sithdaya

[sithdaya]

I’ve decided that my 20s are actually age 25 - 35

[sithdaya]

[sithdaya]

send this to all your favourite people and grow a garden! KEEP THE GARDEN GROWING!🌼💚🌱💚🌻 🌳🪻🌼 🌸

awwww thank you tori!! <3 😭

[sithdaya]

LEAH, I LOVE YOUR FICS SM!! 💗 💗 

we own the sky | rhett abbott

part four: running towards a place

read the previous part here

series info: the fourth and final installment of the storm chaser rhett universe. want more? read the synopsis here. listen to the playlist here. see the series masterlist here.

description: in which you begin a new chapter

warnings: 18+ only, mentions of character death, grief, angst with a positive ending, mentions of sex, near-death experiences, blood and injury, inaccurate weather terms, please do not check my science lol, this story requires some suspension of disbelief. i usually try not to say anything about reader's family in fics but i do mention them having an unnamed great-aunt, as it was necessary to the plot

pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader

word count: 8,960

notes: i can't believe we've finally come to the end of this series. when i started it, i didn't know if i would even be able to finish it. i poured everything into this story, and i am so thankful for all the love y'all have shown to it. i cherish every single comment. thank you.

The next morning, you were the first one to wake. Although it was still early, it was late by Rhett’s usual standards. Royal was likely already finishing up the morning chores, and probably irritated that his son hadn’t come out to help. 

But Rhett deserved some extra rest. 

And how beautiful he looked while resting. His lashes fanned beneath his eyes, and his face was so relaxed. He looked so boyish when he slept, as if all the stressors of the world were gone, if only for a moment. 

But reality had to hit at some point. He woke not long after you, eyes fluttering open to find you staring at him. He hummed sleepily, hiding his face in the pillow. “You’re starin’.”

“Can’t help it. You’re beautiful when you sleep.”

His face was half concealed by the pillow, leaving one eye exposed. It popped open to look at you. “I ain’t beautiful.”

You beamed at him as you reached out to tuck a curl of hair behind his ear. “Oh, but you are.” Then you leaned down to kiss his cheek. He moved his head at the last second so you’d catch his lips instead. 

“I don’t even wanna know what time it is. Dad’s probably fit to be tied.”

“So what? You’ve earned the rest,” you told him.

His face scrunched adorably. “Doubt he’d agree with ya.”

Another kiss upon his lips. “Doesn’t matter what he thinks.”

You watched as Rhett stretched, much like a cat after a long nap. A beat passed before he spoke again. “Can’t believe I get to wake up next to ya. Feels like a dream.”

“I promise I’m real. Definitely no dream.”

“Mm.” He reluctantly sat upright, rolling his head from side to side. You watched the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin. “Guess we should go downstairs.”

“Guess so.” 

He looked at you, and his eyes flickered down to your lips. “I’m sorry, but I jus’ can’t stop kissin’ you,” he said as he brought his lips to yours, enacting a third kiss. 

“I don’t mind,” you assured him as you returned the favor, mouth soft against his own. 

For a few moments, you remained like that, kissing languidly. But both of you knew it would lead to something more, and while that sounded rather appealing, it was time to get the day started. There would be plenty of time for more escapades later. 

So you climbed out of bed and hurriedly got ready. When you made your way downstairs, you found Amy at the kitchen table, munching on a bowl of cereal. 

She lit up at the sight of the two of you. “You’re up!” She exclaimed. “Gramma was just about to ask you if you could drive me to school, Uncle Rhett.”

Rhett nodded as he stepped over to the cupboard to retrieve a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. “Sure. Somethin’ wrong?”

“The storm blew the barn door off the hinges and she’s helping Grampa with it.”

He winced slightly, knowing helping with that door was his responsibility, not his mother’s. “Go ‘head and get ready, Ames. I’ll be back in a minute, I’m gon’ go talk to Gramma.”

Quickly, he sauntered across the kitchen and went to shove his feet into his boots. However, as he did so, Cecilia came back into the house. 

“Ma, I’m sorry, I shoulda been the one helpin’ Dad,” he called to her. 

The woman shook her head as she pulled her work gloves off. “Don’t matter. We got it done. ‘sides, I didn’t want to disturb you two. Figured you needed your rest.”

Across the room, you shared a sheepish look with Rhett. Obviously, she would put two and two together when she saw that her son wasn’t asleep on the couch that morning. It was clear that he was in his room, with you. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck as he ducked his head, slightly embarrassed. You didn’t miss the humorous glint in Cecilia’s eye. “Well, next time, just knock on the door. I’ll hear it.”

“Okay,” she said. “Can ya take Amy to school, by the way? I got a bit behind this mornin’, since the door took longer to fix than I thought it would.”

“Yep, she just mentioned it. We’ll take ‘er,” Rhett agreed. 

We. Those plans included you, apparently. Not that you minded, of course. You were more than happy to tag along. So, with Rhett’s cereal forgotten, the three of you made your way out the door, Amy bounding ahead so that she could climb into the middle of the bench seat between you and Rhett.

“Might as well just grab breakfast at the diner,” he told you as he fell into step beside you. “If ya don’t mind.”

Your face broke into a pleased smile. “I’d like that.”

Off to Amelia Elementary you went, with Amy talking up a storm, far too awake for the early morning hour. You simply listened to her, amused, as she asked Rhett question after question. He answered them all with patience, happy to entertain her curiosity. 

When he pulled into the carpool line, he threw the truck into park and slid out of his seat, boots scraping against pavement. He reached out and took Amy’s small hand in his, guiding her out of the truck. You watched fondly as the girl wrapped her arms around his middle, and he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

“Have a good day, Ames,” he told her. 

“I will. Bye! Love you!” She waved at you before she scurried off toward the entrance of the school. 

Quickly, Rhett climbed back into his seat and pulled out of the line so as not to hold up traffic. He made the fifteen-minute drive to the diner that was situated in downtown Wabang, and soon, you were both settled into one side of a booth, shoulders touching, cozy against one another. 

You shared a breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes, with extra whipped cream, and plenty of black coffee for Rhett. It all felt so domestic, and you were filled with contentment. 

As you walked back out to the truck after your intimate little breakfast, Rhett slipped his hand into yours, and you let him, fingers intertwining. He opened the truck door for you, and guided you inside, and you felt like royalty.

“We headin’ to your aunt’s house to finish cleanin’?” He asked, once he’d climbed into his own side of the cab.

You smiled softly and said, “Yes.”

And that was where you remained for the rest of the morning, sorting through things, packing up donation boxes, scrubbing each room down from top to bottom. And much to your amazement, by the time you called it quits for the day, everything was finished, for the most part. All that was left was to tote all the donation boxes to local thrift stores, and the homeless shelters that were in the bigger, surrounding cities. 

The entire reason you had come back to Wabang was now fulfilled.

“I can’t believe it’s done already. Thanks for your help,” you told Rhett, as you sat cross-legged on the porch swing of your aunt’s house, a box of pizza open between you both. It was well past dinner time, and you were ravenously hungry after a day of hard work.

“No trouble ‘t all,” came his response as he tore into the remaining crust of his pizza. 

“Feels so good to have that out of the way.”

“Y’gonna be the one to sell the house?” He asked.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Honestly, I have no idea. I have tons of paperwork to go through, trying to figure everything out. We’ll see what happens.”

“Maybe my mom can help y’out, she’s the one who took care of everythin’ with my great grandma’s house when she died,” came his suggestion.

“Maybe I’ll take her up on that,” you agreed before you downed the rest of your pizza.

You were sitting with your legs over his lap, and once again, you were filled with that comforting sense of contentment. It felt so right, being with him. There was no doubt in your mind that this was the way it was meant to be. 

For just a little while, you were able to gradually dip your toes into the waters of your new relationship, and get to know each other all over again. With the rest of the storm chasing team busy figuring things out, subsequently putting any future chases on hold, it gave you ample time to spend with each other. 

You were grateful for the brief, intimate moments you were able to share with Rhett. Moments spent getting to know him all over again. You allowed yourself to be soothed by the lull in time. A few days where you could simply just be. 

But that was just the calm before the storm. Little did you know what was coming your way in the not so distant future. 

A week had passed since the last chase you’d gone on. A few storms had passed through during that time, but any twisters produced were far away, and weak at best. 

During that slow storm period, you busied yourself with dropping off donations from your aunt’s house to thrift stores and shelters, as well as enjoying time with Rhett’s family. You’d missed them more than you realized after all these years. It was clear that his parents were thrilled that you were back in their son’s life. It made your heart sing. 

You’d called into work to take the rest of your vacation time. You wouldn’t have any left for the rest of the year, but you’d cross that bridge when you came to it. You weren’t quite ready to leave Rhett and face reality yet. And, besides, you’d begun questioning if you even wanted to return. 

Could you really move back to Wabang? A few weeks ago, you would have said no. But now, you were conflicted. Your life was in Maryland, but your heart was with Rhett. 

Soon, you would make your choice. 

Just when you thought the team had forgotten about you and Rhett, he received a call from Zara one Friday morning. She explained that the combined CO₂ and nitrogen tests had brought promising results, and that they were ready to take the experiment out on a chase to see how it fared. 

The team had been monitoring a potential storm that was building not far from Wabang. It looked promising, and they wanted you and Rhett to tag along. So that was how you found yourself preparing for yet another storm, anxiety roiling in your belly as you stood in the front yard of the Abbott property, watching everyone pull into the driveway. 

You closed your eyes and breathed in deep, the scent of rain blowing in with the wind, and you were transported back to the last time you ever got to go chasing with Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia. 

Oh, how far you’d come since then. If you focused hard enough, you could almost hear Lydia’s musical voice as she told you how proud she was of you for conquering your fear. 

“Y’alright?” Rhett asked as he sauntered up to stand beside you. His hand rested upon the small of your back, and immediately, your body relaxed. 

“I’m fine. Just thinking about…” You trailed off, suddenly overcome with emotion. 

He already knew who you were talking about. “Yeah, me too,” he replied. 

You looked at him, watching as his eyes glimmered with melancholy. “They’d be proud of us,” you said. 

“I know it.” His lips brushed against your temple and you leaned into him, allowing him to hold you. A moment of peace before you set off right toward the face of danger. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” you whispered. 

He nuzzled his nose against yours. “Yeah, honeybee. We are.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, and you looked to the heavens, eyeing the sky. Something shifted within you. A strange pull in your gut, as if an invisible force was tugging at you. The air felt different. Thick, as if the walls of nature were closing in around you. 

The hair at the back of your neck stood on end. The storm was much closer than you realized. 

The sound of Zara’s truck pulling in stole your attention away from the sky, but you were met with a wave of dread when she climbed out of the vehicle. Her face was bleak. So was Jeslyn’s. Something was wrong. 

Danny pulled the RV to a stop directly behind the truck, and as he and Finn climbed out, they were as eager as ever, clearly unaware of whatever had happened with Zara. But their jovial attitude soon quieted when they saw the grim expression on their friend’s face.

“What’s wrong?” You were the one to ask the question, stepping forward, uncertain.

Zara sighed softly, dark lashes fluttering. She looked to be on the verge of tears. “On the way here, I got a call that my mom’s in the hospital. I don’t know all the details but, uh, my dad wants me and Jes to go see her, so it’s gotta be serious.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, thick with emotion.

“I’m so sorry,” you told her, instinctively reaching out to hug her. As soon as your arms wrapped around her, a soft sob escaped her throat, and she hugged you back tightly. 

“Thank you,” she whispered after a moment, pulling away to wipe her tears away with the back of her hand. The rest of the group rallied around her, with all three boys stepping in to give her hugs. She leaned back against Jeslyn, who then wrapped her arm around her wife’s shoulders.

“What d’ya need us to do? We’ll take care of everythin’. You’d better get on the road quick so you don’t caught in the storm,” Rhett piped up, ready to help with whatever the two women needed.

Zara was too overcome with emotion to speak, so Jeslyn spoke for her. “Somebody’s gonna need to man the remote for opening the tanks, since Danny and Finn are gonna be busy with the radar.”

You stood there for a moment, realization washing over you. With Rhett busy driving, and Danny and Finn running the radar, the responsibility to open the tanks fell on you. A shock of anxiety ran through your chest. Did you have the courage to do this? You’d already guided Rhett on where to drop the tanks, but now, you would also be responsible for opening the tanks at the exact second. No sooner, no later. 

Suddenly, it felt so overwhelming. If you estimated right, you could potentially be the first person in history to stop a tornado. If you didn’t, everything Zara and the guys had worked so hard for could all be for naught. 

But you could feel everyone’s eyes on you, awaiting your answer with bated breath. Lightning cracked across the distant sky. Thunder rolled.

“I’ll do it,” you said.

“Thank you so much,” Jeslyn breathed, already turning to open the passenger side door of her truck. She rifled inside for a moment before she turned toward you again, thrusting the remote into your hand. “I know you won’t let us down.”

The pressure was on.

“Alright then, you two go on to the hospital, be with your mom. We can handle everything else,” Finn said, shooting a reassuring smile at the girls. 

“Thanks, guys,” Zara finally managed to say, deep brown eyes still swimming with tears. “Really.”

“We got you,” Danny said as he pulled her in for another hug. The rest of you followed suit. 

As she guided Zara into the truck, Jeslyn spoke over her shoulder, “Be safe, guys. Let us know how it goes.”

“We will. Drive careful, alright?” Rhett was the one to answer her. 

The four of you watched for a moment as the girls drove down the driveway, but you couldn’t afford to remain there for long. The clock was ticking, and it was time to spring into action. With hearts heavy for the sudden grief Zara and Jeslyn were dealing with, all of you set to work preparing for the chase.

The wind picked up as you headed to the barn, where Rhett’s truck was parked, to load all the cans onto the trailer. Danny pulled the RV up and Finn proceeded to open the storage hatch, revealing the cans of CO₂ and nitrogen.

As you scrambled like a bunch of worker ants, the atmosphere grew even darker around you. Eerily so, as if God Himself had turned off the sun. While the guys strapped the tanks down, you paused, stepping out into the open to look at the sky once again.

Goosebumps creeped along your arms, and a pit of dread formed in your belly, heavy like a rock. You took a few steadying breaths. The clouds looked angry. Black and foreboding, churning with unkempt energy. 

And then, as if the veil between heaven and earth had been torn asunder, an alarmingly large bolt of lightning struck the earth in the not so distant west pasture. The crash of thunder that followed was so violent it reverberated through the very marrow of your bones. 

You jumped back in fright, eyes wide as saucers. “Oh my god.”

“Damn, that was close,” Rhett called out, voice trembling slightly. 

You turned to him, and when he saw the look on your face, his brow furrowed in concern. You were speaking before you even realized you’d formed a thought. “It’s…it’s going to hit the farm. The twister, it’s–it’s gonna touch down here.”

The three men stared at you.

“How do you know that? Storm hasn’t even started yet,” Danny interjected, running a hand through his windswept salt and pepper hair. 

“I-I don’t…” You trailed off, your heart leaping in your throat as your phone began to vibrate wildly in your pocket. You slipped it from the confines of your jeans and stared at the screen. Tornado Warning. Seek Shelter Immediately.

There was no way of being absolutely certain that the twister would touch down on this exact property, but something in your gut was screaming at you. Danger, danger, danger. After what you had lost six years ago, you weren’t going to take any chances by dismissing the warning you’d just received. 

You locked eyes with Rhett. 

“Alright boys, let’s get movin’!” He shouted at Danny and Finn. 

Finn nodded. “Okay! We’ll fire up the radar and get out a little further from you guys so we can monitor it. We’ll be on the walkies with ya the whole time!”

The two were already scrambling to climb into the RV. As they sped off, you joined Rhett at the front of the Sierra. “‘Fore we go, I’m gon’ check on Mom and Dad, make sure they know to get in the shelter.” They were likely already aware, but Rhett wanted to make doubly sure they were okay.

It was late afternoon, and chores were mostly done for the day. Cecilia was likely starting on dinner preparations, while Amy did her homework at the kitchen table. A scene you had witnessed many times. 

But when Rhett came to a screeching halt just outside the house, his parents were already making their way outside, Cecilia clutching a bag of emergency supplies. Her face was full of fear, and your heart leapt in your chest, because somehow, you knew her fear wasn’t because of the approaching storm. 

“Oh, thank god!” The woman called out, rushing down the porch steps, her husband hot on her heels. “I thought you’d left already!”

“Wanted to make sure y’ got to the shelter safely!” Rhett responded over the rumble of the engine and the rush of the wind.

But his mother shook her head. “Amy went out for a walk an hour ago and she hasn’t made it back!” The terror in her voice sent a chill down your spine.

Rhett tensed beside you, but remained calm. “We’ll look for ‘er.”

“You be careful, y’hear?” Royal spoke up, “and you find our girl.”

“Please,” Cecilia echoed, reaching out to touch her son’s arm. She couldn’t utter another word, for her trepidation had rendered her speechless. 

“We’ll bring her home, Momma.” No more loss would be suffered in this family. Rhett would make sure of it. 

As his parents quickly made their way to the storm shelter, Rhett stepped on the accelerator, turning the wheel sharply. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you reached up, grasping the ceiling handle to hold yourself steady. 

“Where would she have gone?” You asked, shivering from the fright and mounting adrenaline you felt. Your chest went tight. 

“She usually takes the trail behind th’ house. She knows not to stay out there alone when it’s stormin’. She might’ve just gotten spooked and found a hiding spot. She’s smart, she knows to hunker down during a twister.” But it sounded as if Rhett was trying to convince himself. Truthfully, he was terrified, praying silently that Amy was okay.

As he sped toward the property at the back of the house, he said, “Get on the walkie and let the guys know what’s goin’ on.”

With trembling hands, you grasped the handheld device and quickly spoke into it, explaining the situation. 

“We’ll be in our place. If you can’t get in position soon enough, just let us know and we’ll scrap the chase altogether. Over.”

“Okay! Over and out!” You replied, tossing the walkie down onto the truck seat, swallowing down the bitter taste of dread that had risen in your throat as you settled back against your seat.

Obviously, finding Amy took precedence over trying to catch a twister. Nothing else mattered in the moment. Your mind was clouded with urgency and desperation. Both of you were quite literally stricken, unable to form words as Rhett frantically drove, his eyes searching, his mouth moving silently around the syllables of his niece’s name. 

For a terrifying second, he was transported back to that terrible, awful day six years ago. It was an image that was branded into the folds of his brain forever, like the Abbott brand that his father imprinted onto all their cattle. 

If he happened upon the very same scene with his niece, it would break him irreparably. 

But he wouldn’t let his mind go there. Not now. Not when she needed him to find her, to save her, to protect her. “You see anythin’?!” He called to you, knuckles white around the steering wheel, shoulders pulled toward his ears. 

“No!” You exclaimed, not daring to take your eyes off of the surrounding plains, looking for a flash of golden hair, or the bright purple shirt you’d seen the girl wearing earlier. C’mon, baby girl. Give us a sign that you’re out there.

Rain had begun to pelt against the windshield of the truck. Around you, the wind picked up. Trees swayed in a haunting fashion, their leaves shivering, undersides turned toward the sky. A warning. Danger is coming.

“Goddammit, where is she?!” Rhett growled, slamming his palm against the dash in frustration. 

Nausea roiled in your gut. Your extremities felt numb, your body vibrating with unease. When had it gotten so hard to breathe? It felt as if someone was squeezing your lungs, inhibiting you from taking in oxygen. You were suffocating. Choking. Strangled by your anxiety. 

And then you saw it. Just over the ridge, where the earth dipped into a valley. Purple.

“There!” You cried, jamming your finger against the window, pointing into the distance. 

“What?!” Rhett couldn’t see anything. Whatever it was, was now hidden from view. But you knew you’d seen it. 

“Just turn right! Head for the valley! I swear I saw her!”

He yanked the wheel to the right, and the truck veered sideways, jostling you both. His foot was heavy on the accelerator, picking up speed, the uneven earth sending your heart straight down to your stomach.

Your gaze was locked straight ahead, afraid that if you looked away, you would miss it. Miss her. 

Closer, closer, closer to the valley you got. Just up ahead, you could see that the earth gave way, sloping down into a dropoff. “Stop!”

Rhett slammed on the brakes, and the very second he threw the truck into park, you were leaping out, feet landing against grassy earth before you sprinted forward. He followed suit, running alongside you toward the drop.

Just as you came down into the edge of the valley, you saw her. Huddled down against the cleft of earth, arms over her head, frightened and alone. Rhett dashed ahead of you, calling out the girl’s name, dropping to his knees beside her.

She lifted her head, large eyes growing wider still. “Uncle Rhett!” She wept, instantly surging forward to throw her arms around his neck. 

“I’ve got ya, honey! Let’s get y’outta here!” He scooped her up with ease, cradling her close as he stood to his feet. He nodded toward you, and you both ran back up to the truck. 

You threw yourself into the passenger seat and turned, allowing him to guide Amy up into your lap. You hooked your arm around her waist and pulled her toward you so he could slam the door shut. 

“Are you okay?!” You asked her, searching her over for any injuries. 

“I am!” She answered, bottom lip quivering, eyes filled with tears. 

“You scared us so bad, darlin’!” Rhett exclaimed as he hurriedly climbed into his own seat, slamming the door shut. 

“I’m sorry!” She cried. “I was trying to get back but got really scared that I wouldn’t make it to the shelter in time, so I got into that ditch!”

“You did the right thing,” you assured her, tucking her windswept hair behind her ear. She nodded, throwing herself forward, face buried against your neck as she cried. 

But the moment of relief was soon stolen from you as the sound of hail began to strike the roof of the Sierra. Rhett grabbed the walkie-talkie and called into it, “We found ‘er! We’re on the move again, y’got a read on what we’re dealin’ with?! Over!”

There was no time to waste. Either you got moving, or you were sitting ducks. 

But Finn’s reply came through the receiver as an unintelligible, garbled mess. Rhett tried to raise him again, but once again, all he was met with was static. “Shit,” he cursed, tossing the walkie down onto the seat. He turned to you, and his eyes were alight with worry. “We’re goin’ in blind.” 

At that very moment, the hail stopped. With a trembling hand, you opened the window, holding your arm outside. The air felt thick and humid, but an odd sort of coolness came along the edge of the wind. 

And then you looked up. 

“Oh my god.”

There it was. Enormous and foreboding, a wicked twister breaking forth from the sky, touching down in the pasture adjacent to you.

“It’s going toward the house!” Came your despaired shout. 

Eyes wide, Rhett sprung into action, slamming the gearshift into drive and wedging his boot against the gas pedal. “Jesus!” He shouted. “Hold on, y’hear?!” The truck lurched forward, gradually picking up speed, faster and faster, staying parallel to the quickly developing tornado. 

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. With Amy huddled against you, you blindly reached out, grabbing for the remote to open the tanks, knowing you needed to be ready, lest you miss your opportunity. 

It was close. Too close. Gaining traction by the minute, swallowing up the surrounding earth, kicking up debris along with it. If you didn’t get out of its path, you knew that the three of you likely would not survive. 

Rhett brought the truck to the highest possible speed, fighting to keep control, body rigid against the seat. “Tell me when to drop the tanks!” Came his desperate plea. 

But your voice wouldn’t come. Your throat felt as if it had closed up, forcing you to remain silent. It wasn’t time, not yet. You were too close. If he slowed down, it would steal precious time. Time that you didn’t have. 

You found yourself in a precarious position, trying to comfort the scared girl beside you, while also counting down the seconds in your head, hoping Rhett would find a safe distance. Part of you wondered if this was it, if you’d end up like your three friends once had.

Somehow, your voice returned, and you yelled, “Take a left!” 

He did, veering in the direction you told him to. Amy shrieked in fear as the truck shook violently. You tugged her closer, bringing her head to your chest, free hand covering her ear to muffle the sounds happening around her. 

Your eyes, wild and alert, stayed glued to the churning column of air, now behind you. The size of it made your blood run cold. Could you really stop one this big? Was this even possible? Were you simply speed-running your own demise? 

“Talk to me!” Came Rhett’s voice in your ears. 

“Not yet!”

He kept his speed, pushing the old Sierra as fast as it would go, faster than he’d ever driven in his life. His ears were ringing. His breathing was ragged. Everything in his body told him that he needed to get you and Amy out of this situation. 

But he pressed on, waiting for the exact moment you told him to drop the trailer.

And then, “Now!”

He brought the truck to a screeching halt, arm darting out to keep you and Amy from flying forward. As soon as he knew he was in position, he jammed his fingers into the button in the center console, securing the trailer into the ground.

Then, he flipped the switch to release the hitch. 

But nothing happened. 

“What the hell?” He flipped it again, but it simply wouldn’t work. 

“Rhett, what–” 

He was already unbuckling his belt. “Stay put! I’ve gotta unhitch it!”

He wrenched his door open and jumped out of the truck, to your utter horror. Amy sat up, frantically calling his name, fearful of her uncle’s fate. You watched him like a hawk, breath bated, hackles raised. 

And then, all at once, a large piece of flying debris sailed through the air, and before he could react, it clipped him right in the head, and he went down.

Your world tilted on its axis.

“No!” You shrieked. You threw your door open and told Amy to stay in the truck as you hurdled yourself into the storm, wind pulling at your clothes, a powerful, uncontrollable force that could very well rip you right out of existence if it chose to do so.

“Rhett!” His name came out as a broken wail. Your mind only allowed you to think one thing: oh my god, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.

But then, hope.

“Here!” He was scrambling to his feet, knees almost buckling under his weight as he fought to pull himself uptight along the side of the truck. His head was bleeding, crimson flowing down the side of his face. But he was alive. 

“Baby!” You threw yourself at him, grasping his face, searching his eyes. “I thought–”

“I know! I’m fine! Get back in the truck!”

But you weren’t leaving him out here. You shook your head in refusal and, instead, aided him in unhitching the trailer from the truck. It took both of you giving it your full strength before it finally gave way.

Hair flying every which way, face bloodied, he locked eyes with you and said, “We got it! Let’s go!”

Fighting against the roaring, screaming, howling tempest, you ran like hell to the passenger side, hoisting yourself into the Sierra. Rhett made it into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut before he frantically threw the gear in drive and peeled off, leaving the trailer behind. 

With one hand holding Amy’s, and the other clutching the remote, you turned in your seat, waiting for the exact moment to press the release button. Closer and closer, the twister raged on, devouring space and time, threatening to consume Rhett’s childhood home. 

You’re not taking anything or anyone else away from me.

You jammed your thumb into the button as hard as you could, praying silently that the tanks would open without issue. Five, four, three, two, one…

The twister concealed the tanks, inhibiting your view. You had no idea if what you’d just done was even working. Even so, you called out, “I opened the tanks!”

Rhett’s knuckles were white as snow as he clutched the steering wheel, and in a split second decision, probably the most foolish one he’d ever made, he turned at the last possible moment, swinging the truck so that it was parallel to the twister. And then, he thrust his foot onto the brake pedal, and the vehicle came to a shuddering halt.

Both of you turned, eyes on the tornado. You reached out, grabbing for Rhett’s hand, fingers intertwining, holding on for dear life. He moved quickly, his body shielding yours and Amy’s. If things went south, he could not protect you, not from this, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

Together, you watched, not daring to breathe, move, or speak. 

Seconds passed, but they might as well have been hours. Then, all at once, the sky swallowed the twister whole, pulling it right back from whence it came, and the earth was silent.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. So did Rhett. Amy tentatively lifted her head from where it had been hidden against your chest. You turned your head, face full of disbelief, meeting Rhett’s gaze.

You saw that, right?

“Did we just…”

His mouth broke into a grin, though his lips were stained red from the blood that had been running down the side of his face. “Yeah, we fuckin’ did!”

You slapped your hand over your mouth, unable to hold in the laugh of utter disbelief that tore from your throat. Amy asked a question, but you barely heard her, for you were too overwhelmed. Once again, you opened the truck door, sliding from the seat, feet on stable ground.

You walked past the truck. Into the field. Toward the trailer that still remained in the place you had dropped it. And there were the tanks of CO₂ and nitrogen, valves open. It had really worked, hadn’t it?

You felt like a firework exploding in the sky, so full of color and light. Tears welled in your eyes, and you found yourself turning around, searching for Rhett. He was there, just like he always was, watching you in awe, his gaze as warm as the sun.

“We did it,” you whispered, legs already moving, body drawn to him by an invisible force, unable to be apart from him for a second longer. You were free-falling, trusting him to catch you. And he did, arms pulling you into him, holding you close, hand cradling the back of your head.  

It all came pouring out of you then. The elation at what you’d just accomplished. The realization that your fear had been well and truly conquered. The thought of just how proud Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia would be. If it was possible to feel joy, disbelief, and sorrow all at once, you felt every bit of it. 

It was raw and painful and beautiful. 

You sobbed into Rhett’s chest, body trembling, knees almost buckling. He gently rocked you back and forth, arms secured tightly around you, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the entire world. 

“We’re okay, honeybee. We did it. You did it.” He, too, could not hold his tears back. They poured down his face, onto the top of your head, as the two of you stood there, holding one another, weeping openly.

Moments later, Amy’s voice could be heard, calling out to you. You parted from Rhett, turning to see the girl approaching, holding the walkie-talkie in her hand. “This keeps going off!” She exclaimed, waving the device around.

Rhett stepped forward, reaching for the walkie. As he tried to raise Danny and Finn on the channel, you opened your arms, and Amy surged forward into your embrace. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” You asked her.

“Y-yeah,” she said with a nod. “That was so scary! But you stopped it, didn’t you? It worked?”

You managed a smile, despite your tear-dampened cheeks. “Yes. It worked!”

She grinned widely, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, that’s so cool! You stopped a tornado! I bet you’re the first person in the world to do it!”

Though, you couldn’t entirely take credit for it. After all, you’d only pressed the button. It was Zara’s brainchild. However, you were elated that you had been given the opportunity to put it into action, and see the results up close and personal. 

“We did it, boys!” Rhett shouted into the walkie, his voice drawing your attention back to him. “We stopped our first twister!”

The sound of hooping and hollering could be heard on the other end, and you found yourself beaming, a sense of all-consuming joy washing over you. The look of pure, unadulterated glee on Rhett’s face made your heart sing, threatening to soar right out of your chest and into the clouds above.

“We’re comin’ to you, so stay put!” Finn shouted over the receiver.

“Over and out!” Rhett responded. Carelessly, he tossed the walkie-talkie aside, letting it thud against the soft earth. Then he was running at Amy, lifting her into his arms and spinning her around as she squealed with delight. “We did it, honey!”

“Yeah!” She laughed musically, throwing her head back, hair flying behind her. 

As he slowed to a stop, he gently put her down, but he swayed a little, unsteady on his feet. Instinctively, you reached out to steady him.

“Whoa there, cowboy.” You tilted his chin up, inspecting the gash on his head. It was right above his temple, and it looked rather deep. “You need stitches.”

“Naw, I’ll be fine,” he protested with the wave of his hand. 

“You’re bleeding from a gash in your head. You’re getting stitches.” Your tone left no room for discussion. 

Rhett simply shut his mouth and nodded. In the moment, hopped up on adrenaline, he couldn’t feel it. But now, it was beginning to throb, and he felt a little woozy on his feet. Even so, he simply couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

It felt as if he was living in a dream. He was afraid to pinch himself, for fear that he would actually wake up. However, the warmth of your body against his as you wrapped your arm around his waist was real. Your sweet voice, full of concern as you fussed over his bloodied face, was real. You were real. 

“Here they come!” Amy called out, motioning to the approaching RV. Danny was driving at full speed, clearly eager to reach the two of you. 

Still pressed against Rhett’s side, you turned your head, raising a hand in greeting. As soon as the vehicle came to a halt, both men jumped out, hooping and hollering. 

“We thought for sure you guys were goners!” Finn exclaimed as the two jogged toward you. “We lost your signal and couldn’t see you anywhere!”

“Honestly, we thought we were goners, too,” Rhett replied with honesty as he exchanged a knowing look with you. You placed your hand over his heart. You were both here. Alive and safe. The Fates had smiled down on you today.

“Damn, look at your head,” Danny spoke up, eyeing the wound. “Y’alright, man?”

“Yeah. The trailer jammed and I had to jump out and get it unhooked. Got clipped in the head while I was doin’ it.”

“Hey, what matters is you survived. And you stopped a fuckin’ twister, baby!” Finn shouted. Then, upon noticing Amy’s presence, he winced. “Whoops, sorry kiddo. Guess I should watch my potty mouth.”

Amy grinned as she came up beside you, lovingly taking hold of your arm. “It’s okay, just don’t let Gramma hear you talk that way,” she said with a giggle.

You smiled down at her, but very quickly sobered up when you thought of her grandparents. “We’d better go check on your parents,” you told Rhett. However, just as you spoked, the sound of an approaching truck grabbed your attention. 

All of you looked across the pasture to see Royal’s old truck approaching. As soon as he came to a stop, Cecilia was all but leaping out of the cab, Amy’s name on her lips as she rushed toward the group.

“Gramma! I’m okay!” Amy called out, rushing to her grandmother. 

You watched, verklempt, as the woman dropped to her knees in front of her granddaughter. Her entire world. “Oh! You had us scared half to death, you hear me?! Don’t you ever do that again!” She scolded, though there was no malice in her tone. She pulled the child to her bosom and hugged her tightly. Amy hugged her right back.

Moments later, Royal joined his wife, and Amy pulled away to hug her grandfather, arms wrapping around his middle. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, never one for dramatic shows of emotion. 

Cecilia rose to her feet again, and finally took in the sight of the four of you. Her eyes fell upon her son, and she stepped forward, concern clouding her face. “Goodness, Rhett. Your head!” She approached, gripping his chin and turning his face so she could get a closer look. “You need stitches!”

His mouth curved into a soft smile, though his eyes shone with tears. “I’ll get ‘em, Mom. Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

She patted his cheek, her bottom lip quivering. “I’m your mother. I’ll always worry about you.” Without a word, Rhett broke away from you so that he could embrace her, strong arms wrapping around the woman who had given him life.

He thought of all she’d lost. She had endured the worst loss that anyone could suffer, and yet, she was the picture of strength and grace. He was so grateful for the mother he had. He knew that he put her through a lot by choosing to chase, after that very same thing had been what took her oldest son from her. And yet, she never once told Rhett to give up what he loved, even if it scared her to no end. 

“I love you,” he heard himself whisper. 

As she pulled away, she patted his chest and nodded, unable to voice her reply. But he already knew what she’d say. I love you too. 

And then he lifted his head to see his father approaching. Royal eyed the gash on his son’s head, and proceeded to clasp his shoulder. “You did it, boy. You fin’lly did it.”

Rhett grinned. “Nah. She did it.” He pointed to you, pride evident on his face. 

You came up beside him, and he tucked you against his side once again. “We did it,” you corrected. There was no you without him.

“Well, because of you, the farm’s safe, and so’s Amy. And I just know that Perry and the girls would be so proud of what you two did today,” Cecilia spoke out, smiling tearfully. She pulled you in for a hug, which you gratefully accepted. 

You cherished the significance of the moment, body warm with pride and disbelief at the accomplishment you had just witnessed. 

“Can we get ice cream to celebrate?” Amy’s voice suddenly rang out over the low chatter of the group. Her eagerness pulled an amused laugh out of everyone.

“First, Uncle Rhett needs to get his head sewn shut. But yes, we can get ice cream,” Cecilia promised. The girl excitedly pumped her fist in satisfaction.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” you told Rhett, slipping out from beneath his arm.

“So that means I ain’t drivin’?” He asked.

“Are you kidding me? Absolutely not.” Then you turned to Danny and Finn. “You two want to get ice cream with us after I get this guy put back together again?”

“Yeah, sure,” Danny said, nodding his head. “First we’re gonna check on the tanks and see if Zara’s up for a talk so we can let her know what happened.”

“Just give us a call once you head to the ice cream place and we’ll meet you there,” Finn echoed. “We’ve got so much to do. We…we really stopped a twister. We’ve got phone calls to make. We need to get a grant from OU. We need to see if we can start testing this out on a wider scale. I mean, holy shit, this is, like, history making stuff here!”

Danny clapped him on the back. “Hey now, don’t get ahead of yourself. We’ll figure all that out.” He looked at you and Rhett and smiled. “You focus on gettin’ our cowboy stitched up. We’ll talk everything else over later.”

You hummed, shooting him a smile. “Sure thing. See you guys in a bit.”

As the two men ambled off toward the trailer to inspect the tanks, you turned to guide Rhett to the truck. Cecilia and Royal were already guiding Amy into their own vehicle to depart, which left the two of you alone.

“C’mon now, let’s get you fixed up.”

Rhett smiled as you led him toward the passenger side, and as you opened the door, he leaned toward you. “Can you believe it?” He asked. 

It was your turn to smile, and you shook your head. “No. I really can’t.” It was truly unfathomable, the thing that you had done that day. Stopping a weather phenomenon in its tracks. It was impossible. Improbable. And yet, with Zara’s genius invention, and the rest of the team’s help, you’d made it happen. 

“You’re fuckin’ amazing, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes as you nudged him to climb into the truck. “Far from it. I just pressed a button.”

Once the door was shut, he leaned out the open window, arms resting atop the door. “No. You did so much more than that. You go from bein’ fuckin’ terrified of twisters, to conquering one of ‘em. Pretty amazing if y’ask me.”

Ducking your head shyly, your lashes fluttered before you looked up at him again. When he lowered down to kiss you, you let him. “I’m proud of you, girl.”

His praise was all you needed to hear.

With a soft sigh, you rounded the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. You started the engine and then moved to buckle your seatbelt, making sure Rhett’s was also buckled, before you set off across the property, toward the main road.

For the entire ride to the hospital, his hand rested comfortingly upon your thigh. You let it stay there.

Once you arrived at the emergency room, it did not take long at all for them to call him back, his head wound making him a priority. Around you, people chatted about the storm, and how they’d seen a twister touch down nearby. Little did they know that the reason it stopped was because of what you had done. 

Rhett was given a total of four stitches in his head. Though he was entirely fine with needles, you still held his hand during the procedure. He didn’t push you away. In fact, he was grateful for your presence. It made him feel at ease. 

Afterward, once he was all stitched up and ready to go, you walked out of the hospital, with his arm around your shoulder, and yours around his waist. “Let’s get you some ice cream, cowboy,” you said.

“I like the sound of that.” He replied.

If only for a short time, you let go of everything. The stress and the fright that you had endured that day. The worry, the uncertainty, and everything else. You let yourselves celebrate an astonishing victory with the people you loved, enjoying ice cream cones, reliving happy memories, and telling stories of storm chases gone by.

And you realized, as you sat around the table at the very same ice cream parlor you had gone to after Rhett’s extraordinary ride at the rodeo, that you were entering into a brand-new chapter. Everything was going to change after this, and you welcomed that change with open arms.

It was time to start living your life.

Epilogue

One Year Later

“S’that the last box, honeybee?” Rhett’s voice rang out through the house, reaching your ears from where you stood in the hallway.

“Yeah, that’s everything!” You called back.

His footsteps were heavy on the rickety old staircase, taking the steps two at a time. He found you standing in the doorway of what was now your shared bedroom. He couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his mouth at the sight of you, so effortlessly beautiful, and all his.

“Hey there,” he murmured, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you close. You melted into him, body warm and familiar. 

“You’re sweaty,” you stated, and he hummed in amusement. 

“Yeah, well, draggin’ eight hundred boxes into the house will do that to a body,” he replied.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Me? Exaggerate? Never,” came his faux shocked reply.

You turned in his arms then, placing your hands against his solid chest. Sweat glimmered on his brow, which you reached up to wipe away, letting your fingers wander to the faint scar just above his temple. A reminder of the day you had made history. “Can you believe we’re finally here?”

He shook his head, ducking his head to kiss your nose. “Been waitin’ for this moment for so long. A place t’ call our own.”

What a journey it had been. After the success of stopping the twister the year prior, you had made the decision to leave your job in Silver Spring and move back to Wabang. You didn’t want to endure a long distance relationship with Rhett. If you were going to invite him back into your life, there would be no miles between you ever again.

You decided to buy your great-aunt’s house after you’d cleaned it out. But the place had been in need of many repairs. After many months of hard work, the house was finally ready for you to move in. And what a joyous occasion it was. You were filled with hope, and excitement for the future.

Things were looking very promising for you both. Your background in weather analyzation had landed you a job at the University of Oklahoma, overseeing the field-testing of various weather related devices. The university had bestowed a grant to Zara’s team, funding any further research into the use of CO₂ and nitrogen used to slow and stop tornadoes. 

Unfortunately, Zara had been unable to be as involved as she wanted to be with the project. After the initial health scare that had taken her and Jeslyn away from the chase you’d gone on a year ago, Zara’s mother had been diagnosed with cancer, leaving Zara and Jeslyn to move into her parents home to help her father care for the woman. 

In her absence, she asked you to supervise any and all chases involving her method of tornado taming, and you gladly accepted the responsibility, willing to help her in any way possible as she endured this difficult time.

As for Rhett, he was recruited by the university to test storm chasing vehicles that might be used in future weather projects. He was able to take each of them into the field to see how they performed under acute weather conditions. No vehicle passed inspection without his stamp of approval. 

Both of you had been through so much. Loss, grief, fear and uncertainty. There would always be a void in your hearts, a permanent ache whenever you remembered the three people that had been ripped from your lives so many years ago. You would never forget them, and you would honor the memory of Perry, Rebecca, and Lydia in everything you did. 

But now, it seemed that there was a light shining at the end of the long, dark tunnel. You were moving into your very first home together. You were truly, deeply content, and you were able to do what you loved, side by side. 

What more could you have ever asked for?

The vibration of Rhett’s phone in the pocket of his jeans cut through the air at that very moment, interrupting your peaceful exchange. Quickly, he slipped the phone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen.

As if on cue, thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Let me guess, it’s Danny,” you said.

Rhett grinned, turning the screen so you could read the text. Storm’s moving in! Y’all ready to wrangle some twisters?

“Well then, I guess we should get a move on, huh cowboy?”

He stole another kiss from your lips before he grasped your hand. “Guess so, cowgirl.” Then you were off, hand in hand, rushing down the steps. 

As you scrambled out the door, the feeling of heavy, humid air immediately engulfed you, and you breathed in deeply, relishing in the scent. A storm’s a brewin’.

But you weren’t afraid. Far from it. You were eager, heart pounding against your rib cage in anticipation. Oh, how far you’d come. What had once terrified you now exhilarated you. 

“Ready, honeybee?” Rhett asked you as you climbed into the truck. 

With a confident nod, you replied, “As I’ll ever be. Let’s go own the sky, baby!”

Fin.

[sithdaya]

omg just realized i caught up?? Now i have to wait like everyone else for the next chapter 😭

What Holds and What Breaks -- (Rhett Abbott/Reader)

Chapter 6

Word Count 7.8k (this got away from me)

Warnings: Sex, Fluffy.

Author Note: I hope you guys like this chapter as much as I struggled to write it. 🫣

The gravel crunches under your tires as you pull up the long drive, dust trailing behind the truck in lazy swirls. It’s warmer today—sun already pressing down by mid-morning—and the air smells faintly of hay and soil, the way it always does out here. You spot Rhett before you even kill the engine. He’s on the porch, half-seated on the top step like he couldn’t decide whether he was waiting or just too tired to stand.

His arm’s still in a sling, but he lifts his good hand in a small wave when you step out. He’s holding a mug, mostly full, long gone cold from the look of it. There’s stubble along his jaw, darker than usual. The shadow of bruising under his eye is deep purple now, the skin around it puffy but healing.

You let the door close softly behind you and start toward him.

He watches you the whole way, eyes steady. You don’t smile, not right away. You just take him in.

“You showed up,” he says, voice low, rough from the morning or maybe sleep.

You pause a few steps from the porch. “I said I would.”

There’s a pause before he answers. “Still didn’t think you would.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach twist. You look at the mug in his hand. “How long you been sittin’ out here?”

He shrugs with one shoulder. “Little while.”

You raise your eyebrows. “And by ‘little,’ you mean...?”

He gives you a sheepish smile and looks down into the cup. “Let’s just say the coffee’s not hot anymore.”

You walk up the steps and ease the mug from his hand, give it a sniff. “This is sludge.”

“It was fine an hour ago.”

“You should’ve waited inside.”

“And miss the chance to see you walking up that drive?” he says it lightly, but his eyes don’t flinch from yours.

Your cheeks warm, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you hand the mug back. “You always this charming before noon?”

“Only when I’m injured.”

You roll your eyes. “Come on. Show me what you can’t fix with one arm.”

The broken latch on the goat pen is worse than he let on—bent in two spots, the hinge cracked at the base. You crouch to inspect it while he stands off to the side, his bad arm tucked against his ribs. The silence between you isn’t heavy—it’s familiar now, comfortable in a way that once would’ve rattled you. 

“You could’ve called Perry,” you say, not looking up.

Rhett snorts. “He’d’ve said I deserved all this.”

You smirk. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

He makes a show of being offended, hand to his chest like you wounded him deeper than the wreck. You glance up just in time to catch the look—half play, half admiration.

“Figured you’d say that,” he mutters.

“You always this stubborn about helping people?” he asks, leaning on the barn post.

“Only the ones who pretend they don’t need it," you reply, shaking your head with a chuckle as you reach for his tools. “Hold this steady.”

Your hands brush when he leans close. He smells like cedar, like dust and coffee, and something that makes your throat tighten a little.

The repair takes longer than it should because you keep glancing up and finding him watching you. Not like he’s waiting for you to finish—but like he’s just… appreciating something. You let it slide.

You fall into a rhythm after that. Moving from the pen to the barn, feeding the goats, checking on a stubborn latch near the storage shed that never quite shuts right. Rhett can’t do much with one arm, but he keeps close—handing you tools, steadying things when you need both hands. You don’t need to ask. He just knows. That startles you a little.

Midway through tossing hay, you stop to swipe sweat from your temple. Rhett offers you a thermos he brought out from the house.

“Still cold,” he promises, brushing your fingers as he passes it to you.

You take a long drink, then glance at him. “You always this bad at sittin’ still?”

“Only when someone’s watchin’.”

You arch a brow. “And when they’re not?”

He grins. “Still pretty bad.”

There’s laughter in your throat before you can stop it. Something light and effortless that catches you off guard.

You step back after the last flake of hay is tossed. The barn is quiet, warm, and golden with sunlight. You lean against the doorframe, breathing deep.

Rhett doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you, the corner of his mouth curling like he’s memorizing something. Then softly:

“I like having you here.”

The words settle in your chest like they belong there. You meet his gaze and don’t look away.

You don’t say anything yet. Just nod—slow, steady. “Yeah. Me too.”

And you mean it. Maybe more than you thought.

By the time the sun dipped lower, they’d gotten more done than either expected. The horses had been seen to, the barn swept out, feedbags restocked, and fences walked. His pace had slowed near the end, and though he wouldn’t say it, you knew he was hurting. Still, he refused to sit down until the tools were packed away and the chores were truly done.

Now, the air’s gone soft around the edges, tinted golden and lazy. You sit on the tailgate of your truck, legs swinging lightly, sweat-damp hair pulled off your neck. Rhett leans against the fence across from you, a water bottle pressed to his temple before he tips it back and drinks. 

Neither of you speaks at first. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. It settles in, stretches out like it belongs there.

You watch the way his gaze tracks the horizon, how the bruising around his eyes deepened into something more purple than red. His sling’s slightly askew now. You almost say something about it, but hold your tongue.

“I didn’t realize,” you say instead, quiet but sure, “how scared I was. Not really. Not until after.”

He looks at you then. Doesn’t press. Doesn’t smile. Just listens.

“Wasn’t until I got home,” you go on, “and took the dogs out, and sat down like normal… and it hit me. You could’ve died. And I wouldn’t’ve known until someone thought to tell me.”

Rhett shifts, his boot scuffing gravel. He pushes away from the fence slowly, crosses the short distance between you until he’s close, but not touching.

“I didn’t think at all,” he murmurs. “Just pulled my phone out and called you. It didn’t even cross my mind to call anyone else.”

The way he says it—like it’s just a fact—punches a breath from your chest.

He drops his gaze to the grass. Kicks at a weed with the toe of his boot.

He huffs a quiet breath, shakes his head like he’s laughing at himself.

“Should’ve put a hat on,” he mutters, swiping at his brow.

“Are you saying I wore you out?”

You mean it playfully, but his gaze lifts—slow, steady.

“Maybe a little,” he says, voice low, half a smile playing at his mouth. He pauses for a moment. “Could get used to that, though.”

The way he says it—soft, offhand, but full of something he’s not naming—makes your stomach pull tight. You look away before it shows on your face.

“I think I’ve been fallin’ for you for a while now.” He says it low, rough—like those words have been waiting a long time to get out.

You don’t answer right away.

Your fingers curl tight around the edge of the tailgate, throat knotting. He looks away, maybe giving you space, or maybe because he’s scared too.

After a moment, you finally say, voice soft, careful, “I know.”

He looks back, eyes searching, uncertain.

You don’t move closer. Don’t reach out. But your voice holds something real—something he needs to hear.

“It’s... more than I thought it was, too.”

The words aren’t a promise. Not a confession. But they’re there, honest and raw between you.

His gaze lingers, warm and steady.

You hold the moment—fragile, quiet.

Not breaking.

Not quite.

Just... opening.

You don’t head straight home. You don't even consider it.

He doesn’t ask you to stay, not with words—but when he lifts the cooler of water bottles from the truck bed and brushes his good arm past yours, you follow him without thinking. The back door creaks open like it’s used to the sound of you now, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like you’re entering someone else’s space.

It just feels... easy.

Inside, Rhett sets the cooler down with a quiet grunt. You slide out of your boots by the door and glance toward the kitchen, where the light is low and the stove still looks unused.

He moves slowly—favoring his good side as he pulls open the pantry and starts gathering things. A box of noodles. A jar of sauce. You cock a brow when he grabs the pasta.

“You planning on cooking that one-handed?” you ask, amused.

He shrugs, trying to look confident. “How hard can it be?”

You lean against the counter, arms crossed. “Want me to get the fire extinguisher ready?”

He grins, and it's this lopsided thing that makes your stomach do something ridiculous.

He fills a pot with water, but you end up turning the burner on for him, and by the time the noodles are boiling, he’s already leaning against the wall like he’s run a mile. You wordlessly nudge him out of the way with your hip and take over.

“I had it,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

“Mhm,” you hum. “Just saving your pride and dinner.”

You cook like you’ve done it there before—quiet, efficient, in rhythm with the space. He keeps stealing glances when he thinks you’re not looking. You catch one and smirk.

“Something on my face?”

He shakes his head slowly, but doesn’t answer. You feel the burn of his eyes even after he looks away.

Dinner ends up simple—just spaghetti and garlic bread you find in his freezer. He insists on setting the table, awkward with one hand but stubborn about it. When you finally sit down across from each other, plates full and steam rising, it feels like a shift. A shared ritual.

You eat. Talk softly. Laugh once or twice—small things, like when he nearly drops his fork trying to twirl noodles.

After the dishes are rinsed and stacked, you trail behind him into the living room. The dogs have settled. Yours are curled on the rug, looking comfortable enough to claim the space. He nudges Scout gently with his foot when he goes to sit on the couch, and to your surprise, Scout only grumbles.

You stay standing.

His eyes flick to yours. “You okay?”

You nod slowly. Then smile—something faint but real. “You look like hell, Rhett.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”

You take a small step closer. “You know,” you say lightly, fingers trailing over the back of a chair, “your clothes are filthy. I could wash them for you…”

His brow arches.

“…but I was thinking maybe you just take ‘em off instead.”

The silence that follows stretches—electric and soft at the same time.

He watches you like he’s trying to read between the lines, to be sure you mean what you’re saying.

When you don’t back down, when the intent in your voice stays steady and calm, looking at him with a soft but determined look, he stands. Quietly. Then nods his head toward the hallway.

“Come on, then.”

Before you follow, you look to the dogs—Scout’s watching with his judgmental eyes, Juniper still snoring.

“Stay,” you tell them. Your voice is low. Firm.

Then you cross the room, and he meets you halfway.

He doesn’t touch you until you’re inside the bedroom and the door closes behind you.

The bedroom is quiet, the door clicking shut behind you like the softest punctuation. He doesn’t turn around right away. Just stands there, as if absorbing the weight of what this means—of you, in this room, by choice.

When he finally faces you, there’s something in his expression that halts your breath. Not doubt. Not hesitation. Something more fragile. More real. A kind of reverence, mixed with a flicker of nervousness, like neither of you quite knows exactly where this will go, but both want it to mean something.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low and careful, like speaking too loud might wake him from something he hasn’t dared hope for.

You nod once. “I’ve been sure.”

That’s all it takes.

He closes the distance slowly, like he's afraid to startle you—but not because he thinks you'll bolt. Because it feels sacred. Your hands meet first, fingertips brushing as if reacquainting after a lifetime apart. Then his palm slides to your waist, warm and grounding, and the heat of his body surrounds you.

You lean into him, and the contact is everything—his chest against yours, your thighs brushing, the weight of this moment balancing on the edge of something that could tip either way.

His kiss is soft. Not unsure—just slow, like he’s tasting the idea of you. When your mouth opens beneath his, it’s gentle. You sigh into him, and the sound makes his hand tighten at your waist just slightly. Not possessive. Anchoring.

But beneath it all, there’s that little flutter in your chest—part hope, part fear, part wanting to lean in and part wanting to hold back, just a little longer.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, your fingers gentle as you drag the fabric up over his ribs. He lifts one arm slower than the other, the movement careful, tight. You help him ease it off, your hand brushing over bruised skin—faint shades of yellow and blue fading like a dawn sky. You pause, your palm lingering there, tracing the story written on him.

“This okay?” you murmur.

His eyes stay locked on yours. “Yeah. You… feel good.”

Your own shirt follows, sliding away in quiet rhythm. The silence that settles between you thickens—heavy with meaning. He looks at you as if you’re a half-remembered dream made real in daylight, like you might vanish if he blinks.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he breathes, almost to himself.

Behind him, the bed waits, and you nudge him gently in that direction. He sits without protest, his hands finding your hips again. You climb into his lap slowly, feeling the catch in his breath as your thighs settle on either side of him. The tension in his legs beneath yours, the twitch in his jaw—it’s all there, raw and electric.

“I wanted this before I even knew how much I liked you,” you whisper, fingers curling at the back of his neck. “But now…”

Your lips brush his, soft and searching. “Now I want all of you.”

His chest rises under your palm. “Take whatever you want.”

You kiss him again, deeper this time—slow and deliberate. His hand slides up your back, fingers ghosting over your spine until they find the clasp of your bra. They hesitate.

“Want help?” you offer, breathless.

“Only if you’re givin’ it.”

You do.

The moment the fabric slips away, his eyes drop to your chest, and a low, shaky breath escapes him. One hand lifts to touch you—tentative at first, as if he’s afraid he’ll break something fragile.

But when you lean into the touch, his thumb swirls slowly over your nipple. A quiet gasp slips from you, and he closes his eyes, memorizing the sound.

You feel him hard beneath you, heat pressing through denim, matching the wet warmth pooling between your legs.

Still, you take your time.

Your fingers fumble with the button on his jeans, sliding down the zipper with a careful touch that trails along the hard line of him. His jaw tightens, but he stays still, watching you.

When you rise just enough to push your own pants off, he tries to help despite the awkward angle and the limitation of one good arm.

Eventually, all the clothes are gone—gone like the walls between you. His bare skin presses under your thighs and between your legs, making your breath catch.

You lower yourself over him slowly.

The stretch is perfect—familiar and new, a delicate balance of give and take. His hands grip your hips with just enough pressure to keep you steady, not enough to guide.

He groans deep and broken. “God, you feel—”

“I know,” you whisper. “I know.”

For a moment, you stay still—just breathing, feeling.

The warmth of his chest beneath your palms. The rough stubble against your jaw as he leans forward, kissing your shoulder. The catch in his breath every time your body shifts.

Then you begin to move.

The first slow roll of your hips draws a low, steady exhale. You repeat it, slower this time, feeling every nuance—the way his fingers flex, the way his head falls back.

You set the pace: slow, steady, deliberate. The rhythm builds gradually as you grind and sink deeper, exploring and savoring.

His hand slides up your spine again, around to your breast. You gasp as his thumb circles your nipple, and his groan matches yours—a low, aching sound that vibrates between you.

“You’re killin’ me,” he murmurs, voice thick with wanting. “Feelin’ you like this… lookin’ at you…”

Words trail off as your lips find his, deep and hungry. Your fingers twist in his hair, tightening their grip as your body clenches and releases around him.

“I’m close,” you breathe, forehead resting against his.

“Yeah,” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek. “I’ve got you. Just let it happen, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.”

His voice is a warm anchor, steady and coaxing.

“Feel how tight you’re gettin’ for me?” he breathes, lips near your ear. “That’s it. Just like that. Let go, darlin’. I’m right here.”

You do, and the wave crashes over you slowly—warm, deep, shaking. You grind through it, burying your face in his neck, every muscle tightening, then softening.

But it doesn’t end there.

You stay connected, riding the aftershocks. His hands explore you anew, holding and coaxing. Your movements slow again, savoring the heat lingering between you.

The dance stretches—moments of stillness, breath mingling, whispered names, fingers tracing skin.

He groans your name, ragged and desperate. “Jesus—you feel so good… been holdin’ on, tryin’ to wait…”

With renewed urgency, he moves again, deep and steady. You match him, the rhythm slow but insistent, building and falling in waves.

His hands grip your waist tighter as he nears his edge. The shudder that ripples through him is full-body, desperate, aching.

He spills into you with a low, trembling sound, buried deep beneath your weight.

You hold each other through the quiet aftermath, hearts pounding, breaths mingling in the stillness of the room.

Still wrapped around him, legs trembling, your chest rising and falling against his. Your hands rest against his sternum, fingers splayed wide, feeling the steady pound of his heart under your palm—like it’s trying to speak for him, too full for words.

Neither of you moves at first. You just breathe. Let the weight of what happened settle between you—warm and grounding, and so deeply felt it almost aches.

But eventually, your legs start to shake with the lingering tension, and you shift to ease the pressure. His hands flex instinctively at your hips, thumbs brushing soothing circles into your skin, but he doesn’t try to stop you.

You lift, slow and careful, and the moment his body slips from yours, you both feel it. The stretch, the absence, the sudden vulnerable edge of it. It’s not just physical—it’s emotional, too. Like something inside you tugged loose. You make a soft sound in your throat without meaning to, and his breath catches sharply in response, jaw tightening as if the loss pulls at him just the same.

He watches you with a look that’s too open, too raw—like he’s afraid to speak in case it breaks the spell.

You don’t say anything either. You just press your palm to his chest again, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin, the sweat still cooling there, the soft rise and fall of him beneath you.

“You okay?” he asks finally, voice roughened and low, wrecked in a way that makes your chest pull tight.

You nod, lips parting into a slow, tired smile. “I’m more than okay.”

“Yeah?” His thumb strokes a soft, absent line over your hipbone, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

“I just…” You pause, eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, the mess of curls damp at his temple, the way his gaze never leaves yours. “I like what I’m looking at.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him—barely there, but real. His grin is lopsided, unguarded, and it does something warm to your insides. You lean down and kiss him again—slow and deep, mouths meeting with that same lazy hunger, the kind that doesn’t need to lead anywhere. It’s enough to stay close.

Then, reluctantly, you shift, your limbs heavy and sated. He helps guide you down beside him, and you curl into the curve of his body like you were always meant to fit there. Your head rests against his chest. His arm drapes over your back, palm splayed wide like he’s trying to hold the whole of you in place.

His skin is warm. Yours still hums. And the space between your bodies, though no longer joined, is still full of everything you just shared.

The dogs are somewhere in the house. The night air moves gently through the window. And for the first time in a long while, the quiet doesn't ache. It soothes.

The covers are cool against your skin, but his warmth follows instantly. He turns toward you with a quiet groan, moving slowly and carefully. That shoulder’s still stiff, bruised, but he doesn’t hesitate to reach for you. His arm loops over your waist, hand resting above your navel, and even with the awkward angle, it feels like it’s exactly where it belongs. He exhales when he settles in, chest to your back, skin to skin. The readjustment feels so comfortable for both of you.

You pull his hand up slowly—thread your fingers through his—and press the back of it to your bare chest, over your heart. Just enough pressure to ground you both.

Neither of you speaks.

His thumb moves once. A soft stroke. Like he’s memorizing the rhythm of your pulse.

The room is quiet except for your breathing, the hush of wind outside, the gentle creak of the old bed frame under your combined weight.

Then—

A scratch at the bedroom door. Low, then again, followed by a grumble that’s unmistakably Scout. Juniper's little huff is right behind it.

You wait. Rhett doesn’t move. His thumb stills, and after a moment, he murmurs low against your shoulder, “I’m not gettin’ up.”

You smile. “Me neither.”

There’s another scratch. A low, resigned sigh from Scout.

“They’ll live,” you whisper, feeling his chuckle against your spine. It warms you. Keeps warming you.

“You cold?” he asks after a beat, voice still thick with sleep and something softer.

“No,” you say, turning your face into the pillow. “Not even a little.”

His nose nudges behind your ear. Not a kiss, not quite. Just there. Present. You shift back into him just a little more.

His injured arm lies heavy over you now, but it doesn’t hurt. It anchors. You hold his hand still to your chest, your fingers resting over his knuckles, over the slight tremble in him that’s fading now with each breath.

You don’t want to move. Not yet. Not when everything inside you feels so terribly, beautifully still.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. You don’t count them. Your mind drifts, briefly—back to nights you used to spend twisted in thoughts, alone, feeling too much and showing too little. And now here, now this. The way his breath evens against your shoulder. The way his fingers twitch when you shift, and he thinks you might pull away.

You press his hand more firmly to your chest. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m right here.”

Another beat. Another shared breath.

“Me too,” he says quietly.

No more words after that. Just the hush of two hearts finding something steady in each other. You close your eyes. He doesn’t let go.

Not even when sleep finally takes you both.

-------

The morning breaks soft and golden through the bedroom curtains, dusting the room in light so warm it clings to your skin like a memory. You’re not fully awake—still drifting somewhere between dreams and the real world—wrapped in the heat of Rhett’s body, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. His skin is warm beneath you, steady and sure, his heartbeat slow, like it’s syncing with yours.

The sheets have twisted low around your hips, one leg tangled with his. His good arm—worn but steady—rests across your lower back, grounding you. The injured one, still healing, lies propped on a pillow beside him. You feel the twitch of his fingers against your spine before his voice breaks the quiet.

“Morning.”

Not loud, barely a breath against your hair. You hum in response, unwilling to move just yet. Your body feels heavy in a way that’s more pleasure than exhaustion, fingertips tracing the curve of his ribs.

He shifts beneath you, pressing a slow kiss to the crown of your head. The scrape of his stubble makes you smile softly, eyes still closed.

“You awake?” he murmurs, voice rough and half-sleep.

“Mhm.” A small sound, barely spoken, lips moving against his skin.

Neither of you says more. No rush—just the warmth between you, the shared silence, and the memory of last night still settling deep in your muscles.

You breathe him in—sun, sweat, something faintly woodsy that lingers on his skin. It’s familiar. Homey. The thought settles in your chest, too tender to speak aloud.

Then the question edges up, quiet and unfiltered, waiting at the back of your throat.

You shift just enough to prop yourself on one elbow, hand trailing over Rhett’s stomach. His skin jumps beneath your touch, like your fingers still catch him off guard.

The room is warm, still, the kind of quiet that doesn’t press. His breathing is easy beside you, and the way he looks at you—half-lidded, still tangled in morning’s hush—pulls your chest tight.

You study his face in the soft light, brushing a loose curl from his forehead. He lets you, doesn’t pull away.

Your voice breaks the stillness, gentle, curious—a question that wasn’t waiting until it rolled off your tongue.

“What even brought you to me, Rhett?”

The words aren’t sharp or demanding, but they hold weight—too much softness to be casual, too much honesty to take back. You watch as they settle over him, a faint crease forming between his brows. It’s hesitation, not confusion—like he’s already wrestling with the answer.

He shifts, breath catching as he looks away, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer a better truth. Then he speaks.

“I dunno,” he says quietly, voice rough. “You just looked... lonely.”

It lands awkwardly.

Not cruel, but enough to make you blink slowly, a subtle tightening behind your eyes. You sit up, tugging the shirt you took from him last night off the floor. The fabric’s warm from the sunbeam, smells like him. You pull it over your shoulders, buttoning a few buttons, letting it settle against bare skin.

You don’t answer immediately—just tilt your head, mouth pressing into a line that’s not quite a frown.

He notices.

His face shifts—immediate, sheepish. “Wait, that ain’t what I meant,” he rushes, sitting up, injured arm careful at his side as he struggles with jeans at the foot of the bed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You watch, amused but tender, as he fumbles, cheeks pink, cursing the stubborn fabric.

You don’t stop him. Just lean back, eyes soft, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Not amusement—affection. The kind you don’t hide anymore.

He catches it, breathes out a little laugh through his nose.

“I meant...” His shoulders sag. He runs a hand over his face. “I meant you looked like you kept everything inside. Like maybe no one’s asked what you needed in a long time.”

That lands truer.

You nod once, quiet. “You could’ve just said that.”

He huffs, eyes down, smile crooked. “Yeah. I know.”

You reach for him, brushing your fingers over his knee near yours.

“Why did you really come around, Rhett?” you ask, softer now.

He pauses, lets the question rest between you before looking up, eyes clearer.

“I never planned for us to get here,” he admits quietly. “I was just tryin’ to be your friend.”

Something about the simple truth strikes deep.

Because it was friendship first—quiet visits, slow glances, showing up when no one else did, asking nothing, giving everything.

Your heart tilts.

“Well,” you say softly, eyes locked on his, “you did a damn good job.”

Faint morning light spilled in from between the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the floor. You hadn’t even realized how long you and Rhett had lingered in the bedroom.

Eventually, Rhett moved toward the door, slow and deliberate, as if every inch of his body still remembered the truck wreck from just days ago. His chest and shoulders were bare, the curve of his collarbone still marked faintly where your mouth had rested. He ran a hand through his messy hair, then glanced back at you with a crooked half-smile.

You wore Rhett’s shirt—the one you’d pulled on this morning—unbuttoned low enough that the edge of your bra peeked out. You hadn’t bothered with pants. Something about walking barefoot through his house, carrying the morning light with you, made your chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the shirt.

The two of you moved in quiet sync, like a hush of routine that hadn’t yet been built but already felt natural. Rhett opened the bedroom door carefully, as if the dogs might come barreling through the second he let them loose.

They didn’t.

Instead, they waited just on the other side. Scout let out a sharp bark that made you wince, while Juniper wiggled happily in place, her tail thumping like a steady drumbeat against the wall.

You crouched down to scratch behind Juniper’s ears. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”

Rhett opened the front door, letting in a breeze and a line of sunlight across the floorboards. Juniper launched outside, paws skidding across the porch, happy as ever. Scout hung back a moment longer. He looked from Rhett to you, then back again, a low grumble humming in his throat like a motor just short of growling.

Rhett stepped aside, giving him space. “C’mon, I ain’t gonna bite.”

Scout exhaled sharply, like a person sighing with disappointment, and finally lumbered past him. His shoulder brushed Rhett’s leg as he passed, deliberate.

You watched, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed under your chest. “He’s trying,” you murmured. “In his own grumpy way.”

Rhett shut the door gently. “You think he’ll ever stop hatin’ me?”

You smiled a little, not quite laughing. “He doesn’t hate you. He just… doesn’t trust you yet.”

“That better or worse?” Rhett asked, turning to you with a half-joking edge, though something in his eyes stayed sincere.

You glanced down at the floor, then stepped closer. “Scout’s been like that since…” Your words faltered, unsure if you wanted to go there this morning. You picked at the cuff of Rhett’s shirt. “He learned to be protective. I let him. I needed it.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just waited.

You looked up at him. “But I think… I think he’s starting to realize things are different now.” A breath passed between you. “I’m different now.”

Rhett nodded slowly, his expression quiet. You could tell he wasn’t sure how to move in moments like this—but the way he looked at you said enough.

Your voice dropped, soft and certain. “Hopefully, Scout figures it out soon. ‘Cause I don’t plan on letting you go.”

That got to him. You saw it in the way his shoulders dropped just a little—like the tension he didn’t know he was carrying finally eased. His mouth tugged up, and his hand reached for your hip with a gravity he hadn’t let himself show before. Not fully.

“You sure about that?” he asked, low, voice rough with emotion masked as teasing

You leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Positive."

The morning light drifts softly through the kitchen window, warm and golden as it stretches across the worn tile and scratched wood countertops. The air smells like coffee and a little like last night—something shared and lingering, quiet in the way it hangs between two people who haven’t quite put their armor back on.

You lean against the counter, both hands curled around a coffee mug that’s too big for your grip. Rhett’s shirt still hangs loose on your frame, brushing against your thighs when you shift. Across the kitchen, Rhett is shirtless in his jeans, hair mussed, stubble catching the sunlight, his injured arm still held careful and close to his side.

“You were gonna burn the whole house down,” you say, nodding toward the stove—the scene of last night’s nearly disastrous late-night dinner attempt.

He narrows his eyes, mock-offended. “I would’ve had it under control.”

“You had out a slotted spatula for the noodles.”

“I said I had it under control.”

You lift your coffee to your mouth, trying to hide the grin that’s already breaking through. “You had it under something.”

Whatever he’s pretending to do gets abandoned—he was mostly just watching you sip coffee and breathe in his space anyway. “Alright, that’s it,” he mutters, and starts toward you with that slow, deliberate cowboy stride that makes your stomach flutter.

You squint, suspicious. “What—”

Too late. His good hand finds your waist, fingers pressing just enough to tickle. You yelp and jerk sideways, almost spilling your coffee as you dissolve into laughter.

“Rhett—Rhett, stop!” you gasp, twisting in place, but he’s relentless in that soft, teasing way. His grin widens as you try to bat him away, laugh curling up out of you loud and unguarded.

“You think you can sass a one-armed man and not get payback?”

You try to flee, still laughing, but he catches you again—this time with more steadiness. One arm wrapping gently, the other braced to anchor him close. Then the movement stills.

You’re both breathless. His chest rises and falls close to yours, and suddenly the air between you changes. The laughter fades, not awkwardly—just naturally—replaced by something quieter, something steadier.

His eyes roam your face, still flushed from laughter. You’re still smiling, your hands resting lightly on his bare shoulders. Then, without warning, he lifts you—easy, like it’s muscle memory now—and sets you on the counter. He winces slightly in pain, but hides it well.

Your breath catches. Not from surprise—just from how familiar it feels. His hands rest on the edge beside your legs, not touching, just there. The denim of his jeans brushes your inner thighs where your knees part slightly. Eye-level now.

He looks down, then back up at you, jaw shifting as he swallows. When he speaks, his voice is soft—like the words have been waiting for the right moment to land.

“I really feel somethin’ with you,” he says. “I mean it.”

No rush. No angle. Just a truth laid gently between you.

Your breath steadies, and your gaze doesn’t waver. “I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”

Then his mouth meets yours.

It’s slow. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that feels like an answer to something neither of you dared to ask out loud. His hands stay right where they were—one braced for balance, the other hovering close—while he leans into you like you’re the thing holding him up now.

Your fingers slide into his hair, drawing him in deeper, the kiss swelling between you—not urgent, just full. Of everything unsaid. Everything safe now.

When you part, foreheads meet gently, breath shared between you. He exhales a quiet, almost-laugh. And you stay like that, legs around his hips, hands in his hair, the kitchen quiet but for your breathing.

You don’t say anything else.

You don’t need to.

----

The kitchen is still dim with morning light, filtered soft through the curtains. No rush. No noise. Just the faint hiss and pop of the skillet, the scent of butter warming in the pan. You’re barefoot, wearing only Rhett’s shirt from the night before—soft cotton brushing your thighs, carrying traces of him: smoke, skin, and something warmer beneath it.

Rhett stands beside you, shirtless, jeans slung low on his hips. A fresh bandage wraps around the bruised stretch of his ribs. He’s trying to crack eggs one-handed, muttering when one slips and shatters against the counter.

You smother a laugh, reaching for a towel. “You’re gonna make more mess than breakfast.”

He turns toward you, smirking. His eyes are still heavy from sleep, but softened by something else—something that stayed with him from the night before. “That’s why you’re here, right? Keep me from starvin’.”

“You’re lucky I know how to make grits.”

Rhett leans a hip against the counter, watching you stir them slow in the pot. “Lucky ain’t the word I’d use.”

The banter hums low between you—familiar, effortless now. The night clings to your skin, not just the way he touched you, but the way he looked at you after—like he didn’t want to look anywhere else.

You butter the toast, finish the grits. He flips the bacon with a spatula, still working clumsily, still refusing help. You could take over, sure. But you don’t. You’ve learned he’s proud. And you’ve come to like that about him.

“Your mom really burn toast that bad?” you ask, half-teasing.

Rhett chuckles, shaking his head. “Every time. Grew up thinkin’ blackened was a flavor.”

You grin, genuinely. “My mom used to forget it entirely. We’d find it in the oven hours later, cold as stone.”

That gets a full laugh out of him. He glances sideways at you. “Guess we’re lucky we survived childhood.”

There’s a lull as you plate everything side by side. The air smells like salt and butter and something sweeter beneath it—maybe comfort. Maybe home.

You sit at the small table, legs brushing beneath it. You eat quietly for a few minutes, letting the warmth settle around you. Then Rhett sets his fork down and nods toward the open back door, where sunlight spills across the porch and the fields beyond.

You slide the toast onto a plate, glance out the kitchen window. Juniper’s in the yard, chasing a butterfly. Scout watches from the steps, still alert, but settled.

Rhett leans back against the counter, biting into a strip of bacon. His eyes track past the dogs, toward the open space beyond the fence. “You ever think about raisin’ a kid out here? On land like this? Or would you rather raise one in the city?”

You pause, surprised by the question. “Sometimes. I mean… it’s quiet. Simple. But it’s a lot of work. And I don’t know if I’d want to do it alone.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. I used to think about it. Still do. But sometimes I wonder if it’d be better to take ’em somewhere else. Give ’em more. You know—options. People.”

You stir the last of the grits, thinking. “I get that. There’s a part of me that wants that, too. But this place... there’s something about it. It settles me. It feels like home.”

Rhett looks at you, gaze steady. “Maybe that’s what matters most.”

You reach for your coffee. It’s gone cold, but you sip it anyway.

He watches you. “What?”

You smile, just a little. “Nothing. Just didn’t expect this morning to feel so… easy.”

“Easy’s good,” he says.

“Yeah.” You glance at him, voice softer. “It is.”

The dogs bark faintly outside, chasing something invisible in the tall grass. But inside, everything is slow and still. The quiet isn’t awkward anymore. The warmth between you isn’t hesitant.

It’s beginning to feel like something you could live with.

The sun climbs higher, casting the ranch in a warm, steady glow as the two of you move through the morning chores. Rhett favors his injured side—his steps careful, measured. The way he shifts his weight tells you the ache is still there, deep beneath the surface. You walk beside him, steady and close, passing tools and nails as he needs them, your fingers brushing briefly when they meet.

The fence line stretches out ahead, worn and weathered, the rhythm of work filling the quiet. Rhett’s hammer strikes uneven, frustration simmering beneath his silence. You see it in the tight set of his jaw, the way his brow furrows when a nail bends instead of driving clean.

After a few more slow, clumsy hits, he mutters, “Feels like I’m just gettin’ in the way. Can’t do much right now.”

You stop. He doesn’t look at you—just stares out toward the field like maybe the grass has answers he can’t find.

Without a word, you step in close, your arms sliding gently around his waist, careful of the sore ribs. Your cheek settles against his back, soft and warm just below his shoulder blade.

For a long moment, you stand there like that. His breath slows, and your fingers find his at his side, curling gently around them.

“You’re not useless,” you say softly. “Not to me. Not here.”

He exhales—slow, quiet. The tension in his shoulders loosens by degrees. A small, almost shy smile tugs at his mouth as he leans back into you, his weight shifting toward your arms.

The quiet between you isn’t empty—it hums with something real. Then you nudge him lightly with your hip, breaking the stillness.

He turns, eyes catching yours, brighter now. “Don’t think I’m lettin’ you off easy,” he teases, fingers looping gently around your wrist.

You laugh, light and easy, and he pulls you just a little closer. The world around you—wind in the grass, distant barks from the dogs—fades to a soft hum.

Then Scout appears.

The growl is low, almost instinctive, as he steps forward, hackles raised. You feel the shift immediately. Careful, calm, you step between Rhett and the dog, your hand reaching back to find his. Fingers intertwine—solid, steady.

“Hey, Scout,” you say, voice gentle but firm. “He’s okay. You’re safe."

The growl fades, but wariness lingers in Scout’s eyes, locked on Rhett with sharp caution. You squeeze Rhett’s hand, and when your eyes meet his, there’s something shared there—quiet understanding. This is just the beginning. Of trust. Of healing. Of whatever comes next.

Later, as the sun dips behind the hills, you step onto Rhett’s porch. The light turns golden, soft and low, washing everything in honey. Juniper curls up at your feet, resting her head against your knee, tail thumping gently. Scout paces near the door, ears twitching, still on edge despite the stillness of the evening.

You scratch behind Juniper’s ears, your gaze tracking Scout’s uneasy movements. “Maybe one night was enough for them,” you murmur—not a complaint, just a truth.

Behind you, Rhett steps close, his presence quiet and grounding. He reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a touch so tender it makes your breath catch.

“Was a good night, though,” he says, voice low and full of meaning.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek, your fingers brushing his arm before you move to gather the leashes. Everything is unhurried. Measured. As if the day permitted you to slow down.

The drive home is peaceful. The sky fades from gold to deepening pink and lavender. Juniper leans against you, breathing evenly. Scout settles too—watchful, but not braced. As if even he’s beginning to trust the rhythm of this.

Back inside, the house feels calm. Familiar. You settle the dogs, run your hand through their fur, and let the day replay behind your eyes—Rhett’s smile, the weight of his hand on yours, the softness in his voice when he looked at you like you mattered.

The warmth it leaves behind is quiet and steady. A kind of promise.

It’s just past eight when your phone buzzes, a single vibration against the coffee table.

You glance over from the couch, curled up in an old sweatshirt and threadbare pajama shorts, legs tucked beneath you. Scout stands near the door like a sentinel; Juniper snores softly at your feet.

Rhett’s name glows on the screen.

Your chest tightens—not in panic, but something gentler.

You swipe to answer. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Rhett replies, voice soft. “You busy?”

“Not really. Just winding down. Dogs are finally quiet.”

You hear him breathe a low laugh. “That sounds nice.”

There’s a faint rustle on his end—kitchen chair maybe, or the edge of a comforter. You picture him where he is, the way he probably looks—undone from the day, thoughtful.

“I was lookin’ at the truck earlier,” he says. “Still won’t drive right. Think that wreck shook more than just my ribs.”

You smile. “I’m surprised it still runs at all.”

“Same. I been stubborn. Kept thinkin’ I could just coax it along. But… it’s probably time. Thought I’d head into town tomorrow. Look at some used ones.”

You pull the blanket tighter around you. “You gonna let me weigh in?”

“Oh, definitely,” he says, mock serious. “You’ve got opinions. And I’d rather not buy something that dies halfway down the road.”

You grin. “I accept the challenge.”

There’s a pause—easy, unhurried. Full of things not yet said.

“So,” he says, voice dipping lower, “we on for town tomorrow?”

You nod, though he can’t see it. “Yeah. We’re on.”

“Okay, baby girl,” he says, soft and slow, like it slips out before he can think twice.

Your heart flutters. Not fast. Just full.

“Goodnight, Rhett.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.”

The call ends.

You sit there a moment, phone still in your hand, lips parted like maybe you want to call him back. Just to hear it again.

Instead, you press the screen to your chest and let yourself breathe. Long and slow.

You’re not dreaming.

But God, it still feels like you might be.

more of my writings here

[sithdaya]

me re-reading the hunger games after finishing sunrise on the reaping. And then also re-watching the movies

the most fun a girl can have is finding parallels, noticing patterns, making connections, contemplating

[sithdaya]

this is gorgeous!! i would totally buy a print asap

‘you put that cig out, you can hold her’

[sithdaya]

‘you put that cig out, you can hold her’

[sithdaya]

WICKED PART 2 TRAILER TODAYYYY

[sithdaya]

every time he wears glasses, i faint

[sithdaya]

i love him sm!! :')

MY BOYYYY AAGGGHHHH

[sithdaya]

art :(

CHALLENGERS (2024) Dir. Luca Guadagnino

[sithdaya]

“oh yeah my weekend was crazy”

my weekend:

[sithdaya]

thunderbolts as a concept is hilarious to me lmfao like imagine your DAD is a part of your friend group

[sithdaya]

The Simba love chronicles continue

[sithdaya]

Joaquin's down! I'm goin' after him! We'll send search and rescue. You have to stop Jackal. Damn it!

[sithdaya]

Ayo trying—and failing—to get the guys to do a TikTok dance.