Natural Disaster

by Erin McLellan

Luke hadn’t moved. He was standing where Guthrie had left him, at least twenty steps from his camera. Luke tipped his head back, his face raised to the sky. He touched the top of his head, right where Guthrie’s fingers had landed.

  Chapter Six

  It had been a week since there was bad weather, and Luke had never cursed the sunshine more. He’d moved to Oklahoma for the storm-chasing opportunity with KTTY. If they didn’t need him to chase storms, he worried they wouldn’t want him at all.

  He could have easily picked up with a storm-chasing outfit that traveled the whole Midwest, pursuing every hint of a cloud, rather than nesting down in a job that only covered weather affecting Oklahoma. He’d had offers from a tornado-chasing tour company in Texas and an outfit out of South Dakota that had been optioned for a reality show on some random cable channel.

  Instead, he’d chosen KTTY because he wanted the nest. He wanted an apartment that he didn’t have to pay month-to-month. He wanted to live somewhere he could afford in the off-season, a home base. He wanted a support system and friends and stability. Maybe it was a load of bullshit, but KTTY had sold him on their family atmosphere. They’d given him hope that he could make a home here.

  Bad weather also brought with it another chance to see Guthrie Gale. Brad had them scheduled to film a video tomorrow, but Luke wished he could see Guthrie on his own terms.

  Luke leaned toward his computer screen. He should go out, meet people, do something, anything, besides pore over the images he’d scored last week. He pulled up the last photo of Guthrie on the Skydance Bridge. In it, Guthrie was bent over the side of the bridge, his forearms holding his weight on the low wall, a green apple dangling from his fingertips. His back was a perfect slope to his ass, his hair shiny and wild from the rain. The lightning had split into several tendrils on either side of the bridge, framing Guthrie perfectly.

  When Guthrie had walked into his shot, Luke hadn’t had the heart to tell him to move. He’d looked so… irrationally gorgeous. So alone and vulnerable and sleepy. It had been dishonest to let Guthrie believe he wasn’t in the frame, but Luke couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty. Not when the lie had led to arguably the most fantastic photo of his career.

  A photo Luke couldn’t imagine ever selling, even if he had Guthrie’s permission.

  Instead of zooming in on Guthrie’s face or obsessing over every inch of the infuriating man or imagining the soft spark of his fingers on the top of Luke’s head, Luke navigated to the handful of photos he’d captured without Guthrie in the shot. He edited the best of them and tossed them up on his website. He hoped he’d be able to sell them within the week.

  The next day, after his early morning fitness class, Luke took a shower, put on his favorite jeans and a KTTY T-shirt, and let his hair air-dry. Normally, he’d put his hair up. He hated when it fell in his face, and it got curly in the humidity, but Guthrie had touched his hair last week. So Luke left it down, because he wanted to see Guthrie’s reaction. He wanted to bait him.

  One of these days, Luke was going to have to confront his weird attraction to his partner. Today was not that day.

  Luke arrived at the station thirty minutes early. Guthrie was waiting for him, his face a mask of disinterest.

  “Hi. How are you?” Luke said, his voice coming out rough.

  “Fine.”

  The clipped word spread through Luke’s gut, making him angry. “What has your boxers in a bunch today?”

  “I don’t wear boxers.”

  Luke snorted. “It’s an expression.”

  “Either way, we should not talk about our underwear when we’re at work.”

  “What about when we’re not at work?” Luke asked, then wished he hadn’t.

  Yes, he thought Guthrie was hot. Yes, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop hearing his aching voice say, “Gosh, I’m glad that turned out okay,” after the old man had been rescued. But that didn’t mean Luke wanted to hook up with a new coworker.

  Especially one as prickly as Guthrie Gale.

  Guthrie’s body seemed to coil tight at Luke’s words, like he was preparing to strike. Brad breezed into the room, stopping their showdown.

  “Hey, my dudes! Can you believe the response to your interview? It has the highest number of hits of any KTTY online exclusive ever. And yeah, a lot of them are because some websites wrote thirsty features on y’all, but the big boss said we should milk it for all it’s worth. Hope you don’t mind.” Brad said all of this without taking a breath.

  Luke watched Guthrie’s face through Brad’s speech. It was easy to spot how much Guthrie hated this whole thing.

  “What’s the video today? Another interview?” Luke asked.

  “Nah, I was thinking we’d do a short fun video. I brought the stuff to do either a Newlyweds-type game or—”

  “No!” Both Luke and Guthrie spoke at once, and Brad recoiled slightly.

  “Sorry,” Luke said. “Guthrie and I don’t know each other nearly well enough. We’ve only spent one day together. We’d be shooting in the dark, and it wouldn’t be cute.”

  “Hmm.” Brad tapped his cheek with a finger. He was baby-faced and enthusiastic. Luke liked the guy, but there was no way he was going to play into the romantic chemistry angle between him and Guthrie. There was already enough speculation about them after the first video. “Yeah, let’s save that one for later in tornado season. I have questions for Would You Rather, too.”

  “Seriously?” Guthrie said, his country twang almost disappearing as he snapped every syllable. “Clickbait. I have real work I could be doing right now.”

  Luke happened to agree with Guthrie, but he wouldn’t have put it so harshly.

  A feminine cough sounded behind them. Debbie Debarr stood in the doorway.

  “I gave this the green light, Guthrie. We got a lot of positive response from your first interview, unorthodox as it was. We’re on board with anything that brings in more clicks, and subsequently, ad revenue. As you well know.”

  Guthrie immediately deflated. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Debbie smiled. She was a shark, and Luke appreciated people who rose to the top by being competent and ruthless. But he hated that it was at Guthrie’s expense. There were some weird vibes between the two of them that made Luke think she was holding something over Guthrie’s head.

  Debbie departed with a smile and wave. Brad grimaced. “I’m sorry, guys. I know this might not be ideal, but it would help me out if you’d get on board. I promise not every feature will be silly. Once you see some action in the field, we’ll cover that. Okay?”

  Guthrie didn’t respond, so Luke said, “Sounds good, Brad. We’re going to hold you to that.”

  Brad set them up, sitting them on tall stools in front of the green screen. As he adjusted the sound and lighting, Guthrie abruptly faced Luke. “You look different with your hair down.”

  “Like a beach rat?”

  Guthrie shrugged. “Yeah, but it suits you. Nothin’ wrong with beach rats.”

  “Unless they want to be storm chasers?”

  A small smile flickered across Guthrie’s face. “Anyone who wants to be a storm chaser has at least a little something wrong with ’em. Goes with the territory, don’t you think?”

  “No.” Luke had met a bunch of extreme chasers who might resemble that statement, and God knew that Guthrie had one as a father. But most of the people Luke had worked with weren’t in it only for the adrenaline or the chase. Luke enjoyed that bit, but it wasn’t his motivation at all.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” Guthrie said. “Why do want to be a storm chaser, then?”

  “Hey guys,” Brad said, snapping them both out of their bubble. “Let’s save it for when the camera is rolling.”

  Luke scrubbed a hand through his hair. Being around Guthrie made it easy to forget anyone else in the world existed, even someone standing five feet away.

  Brad handed over a stack of cards with questions on each, and Luke laughed at his top one.
Once Brad counted them in, Luke jumped to get the first say. “Guthrie, would you rather the storm-chasing truck have no FM radio or no air-conditioning?”

  Guthrie smiled. “No FM radio for sure. I prefer to smell sweet as a peach, and Oklahoma is hot. We’d be sweaty within minutes without AC. It’d stink.”

  Luke took a deep breath and told himself not to gaze at Guthrie. That had been one of the reasons the last video had made such waves—the way they’d made eyes at each other the whole time. It was hard not to stare when all Luke wanted to do was imagine Guthrie dripping in sweat.

  “Your turn,” Guthrie said, a smirk marring his pretty mouth. “Would you rather cut off your man bun or dye your hair bleach blond?”

  “Really? The first question is about my hair?”

  Guthrie lifted his shoulders innocently.

  Luke laughed. “Cut it off. I’ve done the blond thing and it was bad.” He’d gone through a bit of a phase in high school, changing his hair color every week. Nothing looked good on him but his regular, boring brown.

  “I bet blond looks fine,” Guthrie said with an eye roll.

  Luke shut down his pleased smile and flipped to the next card. “Would you rather be caught in a snowstorm or a sandstorm?”

  “Snow.”

  “But you could freeze to death. Hypothermia. Wouldn’t snow be more dangerous?”

  Guthrie wrinkled his nose. “But dust is so… messy. It gets everywhere.”

  “Oh my gosh. Okay. God forbid.”

  “Wait,” Guthrie said. “Would I be stuck outside or inside during the snow or dust storm? Would I be in a vehicle? What are the parameters?”

  They both glanced to Brad for the answer. He laughed and shrugged.

  Luke grinned and spoke to the camera. “Guthrie would be fine in any of those scenarios because he’s a super planner who is concerned about safety at all times. He packed the best emergency kit I’ve ever seen the other day when we were storm chasing. All I’d thought to bring was lip balm.”

  A soft blush spread up Guthrie’s cheeks. He shook his head with a small smile, then glanced down at the paper in his hand and burst out laughing. “I think this one is making fun of me. Luke, would you rather your storm-chasing name be Wendy Twister or Gus Tea?”

  “Wendy Twister for sure. Then we’d be Guthrie Gale and Wendy Twister—superhero storm chasers.”

  “You’d be Robin to my Batman,” Guthrie said, a sly gleam in his eye.

  “Gladly. Guthrie Gale is an awesome storm chaser name. Wish mine was cool.”

  “Pretty sure that wasn’t why my mom picked it.”

  “Do you know why she picked it?”

  “Gale is her last name, so I inherited that. And her favorite song is ‘Pretty Boy Floyd’ by Woody Guthrie. I was either going to be Woody Gale or Guthrie Gale.”

  “You have the most Oklahoman name ever.”

  “That’s true. What about you, hotshot? Where does the name Luke Masters come from? It sounds like a name for an intrepid PI or an undercover agent.”

  Luke’s smile froze on his face. He didn’t know his parents, so he didn’t know where his name came from. All he knew was that they’d died in a car accident when he was a toddler, and he had no other family to speak of.

  Guthrie must have read his reaction because he immediately said, “Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s your turn to ask a question.”

  Luke swallowed around the lump in his throat. He was flustered. He read the question on the next card silently. It asked which of three celebrities Guthrie would choose to “bed, wed, or shed,” but all the celebrities were women. Either Brad didn’t know that Guthrie was gay or he’d written a question that would force Guthrie to disregard that fact. Luke flipped to the next question. “Would you rather listen to Seth Nguyen do the nightly weather in pig Latin or after sucking a bunch of helium?”

  “Well, neither, because it is important for the safety of our viewers for them to be able to understand him and be forewarned.” Luke tried not to roll his eyes at such a boring, staid answer, but then Guthrie rambled right on through the rote response. “But if I had to choose… helium. For sure. Everything is funnier in that helium voice.”

  Luke smiled, the tension slowly seeping from his muscles. “I’d choose helium too. Seth’s voice is so deep. It’d be awesome to hear it squeaky.”

  Guthrie shuffled his next card to the top with a flourish. “Luke, would you rather wear one of Seth Nguyen’s lucky bolo ties for the rest of storm season or Guthrie’s cowboy hat?”

  “Talking in third person now?” Luke asked.

  “Hey, I’m just reading the card.”

  “Well, as much as I’d love for Guthrie to give me his cowboy hat, I—”

  “I’d have to teach you cowboy hat etiquette.”

  “You’d actually let me wear your hat?” Luke asked, which made Guthrie’s cheeks go from petal soft pink to tomato red.

  “I didn’t write the question! And Seth’s bolo ties are lucky for a reason. What if wearing one messed up the good luck?”

  “So you’re answering my question for me.”

  “It’s for the good of Oklahoma, Luke. You have to choose my cowboy hat.” Guthrie’s eyes were bright with humor, almost like he’d forgotten their shared animosity. And like he’d forgotten they were on camera. Luke had seen that same gleam when Guthrie had touched him after the lightning strike.

  “If you insist,” Luke said, his voice oddly breathless.

  Guthrie shook his head slightly. Luke realized they’d been leaning toward each other. He scooted back on his stool.

  Brad’s smile was a mile wide.

  “Last question,” Luke said, making an executive decision. Surely Brad had enough material to edit this into something vapid and clickbaity. “Would you rather storm chase in an armored Hummer or the sports car of your dreams?”

  “Hummer. Hands down.”

  “Really?”

  “Why let a storm beat up a perfectly good sports car? Storm-chasing vehicles get totally trashed by Mother Nature.”

  “That old hag.”

  Guthrie laughed, his whole face transforming. “True. I’m not really into sports cars, so I don’t have a dream one to be tempted by.”

  Luke was unsurprised by that. Guthrie liked things that were steady and safe. Flashy fast cars didn’t fit the bill.

  “I’d choose the sports car,” Luke said.

  “Why?”

  “Lower profile.”

  “A sports car is not a low profile vehicle, Luke.”

  Fizzy happiness bubbled in Luke’s stomach. He loved when Guthrie said his name all snotty like that. Mixed with his distinct twang, it was such a weird mix of hard and soft, clipped and drawn out. “No, I mean literally. It’s lower to the ground. Wouldn’t be buffeted by the wind. And how cool would we look chasing in a blue Bugatti Chiron?”

  “Oh, I’d be in your ego machine with you?”

  “Of course you would be. We’re partners.”

  Guthrie’s green eyes widened. “Right.”

  Silence thundered through the studio. Luke wished he could swallow those words back. He needed to get a handle on his runaway mouth, stat.

  Chapter Seven

  After Brad wrapped up the “Would You Rather” video, Guthrie headed to his desk. Luke followed him.

  Guthrie felt like a can of pop that was about to burst. He hated these videos. They were fun because he reluctantly thought spending time with Luke was fun, but they were also a joke. If Debbie hadn’t shown up and not so discreetly reminded him of the station’s precarious financial situation, he’d have thrown a hissy and left.

  Luke fell into the extra seat in Guthrie’s office space, and Guthrie spun in his chair to face him.

  “I’m sorry I asked about your name. You seemed shaken by it,” Guthrie said.

  “It’s my fault that I got weird.”

  “Brad will edit that out, so don’t worry about it.”

  Luke scratched the back of
his neck. He took up way too much room in Guthrie’s tiny cubicle. Or maybe too much emotional bandwidth in Guthrie’s mind.

  “My parents died when I was a toddler. I grew up in foster care,” Luke said. “I have no idea where my name came from.”

  “Oh shit. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s cool.”

  “No. It’s not. That’s why these videos are awful. They’re too personal.”

  “I know, right? That question I skipped was basically a Fuck, Marry, Kill question with women celebrities.”

  Guthrie leaned back in his chair, happy to let Luke change the subject. “Thanks for skipping it. Not that I couldn’t have answered. While I’d never want to say I’d kill one of them, I can appreciate women celebrities.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Sure. If any of them sing or dance, I’d marry. Easy-peasy.”

  “But the real question is whether you’d let any of them wear your cowboy hat.”

  “Never.”

  Luke laughed and relaxed in his seat. “You have messages.” He nodded to the desk phone behind Guthrie.

  Guthrie never used that phone. He turned and stared at the blinking red light. “That’s weird.”

  He picked up the receiver and entered his password to listen to the voicemails. He had five.

  A voice he hadn’t heard in four years assaulted him. “Son, I see that piss-poor job of yours—”

  Guthrie slammed his finger down on the Delete button.

  Luke sat up. “Are you okay?”

  Guthrie nodded. The next message started similarly. He deleted it as well. “Shit.”

  The third voicemail was a different voice. Not Slim Bridges. “Hi, Guthrie. This is Mark D’Amico with Whozits Productions. I’m the executive producer for your father’s television show. We’d like to have you on the show, possibly in a recurring guest spot. We’ve already contacted your place of employment to—”

  “Shit on a stick.” Guthrie jabbed the Delete button.

  The next two messages were also from Slim. He actually listened to the totality of the last one, his stomach churning.

  “Guthrie, I don’t appreciate being ignored, and I’ll keep calling until you come to your senses and agree to make an appearance on Into the Storm with Slim Bridges. Now that your piddly little video is making the rounds, my producer thinks you’d help our ratings. We plan to ask your partner to be on the show, too, by the way. I’m sure our offer will be better than whatever crap contract KTTY has him snowed under. Next time I call, I expect you to answer.”