laptop. Every instinct was buzzing with excitement, fear, and a sharp, unfamiliar attraction. Tyler’s gaze lingered for a moment, a silent acknowledgment of the tension, before he gestured toward my laptop, a simple nod of acceptance. I blinked a few times, taking a deep, fortifying breath of storm-tinged air before placing the laptop on the tailgate of his massive truck. Okay… first interaction survived. Now I just had to survive chasing the season with him.
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