Trust. That was what Luke had asked of Guthrie last night. It obviously wasn’t easy for Guthrie to give. Luke didn’t want to hurt Guthrie or cause a bunch of drama between them. But they couldn’t exactly go back and pretend last night hadn’t happened.
“What’s the most important thing to you?” Luke asked. “When it comes to us?”
“Getting to know you. I don’t want that to stop. For any reason.”
“Deal. We’ll keep getting to know each other. See, that was easy.”
A group of boys ran into the green space beside their bench, tossing a football around. They were all wearing matching red T-shirts and drew Luke and Guthrie’s attention.
“Boys’ home,” Luke said, nodding toward the preteens and teenagers.
“How can you tell?”
“Experience. I was in a boys’ home after the Lakes didn’t adopt me. Was there until I aged out.”
“Nine seems young to be permanently in a boys’ home. They’re all older,” Guthrie said of the boys in red shirts.
“I’m not sure what the norm is, but I was the youngest in mine for a long time.”
“Why didn’t you ever end up back in a foster home?”
Luke pulled his gaze away from the group and smiled wryly. Guthrie had said he wanted to get to know Luke. Well, here was some of the deepest buried shit.
“Bad behavior. I’d act up until they moved me back to the boys’ home. They stopped trying after a while. I didn’t want another family to blindside me. Didn’t want to need anyone. Didn’t think I needed family or friends or connections.”
“Self-preservation.”
“Yes, but I’m an adult now. I don’t want to be that scared kid anymore. I want connections. I want to be part of a team, a family. To have a partner.” They stared at each other for a loaded beat.
“What are you trying to say, Luke?”
“I liked what we did last night. I’d be interested in doing it again. But the most important thing to me is that we’re partners, through thick and thin, no matter what.”
“Chase partners?” Guthrie asked.
“Yes. If hooking up makes you uncomfortable or anxious, if you think that it would ruin things between us, then I don’t want to hook up. Being friends and partners is more important to me than getting my rocks off.”
Saying that hurt, not because it was false, but because what they’d done the night before had felt like a lot more than a random screw. Luke could imagine the storm clouds of his life clearing and Guthrie standing on the other side. But Luke was also scared. He’d been hurt so many times before.
Guthrie’s breath was coming fast. “That’s what we should do, then. Chase partners. Friends.”
Luke glanced back over at the boys and their chaperones. “It leaves a scar,” he said.
“What does?”
“Going through what I went through as a kid. My biggest fear is having that rug ripped out from underneath me again. Being abandoned. Whatever I have to do to keep this partnership healthy, I will do, because I don’t want to lose you. Even if it means I don’t get to kiss you again, sad as that will be. I don’t know if I’m making sense, but—”
Guthrie gripped Luke’s knee, stopping his onslaught. “I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to fuck this up either. I care about you. Which is a right miracle. You drove me insane at first.”
Luke laughed weakly, thankful that Guthrie had broken the angsty ice.
They finished their iced teas, and Luke took some pictures of the dragon boating event, the long boats full of paddlers and drummers in brightly colored life jackets, the muddy Oklahoma River reflecting the sparkle of the sun. The festival bustled around them. Luke was happy to soak it all in, to let the cheerful energy douse the worry that he and Guthrie were making a huge mistake.
Next, they manned the KTTY booth, which amounted to handing out stickers and candy to kids. A handsome older black man approached them. When Guthrie saw the man, he sprang forward for a hug.
Guthrie gestured to Luke. “Alton, this is my storm-chasing partner, Luke Masters. Luke, this is one of my first mentors, Alton Ray. Alton is a host for Oklahoma News Nightly on Oklahoma public radio.”
“Nice to meet you,” Luke said, shaking Alton’s hand.
“You too.” Alton’s voice was vibrant, resonant, and emotive. Perfect for radio.
They chitchatted for a while before Alton said, “So what’s the deal with this storm-chasing business, Guthrie?”
Guthrie’s smile faded slightly, and he glanced guiltily at Luke. “It’s not been too bad.”
Alton clicked his tongue. “One of these days, I’m gonna poach you. Let you report on things that interest you. The voices of Oklahoma—the real voices, not the ones privileged by your big media company.”
“Keep it down, Al. We’re at that big media company’s booth.”
“I ain’t afraid of Debbie Debarr.”
“Oh yeah? Are you going to tell her that? You’d end up sleeping on the couch,” Guthrie said, which caused Alton to burst out laughing.
“I’ve always liked your sass, kid,” Alton said.
Luke was lost. “I don’t get it.”
Guthrie smiled, his real smile. “Alton and Debbie cohabitate.”
Alton lightly slapped Guthrie’s chest with the back of his hand. “Debbie and I are together. Have been for ten years.”
“Oh. That’s….” Luke didn’t know what to say. “Cozy. Nice, I mean. Debbie’s nice.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from spewing more weirdness.
Thankfully, Luke and Guthrie’s replacements showed up then, which meant it was time for Guthrie do his interview. Alton shook Luke’s hand in goodbye and gave Guthrie another hug.
As Alton pulled away from Guthrie, he said, “I’m serious, you know?”
Guthrie’s lips curled at the edges. “I know. Thank you.”
Luke and Guthrie made their way to one of the boathouses to get footage of the Native Youth Crew Club and interview the coach. A photographer named Hannah ran the camera for Guthrie.
It was great to see Guthrie in action. He was in his element during the interview with the coach, Joan Joseph—a tall, athletic woman with warm, tan skin and long, straight black hair. Guthrie’s rapport with her was mesmerizing. The interview veered from sporting specifics, to laughter and camaraderie, to serious as she discussed the importance of Native youth programs.
Luke pushed away the niggle in his brain telling him that this was the type of stuff Guthrie should have been doing, not traipsing around in stormy weather. Alton’s earlier comments drove it home, though.
After the interview, Luke and Guthrie headed back to the center of the festival together. Brad was waiting to interview them at Toto, which was on display. He was practically vibrating.
“What’s the bee in your bonnet today?” Guthrie asked him. Luke loved Guthrie’s weird little colloquialisms.
“You guys have a fansite.” Brad held up his tablet. The front photo made Luke’s stomach swoop.
Guthrie snatched the tablet out of Brad’s hands. “Who took this photo?”
“It was pulled off of a tornado-chasing tourism Facebook page. A tourist probably snapped it. There were pictures of Slim and his crew, too, like y’all were the attraction.”
“Jesus Christ,” Guthrie spit out. Luke pulled the tablet out of Guthrie’s hands so he could see.
The photo was from when they’d been standing at the fence near Rose Rock Ranch. The image showed Guthrie smoothing Luke’s hair back, right before he’d situated his hat onto Luke’s head.
That moment had felt possessive at the time and looked it too. Intimate and tender. It hurt to see it now, in the aftermath of their decision not to pursue the growing feelings between them.
It hurt a lot.
“You guys are storm chaser heartthrobs,” Brad said.
“Simmer down, Brad. Let’s get this over with,” Guthrie said. Luke handed the tab
let back, but memorized the web address first. He wanted to stare at that picture later.
They filmed their interview quickly, standing in front of Toto. It was all very straightforward and informative. No flirting. Maybe it would bore their fans into indifference.
Afterward, when they were alone, Luke said, “That photo was something else.”
“We’ve got to be more careful. I can’t go lending you a helping hand every time you need it. People get ideas.”
Luke stepped closer to Guthrie and dropped his voice. “If you ever change your mind about that helping hand, you let me know. Okay, cowboy?”
“Sure thing, hotshot.”
They both smiled, back to banter and lightness. Luke was relieved. “You done for the day? Want to get a beer? I owe you one.”
Guthrie faltered slightly. “Rain check. I’ll see you in a few days, Luke.”
“Oh. Sure. See you.”
Luke watched Guthrie walk away from him.
Chapter Thirteen
April drifted into May on a wall of rain. Guthrie couldn’t remember a rainier April, and May was shaping up to be the same. The constant splatters of raindrops against the windows of the newsroom lulled him into a sleepy daze until he got a text message from Luke.
Luke: Rock climbing tonight?
Guthrie smiled stupidly at his phone. Luke had discovered the rock climbing gym in the old silos near downtown two weeks ago. Johanna normally went with him.
Guthrie: Couldn’t pay me enough.
Luke: Come on. I’m dying to see you in a harness.
Heat bloomed on Guthrie’s cheeks, and desire rushed through him at the double entendre. They flirted a lot—couldn’t seem to stop it—but they hadn’t gone any further than banter since that first night. That had been weeks ago. The longing was killing him.
Guthrie: Keep dreaming.
Luke: I will.
Guthrie laughed and put his phone away.
He and Luke had been out chasing at least once a week since that night, but very few of the storms they’d been assigned to had produced tornadoes. A week after their close encounter, they’d followed an EF2 for about five miles before it petered out. It’d hit a storage facility, destroying countless customers’ self-storage units. No injuries, though. And no sex afterward.
Johanna, on the other hand, had been having a kick-ass season. She’d been spotlighted by The New York Times last week after administering first aid to a woman who’d been caught unawares in her mobile home during a small midmorning tornado northeast of Shawnee. It’d taken the limelight off Guthrie and Luke, giving Brad a new storm chaser on whom to focus. Thank God.
The New York Times had made a big deal out of the fact that Johanna was a woman, as was her chase partner, Dee. There weren’t a ton of women in storm chasing. But KTTY had a lot on the weather team, most of them in positions of authority, power, or seniority. Seth Nguyen had built up a department that was diverse, strong, and welcoming. It was special. No wonder Luke had stars in his eyes about working for KTTY. Guthrie wished he could be as excited.
Guthrie leaned back in his desk chair and closed his eyes. He’d had a hectic few days, starting with one of the morning anchors getting severe poison ivy. He’d had to fill in. It had been thrilling and exhausting. The week was only going to get more overwhelming. They had a cluster of three days in which severe and possibly tornadic weather was forecast. If he had to continue filling in for the sick anchor and storm chase, he’d be the definition of underpaid and sleep deprived.
The possibility of a three-day weather event dramatically increased the number of chasers that were likely to be on the road. Crews would be more willing to come from out of state if they had three days on which to hedge their bets.
His phone dinged. He flipped it back over, a lovesick smile already forming, only to realize it wasn’t Luke. It was his friend, Brick.
Brick: Get ready. Oklahoma here I come.
Two days later, Guthrie and Luke wrapped up a humdrum chase. Nothing but hours and hours on end together without a single wisp of a funnel. Guthrie almost felt guilty for enjoying it as much as he did. They’d basically road-tripped to the middle of nowhere, then flirted for seven hours.
On the way back into the city, the sunset in their rearview, Guthrie turned to Luke.
“Want to go out tonight? My friend Brick is in town.”
“Brick the bear?”
Guthrie fake smiled, unhappy that Luke had remembered. “Yup. He wants to meet you.”
“Oh, 4-2, Guthrie Gale. You are gonna lose today,” Luke said in an announcer voice. They’d added the word yup to their wager. Guthrie consistently lost.
“Come dancing. I’ll buy you all the drinks.”
“You going to teach me to two-step?” Luke did a little shimmy in the driver’s seat. His hair was up today. Guthrie wanted to yank it loose and bury his face in it. Dancing was a bad idea.
“Someone will.”
Brick, probably.
“Then yes.”
“We have to swing by my house first. Need to get my hat,” Guthrie said.
Luke grinned like he’d just won the PBR World Finals.
A few hours later, Luke’s grin was no less bright. Rodeo Queen Night at the Saloon was essentially a rainbow version of Coyote Ugly with drag queens impersonating country divas. It was great.
A queen dressed as Reba McEntire was giving Luke his two-stepping lesson. Luke was, of course, a natural.
Brick—burly, hot, and bearded—slapped a hand down on Guthrie’s shoulder. “Bad luck out there today.”
“Maybe for you.” Guthrie hated tornadoes.
“You got lucky?” Brick nodded toward Luke.
“It’s not like that between us.”
“Yeah, and I’m God.”
Guthrie shot Brick a dirty look.
Brick necked his beer bottle and grinned. “I’ve seen your videos. I’ve seen the fansite.”
“Creepy.”
“You have chemistry.”
“We’re friends.”
When they’d had their come-to-Jesus conversation after hooking up, Guthrie had been confused and scared. He’d been left for storm chasing before. It’d felt like he was in for a repeat when Luke had said that the most important thing was for them to keep an amicable working relationship. But now Guthrie understood. Luke needed stability. He needed a friend. A home. A partner. There was an intrinsic part of Luke that had gone without for too long, and it was being nourished.
Luke needed that more than a few nights of sex, and that was usually all Guthrie was good for.
“Well, if you ain’t coupled up, I’m gonna ask him to dance,” Brick said.
Brick swooped onto the dance floor before Guthrie had a chance to respond.
A slower song started. Of course.
Brick pulled a laughing Luke into his arms, holding him way too close. Dick.
They did a shuffling two-step, Brick leading. Luke’s eyes were shiny, his throat slick with sweat. His hair fell in his face, and Brick tucked it behind his ear.
Fire burned through Guthrie at that intimate touch, so hot and quick, it took him a second to realize it was anger. And jealousy.
He didn’t like this at all.
Brick rotated them around. Guthrie could see Brick’s face, but Luke’s back was to him. Brick blew Guthrie a kiss.
This whole night was dumb.
Brick grinned and mouthed, “Come and get him.”
Recklessness hit Guthrie like, well, a brick. Guthrie strode onto the dance floor, spun Luke out of Brick’s arms, and plopped his cowboy hat onto Luke’s head. “My turn.” Brick laughed and hugged them both before disappearing.
“What if my dance card’s full up?” Luke’s smile was bright, his body loose and relaxed. He slung one arm over Guthrie’s shoulder, grabbing Guthrie’s free hand with the other. A new song began.
“Is it?”
“Nope. Oh, this one’s faster than the ones I danced with Miss Reba.”
> “We can go slow.” Guthrie led him into some easy steps.
“No. Teach me fast.”
“Sure thing, thrill seeker.”
By the end of the song, Guthrie had Luke twirling and spinning. They’d even managed a dip. Luke was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
The next song started—another slow one, which was odd, as they’d had a ballad only two songs ago. Guthrie wasn’t letting Luke out of his sight for this one.
One of the bartenders stood up on the bar with the mic. “This song is a special request for a couple of no-good storm chasers. So grab your honeys and hold ’em tight.”
The crowd whooped, and Guthrie and Luke stared at each other, stunned. Guthrie was going to kill Brick.
“Garth Brooks,” Luke said.
“You’re officially an Okie. You can recognize Garth Brooks within two measures.”
Guthrie held Luke tightly. He could feel each one of Luke’s breaths as his chest moved. Heart to heart. Cheek to cheek. It was perfect. Special.
“This song’s about the weather,” Luke said.
Guthrie listened for a few seconds, then gasped. “It’s about fucking during a rainstorm.”
“Oh my God. It is not!” Luke said.
“Listen.” Guthrie swayed Luke to the slow beat.
Luke pulled back. His face held shock and humor and happiness, and Guthrie wanted to bottle this moment. Live in it forever.
Luke smiled. “This song isn’t about fucking during the rain. It’s about wanting to fuck each time it rains. Holy shit.”
They burst out laughing, and Guthrie pressed his forehead into Luke’s shoulder helplessly.
“Brick has our number, doesn’t he?” Luke said in his ear.
“I’d say.” Guthrie didn’t lift his head, and Luke threaded his fingers into the hair at Guthrie’s nape.
“We should go home soon. And separately. Or there will be some ill-advised hanky-panky.”
Hanky-panky. Guthrie loved when Luke tried to talk like a hick. He didn’t want to go home separately but knew they should.
“You look awfully good in my hat,” Guthrie said after straightening up at the end of the song.
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