Summary: Even though the Navy requires Jake leave for work before you wake up, he still finds ways to say good morning, even when he's thousands of feet in the air. That is, until he's late for work one morning.
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: poor Navy/aviation knowledge, swearing, mentions of guilt
a/n: I'm currently working on part two of 'No Persona to Hide Behind', but this concept came to me and I couldn't stop writing it. Hope you love it ❤️
Masterlist
--
5:15 AM never fails to come too quick, and the obnoxious beep of Jake's alarm clock always manages to cut through the peace of your sleep. You stir in bed, pushing your face deeper into your pillow trying to escape the noise. As you do, you listen to the sounds of Jake's morning routine in a half-sleeping daze. It always brings you comfort hearing the water run in the bathroom, him putting on his uniform, and the zipping of his boots.
Around 6:15, the mattress gets weighed down again. The smell of Jake's cologne and mint toothpaste surrounds you as he leans over to you.
"I'm heading to the base, darlin," he sweetly whispers against you, his voice with a hint of sleep still in it. He places a soft kiss to your forehead and wipes a stray strand of hair from your face.
You mumble into the blankets. "Mmm, please stay." You reach out your hand to catch the bottom of his jacket.
Jake lets out a small chuckle and kisses your lips quickly. "I wish. Maverick has a 7am brief today, no missing that. Love you."
"Love you," you mumble back, falling back to sleep as the bedroom door shuts behind Jake. As your eyes completely close, you can hear the faint sound of his truck leaving the driveway.
Your alarm finally goes of at 7:30. The sun is glimpsing at you through the curtains, and the bed is completely cold on Jake's side.
Having to go downstairs into the empty house always felt lonely, but the emptiness never lasted long. Because no matter the morning or how fast he has to run out of the house, Jake always leaves a piece of him behind.
On Monday, a bright yellow piece of paper is stuck to the top of the coffee maker. Written in his scratchy handwriting there's a message: You took a lot of the bed last night. But I still love you. Enjoy your coffee. - J
On Wednesday, it felt like you were sprinting through the house to try to make it to work on time. When you grabbed your keys from the entryway bowl, a neon pink note was resting on your keychain: Your laptop is still in the office. You look beautiful. See you at 1800. - J
By Friday, the door of your fridge was full of his handwriting, written on sticky notes in all different colors. Your lates one was right on the handle of the fridge door when you went to grab your breakfast: We made it through another week. Two more drills and I'm all yours. Counting down the minutes. - J
A childlike smile fell onto your face as you moved the sticky note to the door of the fridge with the others. The house may physically be empty when you wake up, but the sticky notes are a constant reminder that Jake never really leaves you hanging, even when Hangman is 30,000 feet in the air.
-
After a weekend spent only in each other's presence, Monday quickly snapped Jake back into reality. The bliss of sleeping in with his wife was immediately ruined when his alarm didn't go off. By the time his eyes snapped open, the clock read 5:40 AM.
Panic immediately sets into his bones. The following twenty minutes was a blur. Jake raced around the bedroom, putting his uniform on blindly.
By 6:00, he practically throws himself on top of you as he quickly kisses your forehead. "Darlin, I'm late. Heading out, gotta fly." He didn't even wait for your sleepy mumbles before he was walking out of your house.
It wasn't until later that morning, when he was fully strapped into his jet and ready for takeoff that his brain finally processed the chaos of the morning.
His eyes shot up. The sticky note. Your sticky note.
Through the frantic rush of the morning as he dashed out the door, he completely spaced out the pad of sticky notes on the counter. The realization punches him in the gut. He tries to reach for his phone to text you, but once his fingers reach the empty pocket, he remembers his phone is locked away in the locker. He is cut off from you completely.
Maverick's voice comes through comms, quickly snapping Jake out of his panic. "Hangman, do you copy?"
"Copy, Maverick. Aligned and ready," Jake replies as he's trying to clear the thought from his brain.
For the rest of the morning drill, that forgotten note takes up a large chunk of his mind. He feels the guilt of imagining you waking up and walking downstairs to nothing.
Luckily, he's Hangman. His muscle memory kicks in for him during the training. The second his wheels touch the ground, however, he is out of the cockpit and running to the locker room.
The whole squad is watching him as he scrambles out of the jet and down the hall, his Hangman persona disappearing in a swift motion.
"Woah, where the hell is he going?" Javy chuckles as he sees Jake head toward the hangar.
Jake flies through the locker room doors, throwing his flight helmet onto the bench as his locker is ripped open. He grabs his phone and unlocks it, heading to your messages.
But a notification catches his eye before he can even begin typing. A text from you that was sent an hour ago.
Good morning J! I just got to work and can't wait to see you tonight. Fly safe, I love you! 🤍
His chest feels heavy with affection and guilt. His fingers are flying a mile a minute as he replies to you.
I realized when I was in the cockpit that I didn't write you a note this morning. I'm so sorry darlin. I woke up late and I hate knowing that you woke up to nothing downstairs for you. I love you so much, counting down the minutes until I come home to you.
The message was through a phone screen, but the genuineness of his apology is so clear. Reading it from your office, you can hear his worried tone through it. It makes your heart swell.
By the time 4:15 rolls around, the front door flies open - much different than it's normal, gentle click.
Jake soars into the house looking frantically for you as you're sitting quietly in the living room. Before you can even stand up from the couch, he is dropping onto his knees on the floor in front of you. His hands engulf yours, and he looks up at you with pleading eyes.
You laugh softly, "Jake, breathe. Welcome home."
"Sweetheart I am so sorry," he pleads, his voice distressed. He squeezes your hand. "I haven't stopped thinking about the note since the canopy closed. You woke up and the house was empty with not even one sticky note waiting for you-"
"Jake, love, it really isnt' that big of a deal," you quietly interrupted, placing a soothing kiss to his forehead. "I am not upset, I promise you. You were running late this morning, I completely understand."
"But it is a big deal," Jake insists; he refuses to let himself off of the hook. He rests his elbows on your knees, moving closer to you. "It's our thing. I leave you a note every morning. I swear I'm making this up to you. I'll write you fifty notes tomorrow. I'll write you two hundred notes. They'll be everywhere. The fridge, the mirror, your shoes, your car, every single piece of silverware we own. You won't be able to see a piece of this house that doesn't have paper on it."
You burst out laughing as you cup his face with your hands. "That sounds like a really bad paper cut hazard, Commander."
"It's a risk worth taking," Jake mumbles, a relieved smile finally breaking through him as he relaxes into your touch. He leans up to press his lips to yours that completely resets his mind after his stressful day. "Can you promise me that you know I didn't forget about you?"
"I always know," you whisper against his lips, trying to pull his body up to the couch next to you. "Now, please at least change out of your flight suit before you start writing the first hundred."
-
You woke up on Tuesday morning, the house already quiet. As you pulled the blankets off of you, a smile already tugged at your lips as you remembered Jake's pleading promises from the night before. You told yourself he probably left three or four extra notes down on the counter to make up for his mistake.
You stood up and froze.
Stuck to the center of your house slipper is a bright blue piece of paper. You reach down to pull it off and notice that familiar handwriting:
Good morning darlin. Slide these on and follow the trail. - J
You slip the shoes on and open the bedroom door. The staircase to the main floor is a colorful sea of small, square papers. Jake didn't write two hundred, but he definitely cleared fifty. And he stole your office supply of sticky notes to complete the task.
You head down the stairs, taking each one off of the wall as you walked. He didn't only put them on the walls; he put them on everything.
On the bathroom mirror, dead center: WOW you look pretty today, even fresh out of bed. Especially fresh out of bed.
The thermostat in the hallway? Don't touch this. It's just like your husband: perfect.
You rolled your eyes as a chuckle escaped your lips. You headed down the stairs and into the kitchen. There, the countertops looked like a stationary bomb went off. There's notes on the coffee maker, the mug he left out for you, the sink faucet, and right on the cabinet door.
The one on the coffee maker comes off first: 100% caffeine, 0% chance I forgot about you today. Love you.
When you looked in the fridge for your favorite coffee creamer, there's a neon pink note on the egg carton. These eggs are fragile, but my ego is not. I'm still the best pilot in the Navy. Enjoy your coffee.
You grab your coffee in one hand, a large stack of colorful sticky notes gathered in your other hand. Heading towards the door to grab your keys, you spot one more bright square by the handle of the door. The green sticky note was written in bold black Sharpie, as if he was shouting this message to you.
I told you I was going to do it. Never doubt me. Have a perfect day, Mrs. Seresin. You can count on me to be at home at 1800 to receive my reward as best husband on base. I love you - Jake
You slowly peel the note off of the door, adding it to the top of the rest of your stack. You put them against your chest, your heart flooded with emotion and admiration for your husband. The house might by empty in the morning, but Jake's true, chaotic, arrogant, and sweet love absorbs every corner of your home.
You gather your breakfast, a massive stack of neon papers already accumulating in your left hand, and head toward the front door to grab your keys for work. Slapped squarely over the deadbolt of the front door is a massive, extra-large green sticky note. It’s written in bold, aggressive black sharpie, practically shouting off the wood.
Told you I was going to do this. Never doubt the executioner. Have a perfect day at work, Mrs. Seresin. I'll be home at 18:00 to collect my reward for being the most attentive husband on base. - Jake.
You peel the final note off the door, holding the thick stack of neon paper against your chest, your heart completely full. The house might be empty when you wake up, but Jake’s chaotic, arrogant, and deeply tender love fills every single corner of your world.
-
By Thursday, the normal routine resets: 5:15 alarm, the rustling of Jake getting up in the morning, and the forehead kiss from him before he slips out of the room.
When 6:45 AM rolls around, Jake is walking into the locker room on base. Bradley and Javy are sitting on the benches, finishing getting dressed and groaning about the 7 o'clock briefing.
"Morning, boys," Jake confidently says, his Hangman persona fully locked in. "Ready to chase me today"
"Quiet, Seresin," Bradley groans, rubbing his eyes. "Some of us still need to have coffee."
Jake smirks to himself, reaching into his locker to get his flight helmet. As he lifts the helmet up, he sees something small and bright inside the ear cup.
It's a green neon sticky note.
The smirk on his face turns into a soft smile. He pulls the piece of paper out of the helmet and immediately recognizes your handwriting.
Javy looks over to Jake, raising his eyebrow. "What you got there, Hangman? Secret admirer?"
"Mind your business, Coyote," Jake laughs, his back turning to give himself from privacy. He looks down at the green piece of paper: Waking up in an empty bed sucks, but your fast flying makes up for it. Kick some pilot butt today, Hangman. See you at 1800. - Your Wife
Jake keeps looking at the note for a long moment, warmth flooding through his chest. He delicately peels the note from his helmet, opens his wallet, and puts it safely inside.
"Seresin! Briefing in two minutes, let's go!" Maverick calls out.
"I'm right behind you, Mav," Jake says smoothly. He tucks his helmet under his arm and is ready to dominate the sky. But his heart is on the ground, anchored by a single sticky note.
Stronger Than a Storm - A Twisters Fanfiction - Masterlist
Originally posted to Wattpad under username harmonic-tempest2025 (link here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/401281516-stronger-than-a-storm-a-twisters-fanfiction-tyler)
Elizabeth "Tempest" Harding grew up in her parents' shadow and in constant (friendly) competition with her childhood best friend, Tyler Owens. Though their paths diverged when Elizabeth went to college and Tyler became a bull rider, they stayed in touch, despite some rough patches in their relationship. Five years after a devastating tornado took the lives of three of her closest friends, Elizabeth, along with her college best friend Kate Carter, return to the plains of Oklahoma to help their friend Javi. The two soon cross paths with Tyler (now a hotshot YouTube-famous storm chaser) and his crew. Kate's overly cautious approach (owing to the events of five years ago) clashes with Tyler's aggressive risk-taking and even Elizabeth's innate, instinct-driven talents as a chaser, but as storm season intensifies, they and their teams will have to work together to tame and survive the "once in a generation" unprecedented outbreak of destructive tornadoes.
Based on/inspired by Twisters (2024) with some references/connections to Twister (1996)
Tyler Owens x Female Harding! OC - Childhood friends to lovers
Warnings - Mature language (cursing) and themes; SMUT in certain chapters - will indicate where it begins (these chapters will be marked in the table of contents with an * - minors DNI - 18+ only).
"She'd grown up in her parents' shadow, living with the reputation of being a storm chasing legacy, and yet all Elizabeth Harding wanted was to make her own mark."
"If you feel it, chase it!"
"You don't face your fears, you ride 'em!"
🌪️🌪️🌪️
Table of Contents (Links to be Added)
Cast & Playlist
Chapter One - The Calm Before the Storm
Chapter Two - Starts with Goodbye
Chapter Three - Don't Concern Yourself (With This Mess You Left For Me)
Chapter Four - Those Storm Clouds Gather in Her Eyes
Chapter Five - Another Glass of Whiskey, But It Still Don't Kill The Pain
Chapter Six - How Could Something So Delicate Also Be Dangerous?
Chapter Seven - Wanderin' Far Don't Mean You're Lost
Chapter Eight- So Much Fun That's It's Probably a Little Bit Against the Law
Chapter Nine - That Rebel Moon is Shinin', Those Stars Burn Like Diamonds
Did I read every chapter that’s been posted so far? Do I love everything about this story? Do I think Tyler & Tempest are the cutest? Am I excited for the next chapter?
Summary: At Glen’s ranch after the concert, what starts as soft banter and stargazing on the deck shifts into something neither Kayla nor Glen can deny any longer. The walls between them finally crack, leading to an honest conversation, a tender first kiss, and a night that changes everything.
Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact. Sexual Content. (Consensual. Protected PiV.), Mentions of past relationship hurt/insecurity, some slight mentions of body insecurity kind of (but more nerves than anything), Emotional vulnerability and fear of commitment themes.
Word Count: 7,009
Other Chapters: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14
The gravel crunched under the tires as Glen turned into the long driveway, headlights sweeping across the front yard and the wide front porch before gliding along the siding of the house. Cicadas were loud enough to feel like static under the quiet hum of the engine. Kayla watched the beam of light climb the live oak at the edge of the yard and exhaled, a long, contented breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“That was…” She angled a lazy smile his way, cheeks still warm from the night. “Actually fun.”
Glen cut the engine, the sudden hush making the night feel bigger. “What, you thought being stuck at a concert with me was gonna be torture?”
“I didn’t say torture.” She unbuckled, lips tipping. “Maybe… mild suffering.”
He snorted. “Mild suffering with good seats.”
“And surprisingly decent company,” she conceded, softer now.
He flashed a quick grin at that. He hit the button for the garage and eased the truck inside. The door rumbled down behind them, sealing in the dim yellow light and the faint smell of motor oil and cedar. Kayla slid out, the concrete cool under her boots.
Glen rounded the hood to her side, not hovering, just there. “C’mon. Brisket’s gonna lose his mind when he hears you.”
“Bold of you to assume he didn’t already pick me over you,” she tossed over her shoulder as he unlocked the door to the mudroom.
“We both know where his loyalties lie,” Glen said, pushing it open. “To whoever is holding snacks.”
They stepped into the mudroom. It was a part of the house Kayla had yet to see. Hooks with a few longhorn hats and a single Stetson hung on the wall, a bench littered with a leash and a handful of chew toys sat below it.
Before Kayla could take in the rest, the sound of paws on hardwood followed by an enthusiastic yip came barreling towards them.
“Speak of the traitor,” Glen murmured.
Brisket barreled around the corner like a furry torpedo, ears too big for his head, whole back half wagging. He slid on the tile and bumped into Kayla’s shins, then immediately planted his paws on her boots as if to say mine.
Kayla laughed before dropping into a crouched position.
“Hi, buddy,” she cooed, scratching him behind one floppy ear. “Did you miss me?”
Brisket answered by licking her chin, then darting in frantic circles before launching back into her arms. She caught him, settling his warm, wiggly body against her chest.
“Okay, okay,” she giggled, nose wrinkling. “Ten out of ten greeting.”
Glen leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, watching them with a look that made something low in her stomach flutter. He didn’t say anything for a beat. He didn’t need to. The sight of her on his mudroom floor with his ridiculous dog seemed to knock a little of the day’s weight off him.
A papery crinkle under his boot pulled his attention to the corner.
“Ah, hell.”
He crossed to the kitchen and held up the remains of what used to be a cardboard paper towel roll, now confettied across the floor. “Somebody hosted a party.”
Kayla pressed a dramatic hand to Brisket’s chest. “Sir, do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Brisket sneezed and wagged harder.
“That’s what I thought,” she said solemnly.
“I’ll grab the broom,” Glen offered, already heading for a closet. “Can you distract the culprit?”
“I’m on it.” Kayla fished in the toy basket with one hand, still cuddling Brisket with the other. “Where’s your unicorn, huh?” She found it. It looked tragically slobbery but was still bright pink, and held it up. Brisket perked like a cartoon, paws bicycling, little bark muffled in her shoulder.
Glen returned with a broom and dustpan, glancing over as Kayla lobbed the unicorn a few feet and Brisket tore after it like the fate of Texas depended on retrieval.
The domesticity of it hit Glen in a quiet, unsuspecting way. Her knees against the tile, her laugh mixing with the sound of puppy nails on the floor, the way she fit in his house like she’d always known where the toy basket lived.
“For the record,” he said, voice light as he started sweeping, “this is exactly why we can’t have nice things.”
Kayla straightened, still smiling. “Please. You bought a hot pink unicorn on purpose. You weren’t trying that hard.”
He shot her a look over his shoulder, amused. “Technically you bought the unicorn. I just financed the chaos.”
“Semantics.” She nudged the dustpan with her toe so he could sweep the last of the cardboard in. When he stood, they were closer than she’d expected. Close enough to see the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him from the garage to here.
Glen cleared his throat, breaking the moment before it could tip. “Water?”
“Yes, please.” She suddenly remembered how dry her mouth was and how loud her heart felt.
He handed her a cold bottle from the fridge. The kitchen lights were soft, golden over wood and stone, the kind of warm that made it too easy to breathe. Brisket half hopped, half skipped back with the unicorn and dropped it at Kayla’s feet. She obliged him with another toss down the hallway, and he tore after it
Glen leaned back against the counter, watching the exchange with a lazy almost smile.
“So,” he said, casually, “do I get any cool points for tonight, or am I still digging myself out of the hole labeled ‘mild suffering’?”
Kayla twisted the cap and took a drink, the cool water grounding.
“Fine,” she conceded, tipping her head as if weighing an invisible scale. “You earned a few.”
“A few,” he repeated, pretending to be wounded. “Brutal grader.”
“I contain multitudes,” she said primly, but the teasing didn’t quite hide the softness in her eyes when she looked at him. It felt…easy. Not simple, not solved, just easy in the way her shoulders had dropped the second the truck turned up the drive.
From the hallway, Brisket reappeared and flopped dramatically on her foot, unicorn clamped in his mouth like a cigar. Kayla laughed again, softer this time, and reached down to rub his chest.
“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, and the dog thumped his tail in proud agreement.
Glen’s gaze lingered on her profile, the curve of her smile, the way the night air slipped in from the back door and lifted a strand of her hair. Outside, the dark was stitched with stars and the steady hum of summer. Inside, the mess was already cleaned, the puppy was happy, and for the first time in days, the space between them didn’t feel like a battlefield.
“C’mon,” he said after a beat, nodding toward the glass door that opened to the deck and the big Texas sky beyond. “You still wanted to see the stars, right?”
Kayla glanced at the door, then back at him.
“Yeah,” she said, the word an exhale more than a sound. “I do.”
Glen pushed open the french doors that led out to the patio, and the warm night air rolled in. Smelling faintly sweet from grass, but also faintly earthy. Kayla followed Glen out.
The stars stretched wide overhead, unspoiled by city glare like she was used to in Nashville. She tilted her head back, and exhaled. God, this sky. She thought to herself.
Glen leaned against the railing beside her. “Not bad, huh?”
Kayla gave him a small smile and nodded, not taking her eyes off the sky. “Not bad at all. It’s so quiet out here.”
“Yeah, city people never seem to know what to do with the quiet. Too used to sirens and traffic. Out here you’ve just got cicadas and coyotes.”
She sipped her water, eyes still on the stars. “Honestly? I think I like this better.”
There was a pause, then Glen said, “You could have this, you know.”
Her gaze finally moved to him. “Have what?”
“This.” He gestured out toward his backyard and the trees and fields and skies beyond. “Texas. Quiet. Room to breathe. Hill Country’s not too far. Built in wedding market for a planner like you.”
Kayla laughed softly, shaking her head. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple,” Glen said, watching her. “You just make it complicated.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile wavered just a hair. Because deep down she knew Glen wasn’t entirely wrong.
For a few moments, they let the silence settle again as they just took it all in. It wasn’t awkward. Just charged, maybe? Like there was a live wire between them but neither wanted to touch it.
Glen was the one that finally broke it. “So…”
“So?”
He leaned a little closer, his voice softer now. “Are we gonna talk about it?”
Kayla’s stomach dipped. She took another sip of water, stalling having to have the conversation. “Talk about what?”
His brow lifted. “Kayla.”
Her pulse jumped, and she forced out a laugh. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, Powell.”
“The other night. You stopping me.” His voice wasn’t sharp, but it carried weight.
Her throat tightened. She turned back toward the railing, finger gripping the cool wood. “It wouldn’t have meant anything.”
“Bullshit.”
The word cut clean through the quiet night air. Her eyes snapped back to him, surprised by the roughness she now heard in his tone. He wasn’t teasing anymore. Not even close.
“You think I imagined all of it?” He asked, his voice low and steady. “That I was the only one feeling something all week?”
Her chest ached. She wanted to look away. She wanted to look at anything or anyone that wasn’t Glen, but his gaze pinned her in place.
“I don’t do relationships, Glen. I told you that.” She finally said, the words tumbling out. “And you don’t either. You said it yourself.”
He shook his head. “No. What I said was I put dating on hold. Doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
Kayla blinked at him. He had thrown her for a loop.
“So what is it really?” He pressed. “What are you actually afraid of?”
Her throat went dry despite the fact that she had just drank water.
“I just…” She shook her head, frustrated with herself that she was unable to find the words. “I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.” His voice softened, though the hint of the challenge in his words was still there. “You just don’t want to say it out loud.”
She gripped the railing tighter with her fingers. “It’s safer this way.”
“Safer doesn’t mean better.” Glen said, his voice soft again.
Kayla swallowed hard, staring straight ahead at the treeline at the edge of his backyard. “It means less chance of getting hurt.”
“Or less chance of getting anything real,” he countered.
That made her look over at him. Really look at him. The steadiness she found in his eyes nearly knocked the breath out of her.
“You scare me,” she whispered, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.
His brows knit together. “Scare you how?”
“Because this–” she gestured faintly between them. “It’s too much.
You make me feel things I haven’t let myself feel in years. And that terrifies me. Because you could hurt me. Because you’ll leave. Because…” She exhaled sharply, eyes burning. “Because I’m about to go back to Nashville, and you’re here. And we are so different.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them, only the cicadas filling it.
Then Glen shook his head slowly, voice low but certain. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Tennessee. And I’m not running. Not from this.”
Glen took a step toward her, his hand finding her waist. The warmth of his palm bled through the thin fabric of her shirt, grounding and undoing her at the same time. His eyes found hers in the dim glow of light spilling from the kitchen. There was no cockiness. No smirk to his mouth. Just something steady. Something that made her chest ache.
“You gonna let me kiss you now, Tennessee?”
The question rattled through her, knocking against every wall she’d built around her heart, tearing at every excuse she’d clung to for the past seven days.
And she knew that it was genuine. He wasn’t assuming. He wasn’t taking. He was asking, and she knew if she said no, he’d respect it.
Her throat tightened as she nodded. “Yeah.”
Glen’s other hand came up slowly, fingers brushing against her jaw before cupping her cheek. His thumb traced her skin, gentle, almost reverent.
Kayla’s eyes fluttered closed. The cicadas hummed louder. Her heart was beating so hard it felt like it might break through her ribs.
Then his lips touched hers. It was feather light at first, almost hesitant. The barest press, like he was testing. Like he was waiting for her to change her mind and pull away again. Her whole body stilled, bracing for panic. But it didn’t come.
Instead, warmth curled low in her stomach. She let out a shaky breath against his mouth, and before she could overthink it, her hand lifted, fingers finding the soft cotton of his shirt and the firm muscle of his chest beneath it. She clutched onto him, steadying herself.
That touch broke what restraint Glen had. He pressed in closer, the kiss deepening. His thumb brushed against her cheek again. Kayla leaned into him, tilting her head to chase for more. She didn’t even realize she’d done it at first.
Her other hand slid up, fingertips brushing the back of his neck. The soft tickle of his hair against her skin made her pulse trip.
She parted her lips just slightly. Glen opened his lips, his tongue sweeping lightly against hers. Kayla’s knees weakened. Her grip on him tightened, like he was the only thing keeping her upright.
The part of her brain that screamed danger seemed to fade into static. And all that was left was him.
Kayla’s lips lingered on his, reluctant to let go when Glen finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead still resting against hers. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling against her hand where it pressed to him.
“Kayla,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek. His voice was low, careful. “Are you sure about this?”
Her pulse stumbled. The question hung between them, weighted, waiting. For one second, the part of her that always second-guessed nearly won. But then she swallowed hard, nodding. “I’m sure.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, relief and hunger flickering together in his eyes. Then his lips found hers again. This time, Kayla met him halfway, tugging him down with a fist curled in his shirt. Her kiss was firmer, hungrier, like she needed him to understand she wasn’t pulling away this time.
A quiet sound rumbled in Glen’s throat as he let her set the pace. His hands settled more securely at her waist, then slid lower, guiding her back a step until her spine met the railing.
Her breath hitched as he pressed closer, the line of his body caging her in. His mouth moved against hers, patient but intent, until he shifted, pulling back just enough to let his lips trail along the edge of her jaw.
Kayla sucked in a sharp breath as he found the curve of her neck, his scruff grazing her skin.
“Glen–” she whispered, the sound half warning, half plea.
“Shh,” he murmured against her throat, his lips brushing light kisses at first. Testing. Searching. Every press was slow, deliberate, like he was mapping what made her melt and what made her catch her breath.
Her hands slid up his shoulders, clutching, pulling him closer when his teeth grazed a tender spot just below her ear. Heat shot straight through her, her knees wobbling as a soft sound escaped her before she could stop it.
That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips closed over the same spot, lingering, sucking gently before nipping again.
Kayla’s head tilted back against the railing, her fingers threading into his hair as she gasped. “Oh my God…”
Glen chuckled low against her skin, the sound rough and satisfied. “Think I found something you like.”
Her only answer was the way her grip tightened, her body arching into his. He kept going, slow but relentless, alternating soft kisses with sharp little bites along her neck and collarbone. Every pass of his mouth drew out another shaky breath, another soft noise she couldn’t hold back.
Kayla squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by how good it felt, how careful he was even in his hunger. He wasn’t trying to conquer. He was trying to get to know her. To learn her. And that terrified her as much as it thrilled her.
Glen’s mouth was still on her throat when his hands tightened at her waist, and before Kayla could process, he lifted her effortlessly, setting her on the railing.
She gasped, clutching his shoulders for balance, but he was already stepping between her legs, his body caging her against the wood. His lips found hers again, hungry this time, stealing the breath from her chest.
Her thighs brushed against his hips instinctively, and the rush of contact made her head spin. She kissed him back harder, threading her fingers into his hair, tugging him closer.
Glen’s mouth slowed against hers, the kiss breaking just enough that their lips brushed. His forehead rested lightly against hers, his chest rising and falling where it pressed to hers.
Her eyes opened, meeting his in the dim light. He could see it, the hesitation flickering there. But he could also feel the truth in the way her body moved against him, her hips arching closer, her body seeking his.
His hand slid from her cheek to her waist, holding her steady. For a heartbeat, he hesitated, his thumb brushing slow circles over her side. She shifted closer to him, pressing him him, her breath catching as her fingers dug into the muscle at his shoulders.
That was all he needed. A low sound rumbled in his chest as his other hand lifted to cradle her jaw, tilting her face up to his. His lips found hers again.
Kayla’s pulse roared in her ears as she kissed him back harder, pulling at him, urging closer until her back met the railing. His body pressed fully into hers, holding her there, but never trapping her.
Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer, while her legs brushed against his hips in a wordless plea. Glen groaned low, the sound vibrating through her chest, and leaned in further, his lips trailing from her mouth to her jaw, then lower, grazing the sensitive skin of her neck.
Kayla gasped, tilting her head back, her nails curling against his shoulder. Every soft bite, every brush of his mouth was deliberate. He was testing and learning what she liked. Her body answered for her, hips pressing more firmly against his, a soft sound slipping past her lips before she could stop it
Glen stilled for half a second, his breath hot against her skin, his hand at her waist flexing. His eyes lifted to hers, searching for any doubt. And in that silent look, he had his answer.
He scooped her into his arms like she weighed nothing. Kayla let out a startled laugh, clinging to him as he carried her across the deck and through the sliding door.
Her laughter melted into another kiss, deep and desperate, her fingers tangling in his hair as his boots thudded across the hardwood. The house blurred around them, nothing but heat and the sure way his arms held her.
Kayla barely noticed when the door to his bedroom clicked shut behind them. All she knew was Glen. Solid, steady, and entirely hers in this moment.
He lowered her carefully onto the bed, his weight hovering just enough to let her settle. His lips trailed hers for another beat before he pulled back, bracing himself up on one arm as he looked down at her.
Her chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She couldn’t seem to look away from his eyes. They were dark now, but not just with want. There was something steadier in them. Something that made her breath catch.
He kissed her again, slower this time. Patient. His lips moved against hers in a way that unraveled the tight coil of nerves in her stomach. His hands stayed gentle, framing her face, tracing the line of her throat before easing down to her shoulders.
When he finally reached for the hem of her shirt, he did it carefully, his eyes on hers. “Okay?”
She nodded, her pulse racing. “Okay.”
His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, brushing against her sides as he inched it up. She lifted her arms, letting him peel it over her head. For a second she froze, lying there in just her bra, more exposed to another human than she’d been in years.
But Glen’s gaze wasn’t greedy. It wasn’t careless. His eyes swept over her slowly, reverently, like he was memorizing every inch. His lips parted on a quiet breath. “Jesus, Tennessee.”
The way he said it, like it was pure admiration, sent a shiver down her spine.
Her instinct was to cover herself, but before she could, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, then another just above her collarbone.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, voice husky but sure.
Kayla’s chest squeezed. She wanted to argue, to deflect, to joke. But the words stuck in her throat, and instead she found herself gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling.
He chuckled low, letting her tug it up. He shifted back just enough to strip it over his head in one smooth motion. Kayla’s eyes widened before she could stop herself.
Her breath left her in a rush. “God, you’re hot.”
The grin that spread across his face was instant, cocky, but softened at the edges. “Yeah?” he teased, his drawl dipping lower. “Glad you finally noticed.”
She rolled her eyes, cheeks burning, but her hands betrayed her. They slid over the planes of his chest, feeling the solid muscle under warm skin.
Glen dipped his head, kissing her again, his hand trailing down to her waist where his thumb brushed slow circles against her skin. He gave her every chance to stop him, to change her mind, but when she only pulled him closer, he moved lower. His fingers found the button of her jeans, pausing there.
“Still okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
Kayla nodded quickly, then added, “Yes.”
Her hands slid down, fumbling with the waistband of his jeans, tugging at the button. He caught her wrists gently, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
“Easy,” he whispered. “We’ve got time.”
He stood just long enough to push his jeans down and kick them aside before returning to her, settling over her. Now there was nothing between them but the thin fabric of her cotton underwear and his boxer briefs.
Kayla’s hand lifted to trace his jaw, her thumb brushing over the rough line of scruff. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“You make me feel…” She shook her head, unable to find the word.
Glen kissed her palm, then pressed his forehead to hers.
Her throat closed, her eyes stinging as she whispered. “Safe.”
Kayla’s fingers slid lower, fumbling at the waistband of his boxers, but Glen caught her hand gently, stilling her.
“Hey,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. His eyes held hers, steady and certain. “Not tonight. Tonight’s about you.”
Her breath caught. The words landed heavier than she expected, her chest tightening as her defenses wavered. “Glen…”
He leaned in again, kissing her slower this time, as if reminding her she could set the pace. His hands skimmed higher, slipping up the sides of her ribs until they reached the clasp of her bra.
Kayla paused for a second. Her instinct was to tense, and to stop him. But his eyes were steady as they looked at her. He pressed a kiss to her temple before easing the straps from her shoulders. When the fabric finally slipped away, his gaze swept over her.
“Beautiful,” he said simply.
Kayla felt her face heating. She almost laughed it off to settle the nerves in her stomach. Then his kisses moved lower, soft brushes of his lips along her collarbone. Kayla’s fingers tightened in his hair as his mouth brushed the sensitive skin just above her chest.
Her skin prickled with heat, goosebumps chasing every place his lips lingered. She tilted her head abc against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed.
Glen glanced up at her through his lashes, gauging her reaction. The way her shoulders shifted, pressing her chest into him, and the way her hand trembled against his shoulder told him more than any words could.
He continued, his lips trailing softly across the swell of her chest. He was taking his time, savoring the way her body responded to him.
Kayla let out a shaky exhale, her pulse still racing, but the nerves that had knotted her chest before began to loosen. She wanted to rush it. To skip to the good part. To pull him down and tell him to go harder and faster. But something in the way he was touching her kept her still.
Which his hand slid lower, skimming over her hip, her breath hitched. The cotton stretched snug across her, and for a moment his thumb simply traced the edge.
Kayla’s eyes opened, meeting his. She didn’t say anything, but the way her hips shifted into his touch said enough. He hooked his fingers into the fabric, and tugged inch by inch, his eyes never leaving hers, as he slid it down her legs. She lifted her hips for him to make it easier for him.
When the cotton slipped away completely, she felt a rush of self-consciousness hitting her. But then Glen’s hands smoothed over her ankles, warm and steady, and began their slow ascent back up. His palms brushed over her calves, then higher, tracing the line of her thighs. His touch coaxed her open for him.
When his palms finally settled against her hips again, his thumbs sweeping slow circles into her skin, he leaned down, pressing a kiss just above her stomach. Then another, higher. Then another, until his mouth was back at hers.
Kayla exhaled shakily against his lips. The embarrassment she’d felt a moment ago faded under the way he looked at her now. Completely bare, she should have felt vulnerable. But with Glen hovering over her, she only felt seen.
And for the first time in years, she wasn’t afraid of that.
His eyes swept over her, drinking her in for a few moments. Then he pulled back, sitting up at the edge of the bed. His chest rose and fell, and Kayla noticed a slight hint of tightness in his shoulders.
Kayla propped herself up on her elbows, watching him in the low light. She expected him to grin, to flash that cocky, easy confidence that seemed to come so naturally to him. But he didn’t. He hesitated for a second before he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and eased them down. There was nothing cocky or showy about it.
He set the last of his clothes aside and reached for the edge of the covers, tugging them down. Kayla moved, sliding over to make room as she watched him climb in beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight, the faint brush of his body heat reaching her even before he settled. For a second, they both just breathed, facing each other in the half-light, bare and unguarded.
Kayla’s hand found his chest, resting lightly against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Glen shifted closer, pulling the blanket up over them, his arm sliding around her waist. His forehead touched hers, his breath warm against her lips, his voice low and steady.
Glen’s arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He leaned in and kissed her again, unhurried but certain. Her fingers reached up and traced the line of his jaw before slipping into his hair. His lips trailed from her mouth to her cheek, to her jaw, and down to the hollow of her throat.
Kayla’s hand fisted in the sheets as his mouth lingered against her skin, but instead of fear, all she felt was anticipation. His hand slid along her side as she shifted closer, bringing her leg up over his hips.
Glen broke the kiss long enough to reach for the nightstand. Kayla heard the sound of foil tearing a second later. He slid the condom onto himself and then turned back to her. He brushed her hair back with one hand, and Kayla swallowed hard, nerves tightening in her chest.
She took a deep breath, and he leaned in and kissed her again.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her lips.
Then he reached a hand between their bodies, spreading her open as his hips eased forward. Kayla took a deep breath, her hands tightening on his shoulders as he pushed the head in. Glen stilled immediately, his thumb brushing the curve of her back, grounding her. He kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth…anywhere he could reach, giving her time.
She forced herself to exhale. He felt her shift her hips, signaling she was ready. He pushed in a little further, then pulled out. He repeated this a few times until he was all the way in. His eyes stayed focused on her, searching for signs or cues, making sure she was okay.
Kayla’s fingers dug into his skin, not to pull away, but to hold him closer. The ache of nerves softened into something warmer as their bodies found a slow rhythm together.
The world outside the walls ceased to exist. There was no wedding, no Nashville, no fears about what came after. Just Glen above her, steady and unyielding, his lips brushing hers in between every breath.
Every kiss felt like reassurance. Every touch reminded her she wasn’t alone.
Her breath stuttered as she moved with him, and his grip on her waist tightened—steadying, anchoring, letting her know he felt it too.
They didn’t rush. They didn’t need to. The intimacy was in the slowness, in the way they clung to each other, in the way Glen kissed her like she was something to be cherished rather than conquered.
And for the first time in years, Kayla didn’t feel guarded. She didn’t feel small. She didn’t feel afraid.
She just felt wanted.
Wanted, and safe.
And when her body finally gave way to the warmth building deep inside her, she didn’t hold back. She let it happen, let him hold her through it, let herself sink into the feeling of being undone in his arms.
Glen followed her a moment later, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath uneven but his hands still gentle as they held her tight.
For a long time, they didn’t move. Just breathed. Just stayed wrapped around each other as if the moment might slip away if they let go too soon.
Kayla closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling against his. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but right now? Right now, it didn’t matter.
Kayla lay against his chest, her cheek pressed over his heartbeat, trying to steady her own. The warmth of his skin seeped into her, grounding her in a way she wasn’t used to. She’d been here before. Not this room, not this bed, not even this man. But this place. The afterglow. With her ex, it had always felt empty, transactional, like something taken instead of something shared.
But this? This felt like belonging.
Glen shifted slightly, his chin brushing the top of her head. “You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured, voice still rough from the night.
She scoffed, because scoffing was safer than crying. “Trying to catch my breath. You’re heavy, Powell.”
His chest rumbled with a laugh, low and lazy. “That’s what you’re going with? Not that I rocked your world, just that I’m heavy?”
She tilted her head enough to glare at him, though the effect was ruined by the small smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Please,” he said, brushing a kiss across her temple. “You were nervous as hell and now you’re trying to play it cool. I saw it.”
Kayla sat up just enough to frown at him. “I was not nervous.”
“Oh yeah?” His grin widened. “Tennessee, you couldn’t even look at me for more than five seconds before turning red.”
Her cheeks heated immediately, traitorous, and she smacked his chest with her hand. “Shut up.”
He laughed harder, catching her wrist and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of it before letting go. The laughter faded into something quieter, softer, as she sank back against him. Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
The quiet hum of the ceiling fan filled the room. Then Glen shifted slightly to look down at her. His hand rubbed gently along her hip, steady and grounding.
“You wanna stay here tonight?” he asked softly. “Or do you want me to drive you back to Lo and Levi’s?”
The question made her blink, caught somewhere between surprise and relief. He wasn’t assuming. He was giving her the choice.
For a moment, Kayla thought about it. She should probably go back. It would be safer, less complicated. But the thought of leaving, of walking out of this warmth, of putting the distance back between them, settled like a stone in her stomach.
She tucked her face closer against his chest, her voice quiet. “I’ll stay.”
Glen’s arm tightened around her waist, a subtle pull that told her he was glad she’d said it.
“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair.
Kayla then pulled herself from Glen’s grip and made her way into the ensuite bathroom. She lingered a little longer than necessary, splashing cold water on her face, staring at her reflecting. Her cheeks were still flushed, her hair mussed, her lips a little swollen. She exhaled, steadying her hands against the counter.
She wasn’t going to overthink this. Not now.
When she stepped back into the bedroom, Glen was waiting by the dresser, one of his T-shirts in hand. It was soft and worn, the cotton stretched from years of washing.
“Here.” He tossed it to her with an easy grin. “Might be a little big, but it’ll be more comfortable to sleep in than what you wore.”
Kayla caught it, holding it up between her fingers. “This is huge.”
“Guess that means you’ll look cute in it,” he shot back without missing a beat.
Kayla shook her head, muttering under her breath as she slipped into the bathroom again to change. The shirt did swallow her, the hem skimming mid-thigh, sleeves nearly to her elbows. She caught her reflection one more time before sighing. Damn him. He was right. It did look cute.
When she came back out, Glen’s eyes flickered over her once, then softened. He didn’t say anything, not at first. Just let that slow smile spread across his face, like he was filing away the sight of her in his shirt for later.
Kayla crossed her arms, trying to act unaffected. “What?”
“Nothing.” His grin widened. “Just thinking this suits you better than Nashville chic.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. You wouldn’t know Nashville chic if it smacked you.”
“Don’t need to,” he said easily, tugging the covers back. “I like this version better.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she climbed into bed anyway, slipping under the sheets as Glen rounded to the other side. When he slid in next to her, the mattress dipped, and suddenly his presence was everywhere. It was a mix of heat, muscle, and the faint scent of his soap. Or maybe it was his cologne.
For a moment, they lay there on their backs, the ceiling fan whirring above. Kayla tugged the blanket higher, unsure what to do with her hands.
Then Glen shifted, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his hand. His other arm slid around her waist with practiced ease, pulling her gently into him. She curled closer, her forehead brushing his chest.
The silence stretched, her heart hammering so loud she was sure he could hear it.
Finally, she whispered, “I don’t do this.”
Glen’s arm tightened around her, his breath brushing the crown of her head. His voice, when it came, was softer than she’d ever heard it.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I figured.”
Something in her chest cracked open at that. No judgment. No pushback. Just quiet understanding.
She tilted her head to look up at him. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
A corner of his mouth quirked. “Would it help if I told you I don’t do this either?”
Kayla raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to believe that?”
Glen smirked, but there was no bravado behind it. “Tennessee, if this was my usual thing, you think I’d have been this patient?”
Her lips parted, a quip on the tip of her tongue, but he went on before she could speak.
“I haven’t done this since my last relationship ended,” he admitted, voice quieter now, more serious. His thumb brushed over her hip as if to ground the honesty. “I’m not the playboy people like to make me out to be. That’s Hollywood. Headlines. Not me.”
Kayla blinked, surprised by the weight behind his words. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t performing. He was just telling her the truth.
And for reasons she couldn’t quite name, that truth made her chest ache in a way she didn’t want to examine too closely.
Kayla let herself sink back him him, her body finally relaxing fully against him.
“Feel better?” He murmured.
She hummed, eyes closing. “Yeah. Better.”
And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Kayla felt like she could actually fall asleep in someone’s arms without fear.
Glen fell asleep first. His breathing evened out, warm and steady against the back of her neck. He shifted once, pulling her closer in his early moments of sleep, before going completely still.
She should have followed him into rest. The day had been long, the night even longer, and her body was pleasantly wrung out in a way that promised she’d sleep deeper than she had in years.
But her brain wouldn’t let her.
Kayla lay there, wide awake, eyes tracing the ceiling fan’s slow rotation in the dark. Every time she closed her eyes, the reel started again. The kiss on the deck. The way he lifted her into his arms. The way his hands steadied her, like he was terrified of hurting her. The way his voice softened into something she didn’t know he had in him.
And then…everything else. Her heart stuttered at the memory of his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, the way he seemed to know when to push and when to pull back. She’d told herself she didn’t do relationships, that she didn’t do this. But with Glen, she hadn’t felt like she was being pushed into something. She’d felt seen. Wanted. Safe.
God, she was so screwed.
Kayla shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, and rolled onto her side to face him. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, painting silver lines across his bare shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw. In sleep, he looked younger. Softer. Almost boyish.
She studied him in the quiet, her chest aching with something she didn’t want to name.
This was Glen Powell. Movie star. Hollywood heartthrob. Her best friend’s basically brother-in-law-to-be. A man with a life so far removed from hers it may as well be another planet.
And yet…here he was. Arm wrapped around her like he didn’t want to let her go. Breath warm against her skin.
She bit her lip, trying to quiet the war inside her. Her brain whispered that this was a mistake. That she’d just complicated everything. That nothing good could come of falling for a man who didn’t even live in the same state as her.
But her heart? Her heart whispered something else entirely.
That maybe, for the first time in years, love wasn’t about logic. Maybe this wasn’t about running before anyone had the chance to leave her. Maybe this was about letting herself feel, even if it was terrifying.
Kayla brushed a piece of hair from his forehead, her fingers trembling as she lingered just a second too long.
She realized then just how deep she already was. Because this wasn’t just about attraction. It wasn’t just about the sex, though God, that had been better than anything she’d ever known.
It was about the way he looked at her. About the way he teased her but never crossed the line. About the way he’d been patient when she hesitated, when she stumbled, when she nearly bolted.
She didn’t know how to deal with that. Didn’t know how to reconcile it with the voice in her head screaming that she was on borrowed time.
Her ex had left her doubting her worth. Glen was making her doubt her defenses.
And lying there, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, Kayla knew the truth she’d been avoiding since the moment she first laid eyes on him at the ranch.
She was already in deeper than she’d ever planned.
Deeper than she’d meant to be.
And if she wasn’t careful, this man—this quiet, steady, infuriating, charming man—could undo her whole world.
Second Chance at Cedar Sky - Chapter 1: The Reunion
One week. One wedding. One more shot at forever.
Claire Bennet left Siloam Springs nearly twenty years ago with big dreams and no intention of looking back. Now one of Dallas’s top wedding planners, she’s built a life around picture perfect celebrations, and walls high enough to keep love at a safe distance.
But when a high profile wedding takes her back to her hometown, Claire’s carefully planned week is thrown into chaos the second she steps onto Cedar Sky Ranch. That’s when she comes face to face with Tyler Owens. Her first love. Her first heartbreak. The one man she’s never quite been able to forget.
Tyler traded the thrill of chasing storms for the steady rhythm of life on his family’s struggling ranch. He’s poured everything into keeping it afloat, and the last thing he expected was for the girl who once stole his heart to be the one who might help save it.
With a wedding that could make or break the ranch’s future, Claire and Tyler are forced to work side by side. As old memories spark and new feelings take root, they’ll have to decide if this is just business or the beginning of the forever they’ve both been waiting for.
Coming home was the last thing she wanted. Seeing him was the last thing she expected.
Claire Bennett crossed the Arkansas state line as her polished black Range Rover hummed beneath her on the two lane highway. Dallas still clung to her in the scent of her perfume, the faint shine of her manicure, and the soft leather seats around her.
Out here though, it didn’t quite fit. She was like a fish out of water.
She eased past a weathered farm stand advertising Fresh Eggs in peeling red paint. A beat up Chevy pickup rumbled by in the opposite lane, the driver lifting two fingers from the steering wheel in a wave.
Even the gas station looked older. The brick front now faded. The once bright red Coca-Cola signs now sun bleached to a dusty pink color.
Her GPS swore she was on the right road, but the turns and hills felt tighter than she remembered. Rust colored barns stood on the horizon. Fields stretched out under an early spring sky. Miles and miles of green dotted with the white blooms of the dogwood trees.
Siloam Springs had always been small. But now, after almost twenty years away, it felt even smaller.
She made the turn onto Main Street. A few blocks of angled parking spots and sidewalks lined with shopfronts that looked just as they had in the early 2000s.
The Maple Leaf Cafe still sat on the corner. She caught a glimpse of the same green and white awning she’d walked under countless times when going for Sunday brunch with her family after church.
Next door, Harrison’s Feed & Supply displayed a pyramid of seed bags in the window next to a hand made Chicks for Sale sign taped to the glass.
She drove down to the next block, past The Rusty Spur. Its weathered sign swung gently in the breeze. Even in daylight the bar looked dark inside.
A few doors down the old movie theater marquee proudly announced its “Summer Classic Series.” Casablanca this week. Gone with the Wind the next.
The buildings were smaller than she remembered, the streets narrower. It was the same town, but the edges of her memory had exaggerated it over the years.
She’d left this place with a plan. That plan? Never come back unless she had to.
And today was one of those have to moments. A high profile wedding. A millionaire client expecting perfection. And the venue? Booked sight unseen, with little more than a handful of curated photos and the Bride’s reassurance that it could handle a $250,000 event.
Her fingers tightened on the wheel.
This was not a homecoming. She wasn’t here to wander into the Maple Leaf for brunch or to linger on the sidewalk catching up with people who still remembered her as Tyler Owens’ girl.
She was here to work. Get in for the week. Do the job she had been hired to do. And then get out.
At least, that was the plan.
* * * * * * * * * *
The GPS crackled one last instruction Turn right in two hundred feet before her Range Rover’s tires crunched onto a long gravel drive. Towering oaks and maples arched overhead. She rolled the window down, letting in the warm air.
Beyond the trees, the land opened wide into sunlit pasture. A few American Quarter horses grazing lazily near the fence. Down the hill, a massive barn rose into view. Sturdy wood siding the color of dark honey, a metal roof catching the light, and its wrap around porch stretching over a glimmering pond.
Even from the distance, she could see the weathering along the posts, the edges softened by years of wind and rain.
The driveway curved again, and the main house came into view. Two stories of stone and green siding, with a good sized front porch.
Overall the property was beautiful, and she could see why the bride and groom chose it. But she also noticed the little things. The slightly crooked gate she’d passed through, the railing ont he barn that needed a new coat of stain. The fence was freshly painted, but the gravel drive had bare patches.
She parked near the front steps, as instructed per the email she received from the owner Martha. No last name had been attached but Claire decided it didn’t really matter. As long as she had a contact person she didn’t care.
She took a moment and took it all in. All in all the ranch had good bones. Great bones even. But it was tired and worn. And tired and worn would never pass for perfect in the Dallas wedding market.
She reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the thick wedding binder she’d put together. Every page tabbed, color coded and neatly labeled. The kind of over preparedness her clients paid for.
Stepping out, her heels sank slightly into the soft gravel before she made her way up the front walk. She hadn’t even lifted her hand to knock when the front door swung open.
“Claire Bennett,” the woman said, her voice warm and welcoming, like she’d just spotted an old friend on the street.
She was probably in her mid sixties. Her silver streaked hair was swept back into a loose bun. She wore a faded chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
She stepped forward, resting a hand gently on Claire’s arm, “Lord, I’d know you anywhere.”
“Martha?” Claire blinked, the reality clicking into place. Martha Owens owns Cedar Sky Ranch. Her stomach did a slow, uneasy flip.
She had no idea. No idea that the woman she’d been emailing for weeks, trading contracts and confirmations with, was Martha Owens. The mother of her ex boyfriend.
Martha’s hand lingered warmly on Claire’s arm. “Well, you look good, honey. It’s real good to see you.”
Claire opened her mouth to respond, but the scuff of boots on pavement behind her made her glance over her shoulder.
There he was.
Tyler Owens.
Late thirties now, broader through the shoulders and chest, a little more weathered in the face. Faded jeans hung comfortably on his hips, paired with a well-worn Cedar Sky Ranch T-shirt. A ballcap shaded his eyes, but nothing could disguise the way he was looking at her.
He was definitely not the tall, lanky sixteen-year-old she’d once loved with her whole heart.
Martha’s eyes lit with a knowing smile as she glanced between them. “Well, look what the wind blew in, Tyler.”
He stopped a step from the porch, staring at her for a beat too long. “Claire.”
Her name in his voice was both familiar and strange, carrying a weight that tugged somewhere deep in her chest.
Martha, oblivious to the tight undercurrent between them, chuckled. “Lord, the two of you were thick as thieves back in the day. Couldn’t keep you from chasin’ each other around town.”
Tyler shifted, leaning a shoulder against one of the porch columns, his gaze never quite leaving her.
“I hear you’re here for the big Caldwell wedding,” he said, voice easy but eyes sharp.
“That’s right,” she replied, gripping her binder a little tighter. “I’m the planner.”
“Well.” His mouth tipped in something between a smirk and a smile. “Guess we’ll be seein’ a lot of each other this week.”
Martha, still didn’t seem to notice that static in the air between Claire and Tyler. She patted Claire’s arm again, ushering her toward the porch.
“I swear, I still remember that summer you two were inseparable. Couldn’t so much as turn around without seein’ you sittin’ on the back of his dirt bike or walkin’ down Main Street, hand in hand. Everyone thought you’d end up–” She stopped herself, lips pursing in a way that told Claire she’d edited mid sentence.
Claire smiled politely, but her stomach tightened. “It’s been a long time,” she said.
Tyler didn’t move from his post against the column, his arms folded across his chest now. “Guess so.”
“Oh, don’t you get all quiet on me,” Martha scolded, flicking her eyes toward her son. “You used to talk her ear off, remember?”
Tyler’s mouth quirked. “I remember you tellin’ me I talked too much.”
“That was before I got used to the peace and quiet.” Martha laughed, then looked back at Claire. “So, Dallas now, right? Heard you moved there after…” Another tiny pause. “After you left Siloam Springs.”
Claire nodded. “I’ve been there for a while.” She adjusted the binder in her hands, the leather warm from sun beating down on it in the passenger seat during the drive. “Most of my work’s in the city, but I take the occasional out of town wedding.”
“Well, we’re sure grateful you took this one. The Caldwells are…well, they’re somethin’.” Martha’s tone was fond but knowing. “They wanted this place, though, and we’re happy to have ’em. Could use the boost.”
It was quick, but Claire caught it. The quick glance Martha gave towards the barn in the distance. The way her voice faltered for a moment. Money trouble, maybe? It made sense. A place like this would cost a fortune to maintain. They’d need to do at least 3-4 weddings a month between April and October to keep it afloat. And based on the ease and flexibility they had with finding a date for the Caldwell wedding, she had a feeling their calendar wasn’t too full.
Martha clapped her hands lightly, like an idea had just landed. “You know, Ty, why don’t you take Claire on a little tour? Show her the lay of the land.”
Tyler’s gaze finally broke from hers to look at his mother. “I’m sure she can figure it out.”
“Don’t be ugly,” Martha chided, but her smile never faltered. “It’ll save her some time later, and Lord knows you’re not doin’ anything this afternoon that can’t wait an hour.”
“I’ve got fence line to check.”
“And you can check it after you show her around,” Martha said, as if it were already decided.
Claire cleared her throat. “Really, I don’t want to impose. I have the floorplan you sent–”
“You’re not imposin’,” Martha cut in warmly. “Ty’ll be glad to help.”
Tyler pushed off the column slowly, like the request was a chore he’d already resigned himself to doing. “Guess I’m doing tours today.”
Martha shooed them both with a laugh. “Don’t let him fool you, Claire. He’s happy you’re here. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Tyler didn’t deny it. He just tipped his head toward the gravel path, waiting for her to follow.
Summary: After a long night on the red carpet beside Glen, you’re exhausted both physically and emotionally. You’re not a model or an actress, and standing in a sea of Hollywood perfection has left your insecurities louder than every in your mind. But Glen has never seen you as anything less than stunning. So when he runs you a bath and pulls you into the water with him, he makes sure to remind you exactly how beautiful you ar.
Warnings: MINORS DNI. NSFW. Explicit Sexual Content (Fingering), Bath Sex, Praise Kink sort of but not really?, Body Insecurity
Word Count: 1,890
Prompt + Pairing: “Is there some space left in that bathtub?” + Glen Powell RPF
You pushed open the front door of Glen’s L.A. home before you all but collapsed onto Glen’s sleek leather couch, your dress bunching around your thighs as you dropped your clutch with a sigh.
Your feet throbbed from the heels his stylist had sworn were “perfect”. Your back screamed from hours of camera ready posture as you posed for pictures next to Glen. But most of all your brain buzzed with a kind of social exhaustion that came from smiling through endless introductions to people whose names you immediately forgot.
Behind you, Glen’s voice floated through the entryway as he thanked the driver and added a generous tip. The front door creaked open and then shut again, and a moment later you heard Glen turn the lock.
He appeared in the living room still in his custom tux, bowtie loosened, but still hanging around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He looked too good. Unfairly good, really. And worse, he was giving you that look. The one that saw through your polite smiles all night long, straight into the exhaustion you’d tried to hide.
Without a word, he dropped to one knee in front of you.
You blinked. “Glen–”
“Hush,” he murmured, flashing you his perfect smile before reaching for your ankle. His fingers were warm as he slid off one heel, then the other. You groaned shamelessly as his thumbs began to work slow circles into your aching feet.
“Fuck that feels good,” you exhaled. “Marry me.”
He chuckled, gaze flicking up to yours. “Thought you’d never ask.”
You slouched deeper into the couch cushions, your limbs heavy, your body finally allowing itself to let go. You didn’t realize you were sighing until his hands stilled.
“Hey,” he said softly, his tone shifting to one that was slightly more serious. “You okay?”
You gave him a half hearted smirk. “My feet are going to fall off.”
“Hmm.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to a spot just above your ankle. “That would be tragic. I happen to be very fond of them.”
You huffed out a tired laugh, watching as he rose to his feet and stretched his arms over his head.
“Alright,” he said, already heading for the stairs. “I’ll meet you upstairs in a few.”
You made your way upstairs a few minutes later, moving slower than usual, each step tugging at muscles worn out from too many hours spent posing like you were someone used to that kind of spotlight.
The bedroom was quiet. Moonlight slanted in through the windows, illuminating the room dimly in soft moonlight. Glen had turned on a bedside lamp, leaving the room in a soft golden glow. You slipped inside and closed the door behind you. You heard the faint sound of running water echoing from the ensuite bathroom.
Your hands moved on autopilot as you crossed the room. You reached for the zipper at your side, dragging it down. You then peeled the gown from your frame before it fell to the floor in a rustle of fabric.
Next came your bra, which you unhooked with ease. Then your earrings, each one pulled free with ease.
You then stepped toward the walk in closet to hang up your dress. That’s when you caught your reflection in the full length mirror.
You froze.
The dress might have come off, but the weight hadn’t. Your eyes scanned your body. Soft belly. Thicker thighs. Faint stretch marks that ghosted over the skin of your lower abdomen no matter how many creams and serums you tried.
Glen had called you stunning tonight. Gorgeous even.
But standing here now, makeup smeared, skin red from too tight shapewear, all you could think about was how you’d looked standing on a carpet with so many other women. The actresses. The influencers. The models with legs for days and waists you could only dream of having.
You tried to shake it off. You knew better. Glen had never once made you feel like anything less than the most beautiful woman in any room. His hands, his mouth, his words always told the truth. His truth. That you were and always would be beautiful to him.
But the other voices still whispered. Too big. Too plan. Out of place.
You moved to the vanity and reached for the makeup wipes. With slow motions you wiped away the contour, the highlight, the lipstick his stylist insisted was “the perfect red.” Each pass of the cloth left you feeling more exposed.
Then you heard it. Glen’s voice calling your name from the ensuite bathroom.
“Baby, it’s ready.”
You closed your eyes for a second, grounding yourself in his voice. Then you stepped out of the closet, bare feet silent on the carpeted floor as you made your way into the bathroom.
The door was cracked open just enough for the soft glow of candlelight to spill into the hall. The air in the bathroom was thick with steam, warm and heavy against your skin as you stepped inside. The scent of something faintly sweet filled the room, mixing with the quiet hum of music playing from Glen’s phone in the corner.
Glen was already in the tub. He had one arm stretched along the edge, his head tilted toward you as his other hand skimmed through the water. His skin gleamed beneath the bubbles, chest slick and golden, water lapping just below his sternum.
His eyes dragged down your body, pausing to take in the tops of your thighs, the curve of your waist, the swell of your chest.
You leaned against the doorway, your voice quiet as you asked “Is there some space left in the bathtub?”
He smirked, and then nodded. “For you? Always?”
You eased yourself down into the water, bubbles parting around you. You slipped carefully between his legs, your back pressing to his chest. His arms immediately slid around you like you belonged there.
His chin dipped to your shoulder, his lips brushing just behind your ear as he pulled you in tighter.
“You were the most beautiful thing on that carpet tonight,” he murmured, voice low and steady.
You huffed a soft laugh, turning to look away from him.
His hand slid beneath the water, fingers grazing along your stomach, his palm resting just below your navel.
“Hey,” he said, his lip still against your skin. “I mean it.”
You leaned into him, water sloshing gently as he shifted behind you, his other hand rising to stroke your arm.
“You have no fucking idea what you do to me.”
You tilted your head back, leaning against his shoulder until your cheek brushed his.
“Then maybe,” you whispered, “you should show me.”
Glen’s breath ghosted over your skin, lips brushing your neck just behind your ear, as his hand slid lower under the water.
“You have no idea,’ he murmured, voice honeyed and heavy with heat, “what you looked like tonight.”
His fingers grazed over the curve of your thigh, then higher dragging slow, deliberate circles just beneath your belly.
“That dress should’ve been illegal,” he whispered, hands moving to spread your thighs wider beneath the bubbles. “Every man in that room looked at you like you were a prize.”
His palm flattened, covering the aching heat between your legs. You sucked in a breath as he pressed down just enough to tease.
“But you’re mine,” he said.
Two fingers dipped between your folds. The heat of the bath was nothing compared to the burn of him sliding inside you, fingers curling just right.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he growled. “All damn night. Smiling for cameras. Talking to people, and all I could think about was how wet you were under that fucking dress.”
Your hips shifted against him, water sloshing gently around you, bubbles slipping down your chest as your breath grew heavier. You reached back, fingers digging into his thigh, needing something to anchor you.
He kissed your neck as his fingers moved deeper, curling just right. His thumb dragged slow, lazy circles over your clit under the water.
“You’re soaked,” he muttered. “Can feel you squeezing me already. You gonna come for me like this, baby?”
You whimpered, and he chuckled darkly, cock stirring against your back.
“That’s it. Let go. Let go for me, baby.”
He moved his fingers a little faster, curling them inside you just a little deeper. His free hand came up to palm your breast, fingers tugging gently at your nipple, drawing another gasp from your lips.
“You don’t need to change a single about you,” he murmured into your ear.
Your his rocked forward against his hand as the pressure built. He groaned low behind you, biting at your shoulder.
“I want every version of you. The one in heels and lipstick. The one in my t-shirts. The one falling apart on top of me.”
Your body tensed the pleasure coiling tight in your stomach.
“Come for me, baby,” he rasped. “Just like that.”
Your back arched into him as your orgasm hit, his name rolling off your lips in a gasp. The water sloshed wildly as you trembled against his chest, muscles clenching around his fingers, toes curling, every inch of you burning.
He held you through it, mouth on your neck murmuring praise between kisses.
“That’s my girl. My gorgeous girl. Could watch you fall apart all night.”
You slumped back against his chest, your whole body molten, chest rising and falling in shaky waves. The warm water rippled around you, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his arms as they wrapped around your waist, holding you close.
Glen kissed the side of your head, letting his mouth linger there. “You good?”
You nodded, letting out a soft hum.
He chuckled, low and warm. He then gave you another few moments to breathe before shifting behind you.
“C’mon,” he said, voice gentle as he reached for one of the towels.
You let him help you out of the tub, his big hands carefully grabbing your hips as he lifted you with ease as if you weight nothing at all. He wrapped the towel around you before grabbing another for himself.
The bedroom was dim, the sheets already pulled back ready for you to climb in. Glen led you there with his fingers splayed over the small of your back.
You sat on the edge of the bed towel clutched tightly around your chest. The voices had quieted, but not vanished completely. Your thighs pressed together, and you dipped your chin, suddenly hyper aware of everything again. The curve of your stomach, the softness of your arms, the way you looked without the right lighting and makeup and filters.
You didn’t realize Glen had gone still until you looked up and saw the way he was watching you.
“Don’t,” he said softly as he dropped to his knees in front of you, reaching for the edge of the towel. “Don’t hide from me.”
Your grip on the towel loosened but didn’t let go completely.
“I want you on your back,” Glen murmured, already kissing up your thigh. “I want your legs around my shoulders.” He then glanced up at you, a smirk playing on his lips. “And I want you to be loud this time.”
I can’t tell you how much I’ve been enjoying your Glen stories every day this month, especially after a stressful day at work! This was one of my favorites, the sweet and spicy is a fantastic combination!🥰😈
Summary: You and Tyler have always been partners. Teammates. Nothing more. At least, that’s what you told yourself. But when you stumble into a motel room together, soaked from rain and bleeding from a cut, it’s Tyler who stitches you back together. The tension that’s been simmering for years finally boils over in the dark, quiet hours of the storm. As wounds are cleaned and barriers fall, you both realize this was never just friendship, not really.
Warnings: Minors DNI. Injury and blood mention. Wound care. Explicit Sexual Content (Fingering, Protected PIV sex). Swearing / Explicit language.
Word Count: 4,262
Prompt + Pairing: “Let’s get you out of those clothes.” + Tyler Owens
The motel door slammed shut behind you, rattling on its hinges as the wind howled one last time before dying off. Rain still pelted the pavement outside, but the worst of it had passed. You leaned back against the door and laughed.
“Jesus,” you gasped. “We almost died.”
Tyler was dripping beside you, hair plastered to his forehead, his Wranglers and soaked flannel clinging to every inch of his frame. His eyes were still wild from the chase, but he laughed too.
“Worth it,” he said, grinning. “Did you see that rope funnel drop? She was a pretty thing.”
You nodded, still catching your breath, your limbs still slightly shaking with the aftereffects of adrenaline. Your boots squelched with every step as you moved toward the little table to toss your gear down. You only half registered the dull ache in your thigh.
Tyler started undoing the buttons of his flannel before shrugging it off.
“We look like hell, he muttered, glancing at you with a crooked grin. “But at least we’re–”
He froze mid sentence as his eyes dropped to your leg.
“Hey,” he said, quieter now. “You’re bleeding.”
You looked down, and sure enough dark red bloomed through the soaked fabric of your jeans, staining the dirt caked fabric along your upper thigh. You blinked at it, suddenly aware of the sharp, throbbing sting as the adrenaline started to wear off.
“Oh. Huh,” you murmured, reaching down to run your fingers over the fabric. “Must’ve caught something.”
Tyler was already moving to grab the first aid kit he kept in his bag.
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the edge of the bed. “I wanna look at it.”
“It’s fine,” you said, even though you limped toward him. “Really, it’s just a scratch.”
“That’s too much blood for a scratch,” he said as he crouched in front of you.
His voice had gone a little more serious. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he started to push your jeans up, but the soaked fabric stuck stubbornly to your skin.
“Stop. Hold on,” he muttered, glancing up at you. “We need to get these off so I can clean that. C’mon. Bathroom has better light.”
“I can do it, Ty,” you protested weakly, but Tyler was already standing, and heading towards the bathroom.
“Yeah,” he said. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
Unfortunately the motel bathroom wasn’t much. Just a tight space that barely had room for one person, let alone two.
You braced one hand on the counter, trying to catch your breath. The adrenaline had finally faded, which meant the dull ache in your thigh had bloomed into a deep, pulsing sting. When you looked down, you saw the blood had spread from when you looked at it just a few minutes ago.
You winced as your fingers fumbled with the button on your pants.
“Here,” Tyler said, “let me help.”
“No. I–I’ve got it.” You didn’t mean to snap at him, but the embarrassment was starting to set in. You were shaking now, whether from pain or the fading rush of adrenaline, you weren’t sure. The soaked denim stuck stubbornly to your skin as you struggled to slide it down.
Your fingers trembled again, missing the button completely.
Tyler stepped forward, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him despite your soaked clothes. He didn’t say anything this time, just reached out and gently closed his hands over yours, stilling them.
His voice was soft. “Let me.”
You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly feeling tight, and nodded. He crouched in front of you. His hands moved carefully, undoing the button and dragging the zipper down inch by inch. The pants were clinging to your legs like a second skin, soaked and gritty with mud.
You hissed when the fabric tugged across the cut.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, glancing up. “Almost done.”
You bit your lip and focused on the wall as he worked the jeans down your legs, inch by inch, being mindful of the cut. When he finally got them past your knees, you stepped out. You were slightly unsteady, one hand braced against the counter to keep you from falling.
And then it hits you. You were standing in front of Tyler Owens in nothing but a mud streaked tank top and your last clean pair of underwear. The cute pair. The kind you almost didn’t pack because you thought “Really? Out chasing in tornadoes in this?”
You silently thanked the universe that you had chosen that pair and not the thong which was the only other clean option until the team stopped at a laundromat.
Tyler hadn’t moved, still crouched there, his face inches from your bare thigh as he examined the injury. You felt his breath, warm and slow, fanning across your skin.
“It’s not deep,” he said after a beat. “Shouldn’t need stitches.”
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t respond. Not when his hands were steadying your leg, his fingers brushing skin that hadn’t been touched by another person in far too long.
He reached for a clean towel and wetted it in the wink, wringing it out before bringing it to your thigh. The cloth was cold, and you sucked in a breath as it met the cut.
“Shit–sorry.”
You shook your head. “It’s okay.”
But your voice was quieter now, almost shaky. Tyler’s touch was careful and tender. He cleaned around the wound in silence, his jaw tight, but his breath even.
You watched the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Watched how his hands trembled slightly when he reached for the gauze and antiseptic.
“You okay?” You asked, needing to fill the silence with something…anything.
“Yeah,” he said, but it didn’t sound convincing. “Just wish I’d noticed sooner.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Still should’ve seen it.”
Your breath hitched when he pressed the gauze against your skin. Not from the sting, but the way his fingers lingered just a little too long. The way his eyes darted up to meet yours before quickly flicking away.
“Tyler…”
He didn’t look up this time. Just cleared his throat, and shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said again. “Just trying not to screw this up.”
He taped the gauze in place and sat back on his heels. For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds were your shallow breaths and the soft, constant hum of the buzzing light above the sink.
His eyes lifted slowly to meet yours. His gaze dropped briefly, lingering on your tank top where it clung to your ribs, then lower over your thighs, and finally back up to your face.
Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could hear it.
Then he pushed himself up and said, “C’mon, let’s get you out of these clothes.”
You weren’t sure if he meant it platonically as your friend or as something more. You didn’t answer right away. Your hand flexed at your side.
But you didn't stop him when he reached for the hem of your shirt. He moved slowly, giving you time to say no or stop him. But you didn’t. You raised your arms, and he pulled the damp and dirty tank up and over your head carefully. The soaked fabric landed on the floor with a soft splat right next to your jeans.
You crossed your arms over your stomach on instinct, not because you were cold, but because you were suddenly a little too aware of everything.
The way your old, faded bra clung damply to your skin, the straps slightly stretched, and the material thinned from wear. Comfortable. Reliable. But not remotely sexy. It’s not the one you would’ve picked had you known Tyler would be on his knees in front of you, peeling away your clothes like this.
Pair that with your cute lace trim underwear, it made you feel a little ridiculous.
You huffed a breath, half embarrassed, half desperate to break the tension.
“This feels a little unfair,” you said, voice soft but teasing.
Tyler tilted his head. “What does?”
You gestured vaguely toward him. Toward the way he still had some semblance of clothing. His white undershirt was clinging to his chest, soaking to the point of being practically see through. His jeans were darkened from the rain, molded to his legs. You could see the shape of every muscle, every flex beneath the fabric.
“You’re still dressed,” you said.
His mouth curved into a dangerous and knowing smile. Without a word he reached for the hem of his shirt. The cotton peeled away from his skin with a soft sound, sticking to his shoulders as he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.
And then he was just there. Bare and dripping in front of you, water tracing the line of his collarbone, down his chest, and catching in the scatter of dark hair across his pecs and stomach.
Your eyes drifted lower. His Wranglers were clinging to his hips, low and tight. Your stomach flipped, heat curling in places that had no business aching this badly for your friend Tyler.
He didn’t say anything as your hand lifted on it’s own, your fingertips brushing the white gold chain that always hung around his neck. It was warm, despite the cool air conditioned air. Your fingers then moved over the center of his chest, tracing the dip between his pecs, through the coarse hair trailing down his stomach.
Then his hand was on your waist, large and warm. The skin slightly calloused but still somehow soft at the same time.
He stepped into you slowly, backing you toward the counter behind you. The edge hit the backs of your thighs, and suddenly all you could feel was him. The solid heat of his body, the way his breath was warm yet minty on your face, probably from the gum he had been chewing earlier.
His hand stayed at your waist, holding you there. You looked up at him, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat. You lifted your other hand, sliding it up his chest, fingertips skimming across his shoulder. His skin was hot beneath the chill of the room, and when your thumb grazed over the dip of his collarbone, he let out a whisper of a groan.
“Been wanting to do this for a long time,” he murmured.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You were eye level with his mouth now, close enough to see the water beading on his neck as it dripped from his hair. His forehead dipped to yours, and he paused in one last breath of restraint.
“Tyler,” you whispered.
That was all it took. His mouth found yours in a crash. His lips were warm, tasting of rain and something sweet. You kissed him back with everything you’d never told him.
HIs hand slid from your waist to your lower back, fingers spreading and then pulling you in until you were flush against him. You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily, his tongue tracing yours like he needed it to keep going.
Your hands roamed his body. Over his shoulders, down his arms, and up again to curl behind his neck. He pulled his lips from yours for a second to take a breath, and your finger hooked around the chain he never took off, tugging him closer until his lips were on yours again.
He pressed you gently against the counter, his hips pinning your legs against the cool tile. His other hand found your thigh, careful to avoid the bandaged cut, as it slid around to the back of your leg, lifting it slightly, coaxing you to wrap around him.
Your legs curl around him, tugging him closer until his hips are slotted against yours just right. Tyler groaned into your mouth, hands sliding lower over your waist and hips before settling on the curve of your ass. His fingers flexed there for a beat, and then without warning he lifted you.
You gasped, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he held you against his chest. The sudden movement pulled a soft laugh from your lips.
He carried you into the main room of the motel like you weighed nothing, and gently laid you down on the bed. The sheets were scratch. The A/C hummed noisily in the background. Rain still tapped faintly against the window.
But you didn’t care about any of that as Tyler crawled over you. He braced himself with one hand beside your head, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin.
“You sure, darlin’?” He asked, voice low.
You didn’t hesitate to nod. “Yes, I’m sure, Tyler.”
His mouth was back on yours in the next second, this time slower. He kissed you like he meant to memorize you this time around. Like he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance, so he was going to savor every second and every kiss he got.
Your hands slid down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. He was damp but beautiful, muscles flexing beneath your palms as you explored.
Somewhere in the haze of kisses and soft moans, your bra was pulled down. The straps slid down your shoulders as Tyler tugged the cups under your breasts. Tyler’s lips never left your skin as his hand roamed upward, thumbs brushing over your nipples making you shiver.
When his mouth followed, tongue warm and slow, you arched up into him, a soft moan escaping your lips.
“Fuck…” he breathed. It was like he still couldn’t believe he finally had you like this.
You ran your fingers through his still damp hair, tugging gently on the ends. You felt his lips twitch against your skin in response. His hips then pressed lower, his belt grazing your inner the, the cool metal feeling jarring against your warm skin.
He kissed lower then up again, along the line of your jaw. Across your shoulder. His hands roamed your sides, gripping your waist, your hips, your thighs like he didn’t know where to touch first.
The heat between you simmered, slow and steady, building with each brush of lips and each roll of his body against yours. He kissed you like he had nowhere else to be. Like this, like you, were the only thing that mattered.
And for a while it was. Just his mouth on yours, his hands tracing every inch of your skin, the heat between you winding tighter and tighter.
But eventually the need sharpened. He pulled back slightly, panting, sage green eyes dark and blown wide with want.
His voice was low and rough as he said, “If I don’t get these damn jeans off, I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.”
You let out a breathless laugh, eyes drifting down to where the denim still clung to him.
“Yeah, not exactly fair,” you teased, echoing your earlier words.
He smirked, kissed you once more, and then rolled off the bed just long enough to shove the jeans down his legs and kick them away. You sat up on your elbows, watching him in the dim motel light as he rifled through his bag and grabbed a condom.
His finger tore the foil open and rolled it onto himself. Your eyes raked over him. Tall and bare, skin flushed, muscles tensing with every breath he took. That white gold chain still hung around his neck, glinting softly against his chest.
He caught you staring, and his lips curved up into a smirk.
“What?”
You didn’t answer. Just leaned forward and hooked your fingers in the waistband of your panties, and slide them down slowly.
Tyler’s breath hitched, and his gaze darkened.
“Jesus,” he murmured.
He was back on the bed in seconds, hands reaching for your bra next. It was already pushed halfway down your torso and he made quick work of tugging it off and tossing it to the floor.
Now there was nothing between you. No clothes. No storm. Just skin and heat and a history of silently wanting each other.
He settled between your legs, careful as his hands skimmed down your sides, pausing at your thigh.
“You sure you’re okay?” He asked softly, fingertips brushing near the bandage.
“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I just want you.”
That was all it took. He kissed you again, slower now, his body easing over yours. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, drawing him in as close as you could get him.
You sighed into his mouth when his hand slipped between your thighs. His fingers moved as he learned what made you gasp, what made you moan, and where that one spot was that had you arching into him. Your hips began to chase his touch.
“Fuck, baby…” he groaned when he realized how wet you were getting, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
You whimpered when his thumb circled your clit again. Then his fingers dipped lower while his other hand stroked down your thigh like he couldn’t get enough of touching you.
He pulled back and slid his fingers from you before lining himself up. He pressed in slow. Your mouth parted in a breathless moan as he sank into you, inch by careful inch. He went slow, watching your face like he was afraid to miss anything.
When he bottomed out both of you stilled.
“Okay?” He asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nodded, and Tyler leaned down, his mouth finding yours again. Then he started to move. Slow, deep thrusts that made your breath hitch every time he pressed into you. His hips rolled, the tip of his cock dragging against that perfect spot, and you dug your fingers into his shoulders.
He took his time. Kissed your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. Then his mouth found your tits again, sucking soft and low until you were whimpering beneath him. One of his hands held your thigh, spreading you open, and anchoring you in place. The other slid under your lower back, lifting your hips into his rhythm.
It was good. Great even. But you needed more. You wanted him. All of him. And you could tell he was holding back.
“Tyler,” you breathed, catching his face in your hands. “Harder.”
His hips faltered for a second. He looked down at you, stunned for half a beat. Then something shifted. He growled low in his throat, buried his face in your neck, and thrust harder. Not rough. But deeper. Hungrier. Like he’d been dying to but was waiting for you to give him the green light.
Your moans filled the room now, shameless and loud, echoing off the cheap motel walls. He fucked you like he meant it. His chain dragged across your chest, cool against your flushed skin.
He muttered your name like a prayer. You chanted his back like a sin.
Your legs wrapped around his waist, fingers tangling in his hair as your body started to unravel beneath him. He could feel it too. He felt you clenching around him.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you come on my cock.”
You came with a sharp cry, stars bursting behind your eyes, nails clawing down his back as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. Tyler followed soon after, hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, groaning your name into your shoulder as he came hard.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just tangled limps, shaky breaths, and heartbeats hammering in sync.
Then finally he kissed you again. Softer this time.
He slipped out of you, and the second he did, a small breath escaped your lips. More of a whimper than anything else. Your body trembled slightly, eyes half lidded as you watched him start to shift away, his weight moving as he began to crawl off the bed.
“No–” you murmured, your voice low and hoarse. Your fingers brushed his wrist as you whispered, “Stay.”
Tyler paused instantly, his gaze meeting yours, soft and adoring even in the dim motel lighting. He leaned in, his lips finding yours in a lingering kiss.
“I’m not going far, baby,” he promised. “Just the bathroom. Be right back.”
You let him go this time, your hand falling back against the mattress as you watched him go. He disappeared into the tiny motel bathroom, the sound of running water following a moment later. The room felt colder without him as you laid there sprawled in the middle of the one bed with flushed skin and sore muscles.
A few minutes passed before he returned. He was shirtless still, but now a pair of grey boxer briefs sat low on his hips, and in one hand he carried the first aid kit. Again. This time though, he also had a small plastic pouch tucked under his arm.
“What is that?” You asked, your voice still rough with sleep and sex.
He smirked, climbing onto the bed and sitting beside you. “Wet wipes. I usually keep them for Boone. He gets chocolate everywhere.” His smile deepened as he looked over at you. “But figured they’d be good for…other messes too.”
You laughed softly, not even caring how you looked or sounded. “God, that’s the most dad thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
He raised an eyebrow as he pulled one of the wipes free and leaned closer to gently part your thighs again.
“Might be,” he said with a shrug. “But you’re not complaining.”
The first swipe was gentle, almost reverent in how he moved. You winced slightly from the sensitivity and his eyes flicked up to yours in concern.
“Too much?”
You shook your head. “Just tender. I’m okay.”
He continued carefully, murmuring something you couldn’t quite hear under his breath. Then once you were clean, he tossed the wipe into the small motel trash can and shifted his attention to your leg. The bandage had loosened during your…extracurricular activities, and was beginning to be stained with red again.
“You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?” He muttered, peeling the gauze back.
His jaw tightened at the sight of the reopened wound.
“I’ll survive,” you said, watching as he cleaned around the edges with a fresh antiseptic wipe. “Pretty sure you just gave me a reason to forget about it for awhile.”
He glanced up then, and that crooked knowing smile was back. “Glad I could be a distraction.”
You laughed again, the warmth of it curling through you like the last embers of a fire. He worked quickly, unrolling fresh gauze and wrapping the wound again, tighter this time, but still gentle. When he finished, he leaned back on his heels, surveying his work.
“There,” he said. “Good as new. Almost.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
He gave your ankle a little tap. “Now, what do you want to wear? Something from your bag?”
You hesitated, cheeks flushing despite that he’d just had his hands and mouth on places no one else had touched in a long time. “Um. All I have left that’s clean is a thong.”
His brows shot up. “That’s it?”
You gave a half shrug, before covering your face with your hands. “We were supposed to stop by a laundromat before the storm his today and I wasn’t exactly planning on sharing a motel with anyone.”
Tyler laughed low in his throat at that, before getting up and reaching for his own duffel. “Lucky for you, I’m prepared.”
He pulled out another pair of boxer briefs and tossed them to you. Then a white cotton shirt, well worn and oversized. You caught both and looked up at him as he walked over to your side of the bed.
“Want help?” He offered.
You nodded, sitting up with a groan. Muscles you didn’t even realize you had were already starting to ache. Tyler knelt on the bed beside you and helped ease the boxers up your legs, taking time not to jostle the bandaged thigh too much. Then he lifted the shirt over your head, helping guide your arms through the sleeps, his knuckles brush the curve of your waist as he tugged it into place.
Once you were dressed, you leaned into him, resting your head against his bare shoulder. His arm came around you without hesitation.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s sleep before you pass out right here.
You both crawled under the covers, the cold scratchy motel sheets no match for the warmth of his body beside yours.You nestled into his side, his chest a solid pillow beneath your cheek. His arm wrapped around you and began to rub gentle circles over your hip where the shirt had ridden up just a bit.
The room was quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the faint rustle of blankets. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, grounding and safe.
You shifted just slightly to look up at him. “You okay?”
His lips quirked up. “I think I should be asking you that.”
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m good.”
Tyler kissed your forehead, a gentle press of lips against damp skin. “Then sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
And you did. You let your eyes drift shut, wrapped in Tyler’s arms, sore but safe and warm. Maybe the world outside the motel was still dangerous with the second round of thunderstorms rolling in. But in that moment, tucked beneath thin sheets and the scent of him, you didn’t care.
Summary: What started as a movie you worked on together, turns into something neither of you expected.
Warnings: Just some making out/heavy kissing. Mentions of alcohol.
Word Count: 1,367
Prompt + Pairing: “I want to make you mine.” with Glen Powell (RPF)
The party had long since wound down. What was once a house full of laughter, clinking glasses, and familiar music had melted into quiet. Low hums now played through Glen’s speakers, and dim light illuminated the living room of his home just outside Austin. You sat tucked into the corner of his oversized couch, legs curled beneath you, fingers loosely wrapped around a now empty glass.
The clock on the wall had long since passed 2:00 am.
Footsteps padded softly over the hardwood, and a moment later, Glen appeared, two fingers cradling a bottle of tequila and a small grin on his face. His tie was gone. Top buttons undone. The easy charm he wore so well was still there, but it was gentler now that most of the guests had left.
“You want another?” he asked, holding up the bottle as he settled in beside you.
You gave a lazy shake of your head. “I shouldn’t. I’ve gotta drive home.”
He leaned back, resting the bottle on the table without pouring it. “You know you don’t have to go anywhere. Guest room’s made up if you want it.”
You smiled, looking over at him. “You always offer your crew a place to crash?”
His eyes flicked to yours. “Only the ones I like.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It had never been with him. Even back on set during the long filming days, there was something about Glen that made the quiet feel easy.
But tonight, the quiet felt a little heavier.
Your gaze drifted over to him again, his fingers tapping against his thigh in beat to the music, his shoulders turned slightly toward you. His eyes weren’t on the tequila or either of your empty glasses. Nor were they on the stereo that was playing the music. No, his eyes were on you.
You blinked, and your question came out before you could second-guess it. “What?”
“What?”
“You’re staring,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, even as your heart kicked up.
Glen’s smile that came next was slow and warm, like molasses melting over heat. “Just thinking.”
You arched a brow. “About?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he leaned in a little, elbow resting on the back of the couch, his voice a little lower than before.
“You.”
Your breath caught in his chest. He didn’t move closer to you, nor did he reach for you. He just let his words hang there in the air between you.
You don’t respond for a minute or two. But then you laugh, breathy and nervous.
“You’re not serious,” you say.
Glen just tilts his head, his eyes steady as he studies you. “I’m dead serious.”
You blink, searching for something clever to say. Something witty to quip back with. But your mind stutters.
“Did you hit your head? Or just have one too many tonight?”
He chuckles, and for a second, you think you’ve successfully diffused the moment. But then he shifts closer. It’s subtle. Not pushy. But deliberate. He drapes one arm over the back of the couch. His fingers graze your shoulder.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he admits softly, “for weeks now.”
You swallow as you glance down at your hands before looking up at him. “Glen…”
“I know it’s not ideal.” His voice is lower now. Gentler. “And I get it, really. But I like you. A lot. And I don’t know if or when I’ll see you again if I don’t say something.”
“This is a really bad idea.” You whisper.
You don’t date people in the industry. It was something you had both discussed and agreed on. You especially don’t date co-stars or people you’re working with on a project. And here he was suggesting you break that very rule.
“I know,” he says. “But that doesn’t change how I feel.”
He watches you for a few seconds before continuing. Trying to catch any signs that you don’t want this. That this is making you uncomfortable. When he finds none, he continues.
“I’m not trying to mess with your head. Or make things weird. I just–” he shifts his hand, brushing your jaw this time, his fingertips feather light on your skin. “I want to make you mine.”
He doesn’t say it in a possessive way. There’s no arrogance in the words. Just a quiet reverence. A kind of certainty. He’s not claiming you, but maybe hoping you might want to be claimed.
Your hand moves before your mind can catch up. You reach out, hesitant at first. Your fingers find the soft cotton at the collar of his shirt, fingers curling there. He doesn’t pull away, and you take that as your sign to continue. You let your hand drift up, sliding under the fabric and across the warm curve of his neck.
You shift on the couch, rising slightly to your knees. You’re close enough now to feel the whisper of his breath against your lips.
Glen doesn’t move. Not yet anyway. He just watches you, his eyes searching yours.
Then, slowly, he leans in. His hand comes up, warm and sure, cupping your jaw. And when he kisses you, it’s soft. Intentional.
Your fingers curl at the back of his neck as your lips part against his. You melt into him without meaning to, and he shifts easily, guiding you forward until you’re straddling his lap. His hands find your waist, anchoring you gently but firmly, like he’s not quite ready to let go.
You pull back for air, just for a second or two.
Glen’s smile is softer now as he looks at you.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.
Then his lips are back on yours a moment later, slower this time. Exploring and learning. Taking his time like he has all night.
His hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt, warm fingers splaying against the small of your back. And then he trails kisses down your jaw, each one deliberate. He finds the edge of your neck with his lips, warm and open-mouthed, and gently sucks. Your fingers tighten slightly against his skin.
You breathe his name out, it’s barely more than a whisper. He answers with another kiss to your throat, and another soft press of his hand against your lower spine.
Glen pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. His chest rises and falls in a slow but heavy rhythm.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you like he’s still trying to memorize every detail of you. And maybe he is.
Then, with a quiet breath, he presses one last kiss to your lips before pulling you into him. His arms wrap around your waist with an easy kind of strength, and your body molds to his instinctively. The room is quiet again, save for the low hum of music still playing somewhere in the background. The moment should feel charged. It should feel complicated. But it doesn’t. It just feels…right.
You curl into his chest, legs tucked beneath you, your fingers drawing idle shapes over the cotton of his t-shirt. Glen’s hand brushes a few strands of hair from your cheek, then slides into the rest of it, his fingers combing gently through it, like he can’t help himself.
He gathers it loosely at the base of your neck, holding you there. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there.
His hand stays in your hair, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
“Stay with me tonight?” he murmurs.
You nod, already halfway asleep. “Okay.”
Your eyes flutter closed, lulled by the warmth of his chest and the weight of his arms around you.
His voice comes one more time, low and rough and barely above a whisper. “You’re mine now, yeah?”
Your lips curve into a soft but sleepy smile.
“Yeah,” you breathe.
And then the night slips quiet again, the music fading, the world slowing until there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing and the rise and fall of Glen’s chest beneath you.
Starting today, August 1st, I am taking on a brand new writing project that will last the entire month as part of a writing Discord that I'm in.
Each day in August, I'll be posting a short (1,500 words or under) piece inspired by a prompt from a curated list I've come up with. These prompts all lean more towards the flirty, teasing, intimate kind of themes so expect some smutty goodness! -- All of the prompts I'm going to be using have come from @creativepromptsforwriting the Masterlist I got them off of is HERE. Please check out their blog as there are SO many great prompts for writers!
All the prompts will feature our favorite guy Glen Powell and some of his familiar characters we love such as: Jake Seresin (Top Gun: Maverick), Tyler Owens (Twisters), Mark Reynolds (The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Soceity), Charlie (Set It Up), and Gary Johnson (Hit Man).
I’ll be tagging everything under #AugustPromptProject so it’s easy to follow along or catch up. Feel free to reblog, comment, scream in the tags—whatever you’re feeling. 🖤
Summary: Kayla starts her morning with Lo. Unfortunately she is ahead of schedule with the wedding prep which leaves her with no excuses when Glen invites her to hang out. What starts as a simple outing quickly turns into playful banter, unexpected touches, and moments that toe the line between teasing and something more. As the day winds down Kayla tries to convince herself that nothing is happening between them.
Warnings: Some mild language, some alcohol consumption (a drink or two, no one gets drunk)
Word Count: 5,032
Kayla sat at the kitchen island, stirring cream into her coffee as Lo set a plate of toast and eggs in front of her. The house was quiet. Levi had gone out for a run, leaving the two of them alone.
Lo leaned against the counter, mug in hand, and pinned Kayla with a look. "So."
Kayla took a slow sip of her coffee. "So?"
Lo arched a brow. "Don’t play dumb. You got home late last night."
"It wasn’t late."
"It was almost ten."
"That is a completely reasonable hour."
"Not when you spent it having dinner with Glen Powell."
Kayla sighed, already regretting all of her life choices. "Lo—"
"Nope. Uh uh. You don’t get to brush past this. I want details. What’d you talk about? How was the food? Did he make a move?"
Kayla rolled her eyes, shoving a bite of toast into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to answer immediately.
Lo leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Oh my God. He did, didn’t he?"
"No, he didn’t," Kayla said firmly, swallowing her bite. "Nothing happened because it wasn’t a date."
Lo looked wholly unimpressed. "And yet you got all dressed up and went to a nice restaurant, just the two of you. That sounds suspiciously like a date."
"It was a thank you for helping me get a puppy dinner," Kayla corrected. "Not a date."
"Mmm hmm." Lo took a slow sip of her coffee.
"Oh my God. Nothing happened!" Kayla said, exasperated.
Lo smirked. "So you wouldn’t care if I asked Glen how it went?"
Kayla hesitated. For just a second. “You can ask him whatever you want. He’ll tell you the same thing I did.”
Lo gasped dramatically. "Oh my God. You like him."
"Lo!"
"You do! Oh, this is amazing—"
Before Kayla could properly threaten her best friend, her phone buzzed.
A text from Glen.
Glen: Morning Tennessee.
Kayla stared at the screen for a second before tapping out a response.
Kayla: Morning Powell.
Glen: You busy?
She chewed on her lip before replying.
Kayla: Why?
There was a pause, then another message.
Glen: Come paddle boarding with me?
Lo, noticing the shift in her expression, set her mug down. "Who’s that?"
"No one," Kayla said quickly.
Lo arched a brow, unimpressed. "You’re a terrible liar."
Kayla sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It’s Glen. He wants to go paddleboarding."
Lo grinned so hard Kayla was surprised her face didn’t split in half. "Oh, you have to go."
"I don’t have to do anything," Kayla muttered, already typing out a response.
"Kayla." Lo's voice softened. "Seriously. He clearly wants you to go!"
“Or I’m literally the only person left here from the bridal party that’s not busy.”
Lo leaned her elbow on the counter, smirking. "Uh huh. Sure. And I suppose him calling you Tennessee all the time is just a casual thing?"
Kayla groaned, rubbing her temples. "Do you and Levi have a hobby that isn’t trying to set me up with your best man?"
Lo grinned. "Nope."
Kayla exhaled heavily, eyeing her phone. Another text came through.
Glen: Don’t overthink it, Tennessee. Just say yes.
Lo nudged her. “Go. Have fun. It won’t kill you. Why are you fighting this so hard?
Kayla hesitated. Because it’s temporary. Because it can’t be anything real. At least that’s what she was telling herself.
Instead of saying that, she shook her head. "I’m not fighting anything. I just—"
Lo smirked. "Just need to text your non date and say yes to hanging out?"
Kayla set her phone down and reached for another bite of toast. "I should probably check and see if there’s anything left to do for the wedding. We’re only a few days out."
Lo, already seeing through her excuse, raised a brow. "Nope. You did everything yesterday, remember? The seating chart is finalized, the catering is confirmed, and my dress is literally hanging in the closet. We’re good."
Kayla frowned. "There’s always something that comes up last minute, though—"
"And if something does, I’ll let you know. But right now? You’ve got nothing on your plate except whatever Glen Powell is offering."
Kayla shot her a flat look. "That sounded weird."
Lo smirked, unbothered. "You know what I mean."
Kayla sighed, picking up her phone again. She didn’t have a good enough excuse to say no.
Lo grinned triumphantly. "You’re gonna say yes, aren’t you?"
"I hate you."
"You love me."
Kayla rolled her eyes but tapped out a response anyway.
Kayla: Fine. But if I drown, I’m haunting you.
Glen: Noted. See you in 20.
Kayla set her phone down, shaking her head. "This is a terrible idea."
Lo grinned. "I think it’s a fantastic idea."
Kayla sighed, standing from her stool. As she headed toward the guest room to change, Lo called after her "Try not to fall too hard, okay?"
Kayla had just slipped on her sunglasses when she heard the unmistakable rumble of an engine outside. She stepped onto the porch just as Glen’s truck pulled up, the sun reflecting off the paint. The driver's side window rolled down, revealing him grinning from behind his aviators.
"Look who actually agreed to have fun today," he teased, resting an arm on the open window frame.
Kayla huffed a laugh, crossing her arms. "Don’t make me regret it."
"No promises."
She grabbed her bag and walked toward the truck. Before she could reach for the handle, Glen leaned across the cab and popped the door open for her.
"Oh wow," Kayla deadpanned as she climbed in. "Chivalry isn’t dead after all."
Glen smirked as he put the truck in reverse. "Better get used to it, Tennessee."
The Texas roads stretched wide before them, the sky impossibly blue, the summer heat settling in. Glen’s truck smelled like leather and cedarwood, the radio playing classic country mixed with some rock.
Kayla, leaning back in her seat, finally broke the silence. "So, is this where you tell me you’re some kind of professional paddleboarder?"
Glen chuckled. "I think 'professional' is a stretch. But I’m definitely not as bad as you’re about to be."
Kayla shot him a mock glare. "You don’t know that."
Glen glanced over, smirking. "Kayla, be honest, when’s the last time you willingly got in a lake?"
Kayla pursed her lips, pretending to think. "Do you count last weekend when you guys peer pressured me to get on the death tube?"
Glen snorted. "That’s what I thought."
Kayla shook her head, fighting back a smile. Why was it so easy with him? The banter. The being around him. Something about him made her want to put her guard down. But she couldn’t figure out why.
The thought barely settled before Glen turned down the familiar road leading to his ranch.
"Alright, Tennessee," he mused as they pulled up near the lake, the water glistening under the afternoon sun. "Let’s see if you can keep up."
Kayla followed Glen down the path that led to the lake, the warm Texas sun reflecting off the calm water. Two paddleboards waited on the shore, and she was already regretting saying yes to this.
Glen stepped ahead, effortlessly lifting one of the boards and setting it in the water before looking back at her. "Alright, Tennessee. Let’s see what you’ve got."
Kayla eyed the board like it had personally offended her. "I already know this is a bad idea."
Glen smirked. "What happened to me underestimating you?"
Kayla shot him a look but sighed, kicking off her sandals and stepping onto the board.
Well, attempting to. The second her foot touched it, the board wobbled violently. Kayla yelped, arms pinwheeling as she tried and failed to keep her balance. She toppled right into the water. When she resurfaced, Glen was laughing.
"Okay," he said, still grinning. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone be this bad at standing up."
Kayla wiped water from her face, glaring. "You’re having way too much fun with this right now."
Glen, already balanced on his board like some kind of paddleboarding expert, smirked down at her. "It’s a little fun, yeah."
Kayla grumbled but tried again. She managed to get both feet on the board this time before it wobbled violently again.
"Nope." She immediately stepped back onto the shore. "Bad idea. Terrible idea."
Glen sighed, paddling over to her. "Alright. Here." He extended a hand.
Kayla eyed it warily. "Are you gonna pull me up just to tip me over again?"
His lips twitched. "Tempting. But no."
Still skeptical, Kayla took his hand. But instead of just pulling her up, Glen climbed onto her board with her.
"Okay," he said, hands settling on her waist. "Feet here. Knees bent. Core tight."
Kayla swallowed. She was suddenly way too aware of how close he was, of the warmth of his hands as he steadied her. She tried to focus. Tried.
"See?" Glen said. "You’re doing—"
They immediately toppled over together. Kayla surfaced first, gasping.
"Okay, now I don’t trust you."
Glen came up a second later, shaking water from his hair with a grin. "That was all you, Tennessee."
Kayla narrowed her eyes. "Oh, it’s like that?"
Before Glen could react, she splashed him straight in the face.
Glen blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "Oh, it’s like that?"
Kayla squealed as Glen sent a wave of water her way, laughing as she attempted to get him back. But Glen was faster. Before she knew what was happening, he closed the distance between them, his hands suddenly grabbing her waist.
Kayla gasped. "Glen, don’t you dare—"
"You asked for it." And then, he threw her over his shoulder.
Kayla shrieked, pounding her fists against his back. "Glen, put me down!"
Glen chuckled, completely unfazed. "You sure?"
Kayla opened her mouth to say something but was cut off as he tossed her into the water.
She surfaced, sputtering. "I hate you."
Glen grinned. "You say that a lot."
Kayla, before thinking, blurted, "You make it easy."
Their eyes met. For a second, the laughter faded. Something shifted. But before Kayla could dwell on it, she quickly looked away, forcing herself to ignore whatever the hell that moment was.
The sun hung lower in the sky as Kayla and Glen made their way back up the path toward the house. Their clothes were soaked, their hair damp from the lake, but neither of them seemed to care.
Kayla wrung out the bottom of her shirt as they walked. "For the record," she muttered, "that was totally unnecessary."
Glen, strolling beside her with zero remorse, grinned. "Oh, come on. That was the most fun you’ve had all week."
Kayla shot him a look. "You had fun. I was fighting for my life."
Kayla huffed, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
The path sloped gently upward, leading back to Glen’s house, the warm glow of the late afternoon sun spilling through the trees.
For the first time all day, it was quiet.
Kayla found herself glancing over at Glen as they walked. He looked completely at home out here, the way he always did. Relaxed, easygoing, like nothing could rattle him.
Meanwhile, she was still trying to process the way her stomach had flipped when he grabbed her waist earlier. She shoved that thought down, looking straight ahead.
Glen’s voice pulled her back. "So?"
Kayla blinked. "So…what?"
Glen smirked, nudging her shoulder with his. "Still think this was a terrible idea?"
Kayla scoffed, nudging him back. "Yes."
Glen grinned, but he didn’t push. Instead, they walked in comfortable silence the rest of the way. And Kayla hated that she was already looking forward to whatever he talked her into next.
The hum of crickets and the occasional rustling of trees filled the silence as Kayla and Glen sat side by side on the deck, Brisket curled up between them, fast asleep.
Kayla leaned against the railing, her gaze tilting upward. The Texas sky was endless, slowly turning into a canvas of deep navy, littered with stars that seemed brighter than she’d ever seen.
“Still can’t believe this is the same sky we have in Nashville. I’ve never seen this many stars," she murmured.
Glen, leaning back in his chair a few feet away, glanced at her more than the stars. "You thinking about going back already?"
Kayla hesitated. She should say yes. That had been the plan all along—come for the wedding, celebrate, leave.
"I mean…yeah. I have to."
Glen nodded, his fingers drumming lightly against his beer bottle. But something about the way he did it…like he expected that answer but hated hearing it.
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then Glen, his voice quieter than before, asked, "You really think you’re not meant for relationships?"
Kayla’s breath hitched. She should’ve known that would come back to haunt her.
She kept her eyes on the sky, as if the stars held all the answers. "I think…I think it’s better to tell myself that. To tell myself that I’m just not meant for relationships."
She didn’t mean to say so much. Didn’t mean to let him be the one she admitted it to. But Glen didn’t jump in with some quippy remark. Didn’t tease or smirk or try to convince her otherwise. He just listened. And for some reason, that made it harder.
Kayla sneaked a glance at him. She thought about today and the laughter, the teasing, the way being around him felt so easy. And for a brief moment, she let herself wonder.
A relationship that feels like today wouldn’t be so bad, would it? But the thought barely had time to settle before she shut it down. Because Glen already told her he put dating on hold. Because even if she wanted to see where this could go, he already decided relationships don’t fit into his life right now. She used his words as an excuse. As a reason to remind herself that this isn’t real. That whatever this thing was between them, it was temporary.
Without a word, Glen stood and made his way toward her. Kayla stiffened slightly when he stepped beside her, leaning against the railing with easy confidence. His arm brushed against hers, warm even in the cool night air.
He looked down at her, his voice quieter now. "What are you thinking about?"
Kayla blinked, caught off guard. "Nothing."
Glen let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, see, I don’t buy that."
She glanced at him, her stomach twisting."I mean it. It’s nothing."
Glen studied her for a moment, then tipped his head toward her. "You always do that?"
Kayla frowned. "Do what?"
"Shut people out when they ask about what’s going on in that head of yours?"
Kayla exhaled sharply, looking away. "Glen—"
"It’s just a question, Tennessee." His voice was easy, but his eyes were steady. "What’s got you lost in your head?"
Kayla hesitated. For a split second, she almost told him. Almost admitted that this whole thing between them was making her question everything she thought she knew. That he was making her question it.
But instead, she forced a small smile and shrugged. "I was just thinking about the wedding."
Glen didn’t say anything right away. Then, after a beat, he nodded. "Right. The wedding."
He didn’t push again. Didn’t call her out on the lie. But as he turned his gaze back to the stars, Kayla had a feeling he knew anyway.
Instead of going their separate ways, they ended up lingering in the kitchen. Glen reheated some leftovers, handing her a plate without asking if she wanted one.
They ate at the island, conversation flowing easily, touching on everything and nothing at the same time. When the food was gone, they moved outside, sitting on the deck steps as the sun dipped below the trees.
Kayla pulled Glen’s hat lower over her eyes, the one he had told her not to give back. He noticed but didn’t say anything.
For a while, they just listened to the quiet.
"So?" Glen finally broke the silence.
Kayla glanced at him. "So… what?"
"You gonna admit you had fun today?"
Kayla smirked. "It wasn’t the worst way to spend an afternoon."
Glen chuckled, shaking his head. "High praise coming from you."
A beat passed. Then Glen nudged her knee with his. "We should do it again."
Kayla hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she wanted to a little too much.
"Maybe," she said finally.
They just stood there for a few more minutes. Then Glen pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling for a second before tapping a few times. A moment later the gentle strumming of a guitar and the beginning notes of a country song filled the quiet.
Kayla arched a brow. "Really? Mood music?"
Glen smirked and extended a hand toward her. "C’mere."
Kayla eyed him warily. "Why?"
"Because," Glen said, stepping closer, "I’m gonna teach you how to two step."
Kayla let out a laugh. "Oh, absolutely not."
Glen just grinned. "Scared you’ll be bad at it?"
Kayla narrowed her eyes. "I am not bad at things."
"Then prove it," Glen challenged, wiggling his fingers in invitation.
Kayla exhaled, shaking her head. "This is a terrible idea."
But then she set her drink down and placed her hand in his anyway.
Glen grinned as he pulled her closer. "Relax, Tennessee. I’ve got you."
Glen guided Kayla to the center of the deck, his grip steady but easy. She was already regretting this. Not because she didn’t trust his ability to lead, but because she had a sinking feeling that letting Glen Powell pull her into a dance was going to do something irreversible to her resolve.
"Okay," Glen said, placing one hand on her waist and taking her other hand in his. "It’s simple. Step, together—step, step. Just follow my lead."
Kayla exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus. "Right. Step, step—"
She moved with him, mimicking his steps, but within a few seconds, she was already overthinking it.
Glen huffed a laugh. "Loosen up, Tennessee."
Kayla shot him a glare. "I am loose."
Glen’s grin turned downright cocky. "That so?"
Kayla realized how that sounded about half a second too late. Her face burned, but before she could come up with a snarky response, Glen spun her out and back, making her stumble slightly into his chest. She let out a quiet oof, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders to steady herself.
Glen looked down at her, amused. "You were saying?"
Kayla huffed but didn’t move away. Mostly because she was trying to pretend she didn’t notice how solid he felt beneath her hands.
Glen smirked again, but this time it was softer. "See? Told you I’ve got you."
Something about the way he said it made Kayla’s breath hitch. Her pulse stuttered as she realized how close they were. Barely a breath between them. His hand still rested on her waist, thumb brushing absently over the fabric of her shirt.
The air between them shifted. For the first time since they met, neither of them had a snarky remark. Neither of them moved.
Then Glen’s fingers gently tipped her chin up, his gaze dropping to her lips.
Kayla’s heart pounded. He was going to kiss her. And she was going to let him.
Glen leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn’t.
She stayed still…until the last second, just before his lips could brush hers. She turned her head, dodging the kiss.
Glen’s lips landed just shy of her cheek instead.
There was a beat of silence. Kayla’s stomach twisted, panic rising fast in her throat. Oh God. Oh no. No. No.
Without thinking, she blurted out, "You don’t have to do this."
Glen stilled, his hands still resting on her waist, his face still so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath.
His brows furrowed slightly. "Do what?"
Kayla swallowed hard, then took a step back, his hands falling away from her waist. She gestured vaguely between them.
"I get it…you’re charming, and this whole setting is like something out of a movie, but let’s be real. This isn’t…we aren’t…"
Glen’s jaw tightened as he took in her words. He searched her face, voice quieter than she expected. "We aren’t what?"
Kayla forced herself to hold his gaze, even though her entire chest felt tight. "We aren’t anything. We can’t be."
The second the words left her lips, she regretted them. Glen exhaled slowly. He studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment, he took a slow step back.
"Right. Okay." His voice was even, but there was a tightness to it. "Glad I know where we stand now."
Kayla’s stomach twisted. "Glen, I—"
But he cut her off with a shake of his head. "Nah, don’t worry about it."
His voice was light, almost dismissive, but the way he turned…the way he walked inside without another word felt heavier than anything else he could have said.
Kayla stood there, frozen as the door swung shut behind Glen. Her stomach twisted painfully.
What the hell was that? What the hell was she doing? She had wanted to kiss him. She knew she had. Her heart was still racing from how close he’d been, from the way he’d looked at her—like she was something he actually wanted and not just something that was there.
And yet, she had pushed him away.
She had seen the hurt flash in his eyes before he masked it. The way his voice had tightened. The way he had walked inside without looking back.
Kayla closed her eyes, exhaling sharply as she turned away from the house, gripping the railing. She tried to ground herself, tried to breathe through the sudden, overwhelming wave of emotions that she didn’t know what to do with.
She had convinced herself that keeping her guard up was safer. That it was better to stop things before they could start.
But standing there, staring at the dark water of the lake below, why did it suddenly feel like she’d made the wrong choice?
Her fingers curled around the wood of the railing. Her throat tightened. And then, barely above a whisper she said,"What did I do?"
Meanwhile inside Glen exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he made his way into the kitchen, needing a second. His pulse was still hammering from the moment outside. From the way she had looked at him right before she pulled away. From the way her breath had hitched when he leaned in.
She had wanted to kiss him. He knew she had. And yet…
Glen let out a low curse, reaching for the fridge and pulling out a beer. He twisted off the cap, tossing it onto the counter, then took a long drink, forcing himself to push the frustration down.
"We aren’t anything." The words echoed in his head, hollow and sharp all at once.
He set the bottle down harder than necessary. It shouldn’t bother him this much. He’d been told no before. He’d had flirtations that never went anywhere, sparks that burned out before they could ignite.
But this wasn’t just flirting. This wasn’t just some fleeting attraction. This was her.
And she had shut him down—shut them down—before they’d even had a chance to figure out what this was.
Glen exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he could shake it off. No big deal. No harm, no foul. He’d be fine. Except he wasn’t. Not when she was still outside, probably beating herself up over the very thing she’d just said.
Brisket trotted into the kitchen, tail wagging, looking up at him expectantly. Glen let out a breath, then crouched down, running a hand through the pup’s scruffy fur.
"Yeah, buddy," he muttered. "Guess it’s just me and you tonight."
The puppy nuzzled into his palm, oblivious to the storm still raging in Glen’s chest. Glen sighed, grabbed his beer, and took another long drink.
Because no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise. Kayla had just made one thing very, very clear. She wasn’t going to let him in. And for the first time in a long time, that really fucking hurt.
Glen leaned against the counter, beer bottle loose in his grip, jaw tight. He thought about how she was going to get home.
She could call Lo. Or hell, she could call a damn Uber. It wasn’t his problem. Not anymore.
But then…his gaze flickered toward the back deck. Through the glass doors, he saw her.
Kayla hadn’t moved. She was still standing where he left her, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold herself together. Her head was tilted down, shoulders tense, and even though he couldn’t see her face, something about the way she stood there made his chest ache.
Damn it.
Glen exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. He didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to feel like this. But it was her.
With a quiet curse, he reached for his keys.
Brisket gave a sleepy huff from where he was curled up in the corner, his little head tilting in curiosity.
"Don’t look at me like that," Glen muttered. "I don’t have a choice, alright?"
The dog didn’t answer, he just yawned and curled back up in his pet bed that they had bought the previous day.
Glen pushed off the counter, crossing the kitchen and heading for the deck. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, but the tightness in his chest didn’t ease.
Kayla didn’t hear him at first. She was too lost in whatever storm was raging in her head.
He stopped a few feet away, keys jingling in his palm. "Let’s get you home."
Kayla startled slightly, turning to look at him. Her eyes were conflicted, like she didn’t know whether to argue or thank him. She gave a small nod. Relief, guilt, and something unreadable flickering across her face.
Glen didn’t say anything else. Didn’t tell her he almost didn’t come back out here. Didn’t tell her that part of him still wanted to be mad at her. He just turned toward the driveway, trusting that she’d follow.
Because even if she was pushing him away, he couldn’t bring himself to do the same.
The hum of the truck’s engine filled the silence between them. Outside, the occasional crunch of gravel beneath the tires was the only other sound. Kayla stared out the passenger window, sneaking quick glances at Glen every few minutes. His jaw was clenched. One hand gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary. He looked fine. But she knew better.
She should say something. But what? "Sorry?" "I didn’t mean it?" “I mean, I did mean it, but I also didn’t?”
The weight in her chest only grew heavier as the miles stretched between them. She had pushed him away. Harder than she intended. Now, she didn’t know how to pull him back. And maybe she didn’t deserve to. Maybe she had already lost him.
The truck rolled to a stop in front of Lo and Levi’s house.
Kayla hesitated. She turned toward Glen, finally forcing herself to say something. "Glen, I—"
He finally looked at her. Expression unreadable. "It’s fine, Kayla."
Her stomach twisted. Because he always called her Tennessee. But not now. And somehow that small shift, him using her actual name, hurt more than anything else.
Kayla barely whispered a goodbye before slipping out of the truck.
Glen didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. The second the door shut, he pulled away. And Kayla was left standing there, feeling like she’d just made the worst mistake of her life.
Kayla stepped inside, stomach in knots. Lo was curled up on the couch with Levi, half watching something on TV. But the second she looked up and saw Kayla’s face, she sat up straighter.
"What happened?"
Kayla shook her head, brushing past it as she toed off her shoes. "Nothing. I’m just tired."
Lo’s eyes narrowed. "Kayla."
There was a warning in her voice. Lo knew her too well to buy that answer. Kayla hesitated, fingers curling at her sides. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. Because saying it out loud made it real.
Lo softened. "Did something happen with Glen?"
And that was what broke her. Kayla let out a shaky breath and nodded. "I think I messed up, Lo."
Kayla sank onto the couch beside Lo, the weight of it all pressing down on her.
Lo watched her carefully. "Tell me what happened."
Kayla stared at the floor, fingers twisting in her lap. "He tried to kiss me and I stopped him. I told him we weren’t anything. That we couldn’t be."
Lo flinched. "Damn, Kay."
Kayla let out a hollow laugh. "Yeah. He didn’t take it great." She exhaled, shaking her head. "I keep thinking about the way he looked at me."
Lo didn’t say anything. She just let her talk, but held her friend, giving silent comfort.
Kayla rubbed her temples, trying to convince herself. "It’s for the best. I don’t want a relationship. And he said himself that he’s put dating on hold. What’s the point in starting something that’s never going to work?"
Her voice wavered. And Lo could hear it.
Kayla wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.
Lo tilted her head, voice gentle. "Is that what you really believe? Or is that what’s easiest to believe?"
Kayla swallowed hard.
Lo reached over, squeezing her hand. "Kay…I love you. But sometimes you’re really bad at getting out of your own way."
Kayla’s chest tightened. Because she knew Lo was right. But she couldn’t admit it. Not now.
Instead, she stood up, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m tired. I think I’m gonna go to bed."
Lo watched her go, heart aching. Because she had never seen Kayla like this before. And she had never seen her best friend so obviously breaking her own heart.
Warnings: Mentions of Prior Domestic Abuse and Hospitals, Mentions of Prior Depression, very very poor writing style (it's been a while, sorry)
Series Masterlist
--------------------------------
It was May when your mom called and told you she was sick. Less than a week later, Tyler was dropping you off on her front porch step, carrying your bags inside. He slept in the miniature apartment in the barn for a total of two days before you kicked him back out into Tornado Wrangling. The season was still going strong, and you’d hated the idea of him missing it. With a crooked smile you told him there wasn’t much else he could do there but wait and worry with you. And he would have. He should have. Why he didn't was a question he still asked himself.
It was August when you told him your mom was getting worse. You got busy and started calling less and less until he was more surprised that you were calling than the days you didn’t. He found himself pulling into your drive after you went radio silent for three weeks. Just him. Just him in his red truck and guts twisting up with nerves. Worry hit him like a train when he saw you stepping out of the barn to meet him. Exhausted, and lookin’ a hell of a lot worse for wear. Your nails were bitten down, and your cuticles were picked at so much they bled. Still, you told him you were fine. Claimed it was all from a lack of sleep and a little too much stress, but your eyes screamed something different. Tyler left only after he cornered you behind your mom’s barn, made you swear up and down you were actually fine. But even as you did, he could see the way you bit back whatever words were on the tip of your tongue. Then you hugged him like he was the only thing keeping you standing. He’d never stared so hard in the rear view mirror as he drove away, beggin’ you to stop him.
By the time November rolled in, you didn’t pick up the phone anymore. You barely texted, but every now and then he’d go and open your chat, finding three little dots telling him you were typing. More than half the time, you never sent it. He’d text you, and you’d sometimes respond. But it was careful, short, quiet. Like you were worried about slipping up. And then that one time you called. The one time he wished it had been for any other reason, but your broken voice told him what had inevitably happened. You mom had passed. He was already packing his bag to come to you when you told him not to. He’d frozen, a shirt clenched in his hand and half in the bag as his jaw worked. You said you were fine. He fought the urge to scream You’re Not. But he didn’t. You told him not to come until the funeral. He made you promise to call him if you needed him. The call never came.
And now it was early April, nearly a year since you’ve been gone and the adrenaline still brought him back to you. To the empty seat beside him you used to fill. Back to your head tilted back laughing, a camera snapping pictures as a tornado passed overhead. Back to your feet on his dash, and that damn teasing smirk playing on your lips. And every damn time, back to your hand on his arm with a look of something more brewing in your eyes. Something you both had only just started to dance with. You lingered in the beauty of every tornado he chased like a ghost in the howling winds, calling him home. Months without hearing your voice for more than a few minutes and he still felt you there with him. Felt the absence.
Like now.
Tyler slammed the truck door closed harder than necessary. His chest still ached with memory of you in the aftermath of the last tornado. Even walking up to the motel with a hefty bag of tacos, he heard your footsteps coming out to greet him, asking him if he’d gotten your favorite.
He had. On accident. Didn’t even realize it until he got halfway back to the car, and now the bag weighed heavier than it should have, and not because of the damn food. It didn’t always hit him this hard, but now and again he couldn’t get the fact you weren’t here out of his head. Last season was strange without you, but at least you’d been there for part of it. This year it was hard. He couldn’t help wondering if you were even thinking about coming back.
You’d said you would when you left, and he had clung to that promise like a dying prayer. Even after the team had all gathered together, he hoped you would call, tell them you were coming out to meet them the next cell they chased. Each day had that hope ebbing away into a fading flicker.
Boone and Dani cheered when Tyler approached the haphazard circle of camping chairs set up by the van. The whole team crowded around as he held up the food with a tight smile. He quickly grabbed his own before leaving the bag with the others to get mangled up in the mess of hands digging in.
When his phone rang, he didn’t think much of it, setting his tacos on his chair as he fished it out of his pocket. An image of you staring up at him stopped him dead in his tracks. His heart jumped to his throat in a way it hadn’t in a long time. He answered before the third ring finished screaming.
“Hey there, Darlin’.”
“Hi,” you said as if surprised he answered. “…”
He chuckled as silence followed. “Well, I’m always happy to hear from you, but are you alright? You called.”
You made some sort of choked sound that seemed somewhere between a laugh and a vocalized grimace. “Right. Right. Sorry, it’s just really good to hear your voice. How are you doing?”
Tyler paused at the way your voice clenched tight in your throat, as if you were forcing each word out. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he stepped out of earshot from the others. “Have you been crying?”
You laughed. Wet. Shaky. But you didn’t deny it. “It’s almost annoying how you do that.”
“Almost being the operative word in that sentence, I hope.”
“Oh, bringing the fancy words out on me, are you?”
Tyler scoffed at your teasing. You knew damn well he had a good vocabulary. “If fancy gets you talkin’.”
“Tsk. Not sure, I might need some more convincing.”
“Would the lady deign to console the conscious of a poor man—“
“Oh my god, stop—” you choked out so fast he couldn’t tell if you were laughing or just that mortified. He still grinned at the sound. “I said convince me, not turn into Jane Austen.”
“Hey now, she actually wrote some pretty good books.”
“Damn right she did, but I prefer my Cowboy.”
Your Cowboy. His lips twitched. “You need some more fancy words? Swear I can keep ‘em country this time.”
You chuckled, but didn’t indulge him. “I watched the livestream. You staying in a motel tonight?”
His stomach twisted at the shift in subject, but he nodded. “Yes, ma’am. An all-around two-star suite with lumpy beds but no cockroaches. You still at your mom’s? Or…yours, I guess.”
“I am,” you said. “Its…well, its not why I called, but I was thinkin’. I saw you were only a few hours north of me, and with the storms turning the way they are, I thought you might be heading down this way?”
He couldn’t help the way his ears perked up. You continued with a speed telling him just how anxious you were. “If—uh, if you are, then I was thinking that you guys could stay here…with me. No pressure, obviously, but the option is there—”
“We’d love that,” he interrupted before your anxiety let you carry on. “Been missing the hell out of you, you know. It’s getting weird too. I think Boone is a few missed calls away from duck taping a picture of your face to one of the chairs to talk to.”
“Please, don’t let him actually do that,” you said, cringing.
“I won’t,” he promised. “We were planning on coming down that way in the morning. That sound fine?”
“More than fine! I’ve already turned on the AC in the barn apartment, actually. I figured Dexter could stay there, it’s got the best bed for his back. Then Dani and Lily could share mom’s old room. You and Boone can fight for the last bedroom and the other can sleep on the couch. Unless y’all want to snuggle, that is.”
Tyler chuckled, a smile creeping up on his lips as you started to ramble about the things you’d already prepared. Things making him realize you’d been planning this. Something about that had him leaning back against the stair railing and tilting his head up to look at the stars with a little more confidence.
To his relief, you slipped into an easy conversation. About the stubborn weeds growing in your yard. How you’d sold off the back 50 acres of the property to your neighbor, then how you didn’t know how you were going to manage the last 50 on your own. Especially when you got back on the road again. How you’d modified the old barn to add a workspace and bought some gear.
So you missed chasing after all.
You asked about his aunt and uncle. His cousins. About how big the betting pool was for how often they were going to have to repair the equipment on his truck. How he’d slipped on mud after a storm and fallen straight on his back side on livestream and just how hard you laughed.
You didn’t tell him what was going on, and the periodic sniffles and crack in your voice coming from your end of the line gave him something to worry about, but you called. You called, and that meant something. And hearing your voice, suddenly the weight of the last few weeks didn’t hit him so hard. The extra tacos the rest of the team were probably fighting over didn’t seem so heavy.
For the first time in months, your conversation carried like it used to.
Like before something in you shifted. Broke.
You didn’t tell him, but he knew. You bit back every fractured word, but he heard it anyway. He just never knew how hard he could push before he pushed you away. So hearing you go on about some underrated movie, ranting about the minor actors that you swore needed more screen time, it felt like a baby step in the right direction.
Dexter passed him fifteen minutes later with a pat on his shoulder as he passed. Dani did the same a few minutes after him, handing him the tacos he still hadn’t eaten. He murmured a thanks before she smiled.
“Tell Sugar Cube I said hi,” she said before leaving him be. He didn’t bother to ask how she knew it was you.
You groaned at the nickname that had stuck to you like a mud-gutting curse. He laughed and you scoffed at his audacity, blaming him for getting you stuck with it. You weren’t entirely wrong on that mark, but he denied responsibility for it anyway. And your easy, soft laughter brought him back to the night you’d been tucked against his chest. His arm around your shoulder. Your nose against his throat as you laughed so hard you doubled over into him. Back to the moment he knew.
“Hey,” he said softly as the conversation eased out and the first sniffle in a while came from your end of the line.
“Hm?”
“You don’t have to tell me whats goin’ on, but…There’s no one I need to go John Wick on when I get there, is there? For makin’ you cry?” He said it half serious, half joking, trying to let you know he was there. But then you didn’t laugh. Your breath hitched, and his hackles rose. “Darlin—”
You let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Afraid that’s already taken care of this time.”
Already taken care of?
What the hell had been taken care of?
“What happened?” he asked, the weight of your voice hitting him sideways.
“There’s a lot to catch you up on,” you said. “Tell you when you get here?”
His jaw clenched, but he chewed back the dozens of questions fighting for a first go in favor for the one bothering him the most. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. It’s…complicated, but I’m alright,” you whispered.
He exhaled a tense breath. “Anything I can do?”
You hesitated, but after a moment, you spoke in such a small voice it was almost too hard to hear. “Hug me when you get here?”
His heart clenched. “The classic deal or the heartbreak package?”
“The ‘it’s been a hell of a year, and I’ve really freakin’ missed you’ package, please.”
The crack in your voice had his hands itching to deliver your request then and there. How many hours was it to you again? “You got it, Sweetheart.”
“And…Tyler?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”
His head fell forward, craning as he rubbed the back of his neck. He wanted to say it was fine, it was on the tip of his tongue. “I know…” came out instead.
“I—” you started the changed your mind. “I should let you get some sleep. You’ve got a fair drive in the morning.”
He didn’t like the idea of hanging up just yet, but a quick look at the time told him it was just after midnight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow, Cowboy.”
“Night, Sugar Cube.”
A soft groan. A quick chuckle. “Goodnight.”
—
The sound of the disconnected line hit harder than you expected. You burrowed deeper into the corner of the closet, pushing one of your dresses out of your way as a storm raged outside. You knew you were overreacting. It was just a tree growing right next to the house getting caught up in the wind and banging against the siding. The new security camera set up on your front porch made it clear there was nothing out of the ordinary out there. You were fine. No one was out there.
But that didn’t stop the tremors.
The light coat of sweat beading on your hair line, slipping down your neck.
The house was too big and too empty for you now. And every creak sounded like footsteps coming up the stairs. The wind whistling by the window carried his voice now. Not Tyler’s. It howled in curses and screams rather than Tyler’s laughter and the seconds just before a rocket went off in the heart of a tornado.
The storms once snapping you back to the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck, to his contagious energy, and to a thrill so deep in your bones you swore you were born with it, they now brought a sense of dread. And you hated it. You hated him for taking it from you.
And you hated that the first time you called Tyler in forever was because of him. Not because you'd been trying for weeks. Not because you missed the way he would poke fun at your weird hobbies. But because you swore you heard someone outside your bedroom door and you were terrified. And even now, after talking to him and fighting to keep your voice even, you still felt the memory of broken glass in your back and a steel-toed shoe kicking your ribs in.
A branch slapped against the window. You jolted. Cursing under your breath, you hooked your fingers around your wrist until you could feel the pulse beating against your own skin. Rapid. Violent. Raging just about as much as the storm outside and the rain pouring down in sheets on the roof. Slowly, you checked your breathing.
Four seconds in. Cedar and rain. Blue lines in a sea of green.
Hold. A warm mug on a cold day. A hint of something more after a late night confession.
Four seconds out. The touch of a worried hand. A burned grilled-cheese sandwich.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Calm slowly wedged its way in through the anxiety. Not peaceful, exactly, but still. Something you could shuffle and rearrange into being a little more manageable. Something you were finally able to face.
It’d been eleven months since you left the Wranglers to take care of your mom.
Nine months since she got worse and you started to slip into a lowest version of yourself.
Eight months since you started dating the worst mistake of your life. Since you learned what it was like to feel a man's fist crack against your jaw.
Six months since your mom died, and five since you broke up with your ex.
Four since he broke into your home and put you in the hospital. Three and a half since you started going to therapy.
And now here you were, tucked safely in your closet, but bearing enough courage to call someone when it all became too much. To push out your dad’s voice in your head telling you ‘there was no one you could rely on but yourself.’ The voice saying you needed to handle it. Handle everything.
You finally pushed it out, because where had that voice gotten you? Feedin’ off an ideology taken too far, you’d suffered. Silently. Unable to open your mouth to ask for help when you mom got sick, when she died. When you hit such a damn low you started dating a guy you didn’t even like just to keep yourself from calling the one person you actually wanted. When that same guy turned abusive. You held your pride up high and marched on through funeral arrangements, and lawyers, and selling off your mom’s cattle that you couldn’t take care of anymore. Till you paid off her debts. Till everything was settled.
You handled it with your nails digging into your palms until blood ran rivers onto the floor you were raised on.
And then you ended up in the hospital.
Bruises and tubes.
Lungs barely functioning and heart barely workin’.
And staring at that ceiling for weeks the only thing you wanted back was everything. And laying there, you clung to the one thing left you did care about.
Tyler.
And he kept you sane.
And finally, after months of therapy, you’ve found a version of yourself again. Not perfect, but better. And you were ready to fight your way back. Back to him.
A little more broken than you were, but a lot more healed.
Because Tyler Owens was the one man you’d ever truly loved. And come hell or high water, you wanted him back.
In whatever version he would have you, friend or lover, you wanted him.
