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　Early morning, the Carter family farm in Sapulpa.

　Beau did not live with his mother at thirty years old. He simply got up early, having to check on the animals, and headed down the street to his childhood home. As the sun rose over the sprawling fields, it would cast a yellowish glow on the farmhouse, and a warmth on the back of his neck. The Carters weren't the only farmers in Sapulpa by far, so he would usually already be able to exchange a few hello's here and there. With a tip of his hat and a polite smile, each of his days began the very same way.

Today was no different.

As Beau stepped out into the crisp morning air, the familiar sights and sounds of Sapulpa greeted him like old friends. The gentle clucking of chickens, the distant moo of a cow, and the rustle of the wind through the trees──it was a symphony of life that he knew by heart.

The early morning sky was a canvas of soft pastels, the sun just beginning its ascent. The farmhouse stood sturdy and proud, its white paint peeling slightly in places.

To Beau, it was perfect anyway. Every corner, every creak in the floorboards, every memory embedded in its walls was a testament to the life they'd built. This was where he spent most of his time──where his heart truly resided. Where he grew up, where on the wall there were marks made with a whittling knife for each centimeter he or his little sister had grown. This was home.

Beau walked up the worn steps to the front porch, pausing for a moment to glance at the wheats. The fields stretched out as far as the eye could see, a patchwork of greens and golds, kissed by the morning dew. He smiled a small smile at old Mr. Reynolds, who was already out in his rocking chair, and received a wave in return. It was a quiet life. Predictable, but there was comfort in that predictability. He had never wished for much more than comfort.

Pushing open the screen door, he was immediately embraced by the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of his mother humming softly in the kitchen. Cathy Carter was as lively as ever, despite the early hour. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and she moved with a grace that belied her age. Beau found her at the stove, flipping pancakes with a practiced hand, her eyes lighting up when she saw him.

"Morning, Ma," Beau said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Mornin', sweetheart," Cathy replied with a softness in her tone. "You're just in time. Breakfast's almost ready."

Beau smiled, taking off his hat and setting it on the table. "Smells great. Need any help?"

Cathy waved him off, her tone teasing. "You know better than to get between me and my pancakes. Besides, I already set the table an' all. You just sit and relax."

"Alright, alright." Beau chuckled, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. "But if you ever need a sous chef, you know where to find me."

The woman was always particular about letting her son in the kitchen. A few years back, the argument that he wouldn't be able to cook for his wife and kids won her over. Now that he had acquired the skills, why would she entertain him any further?

Cathy smiled as she flipped another pancake, the action almost automatic. "I'll keep that in mind, though I ain't sure I need another cook in this kitchen. You're too good at finding reasons to sneak in a little extra butter."

Beau couldn't help the laugh that punched its way out of him, the sound rich and full. He rolled his eyes too, so that she knew she couldn't just pick on him like that.

Mother and son sat down to eat, the conversation flowing easily, touching on the day's work ahead. He was taller than Cathy, but at the aged table he found himself bending his neck in a way that made him appear smaller.

They talked about the animals, the upcoming harvest, and the small repairs needed around the farm. Cathy, ever the optimist, tried to convince Beau to take a break and join the town's social event that weekend, but he deflected with a nod and a promise to think about it.

The dirty-blue plate cried out as Beau's cutlery scraped against it. The pancakes were almost gone now. His mom cleared her throat, and he looked up at her through his lashes.

"Have you heard from Katie lately?" she asked. She tried to sound casual enough, but he could easily pick up on the strain in her voice after all these years. It was an undercurrent of concern, comforting as it implied he wasn't the only one on the edge of walking to New York City on foot to see for himself.

Beau's hand froze on his coffee cup for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to betray his emotions. He set the cup down gently, looking out the window as if the answer might be out there somewhere.

"No," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that matched the flicker of pain in his chest. "Not in a while. Last I heard, she was busy with work."

"She's always busy with work," his mother stated, though he could see her expression softening. "I know she's doing well up there, but I still miss her. It's been too long since she's been home."

Beau ran a hand through his hair with a soft sigh. He pushed the plate away from himself.

"I miss her too, Ma. Every day."

They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them really looking at each other. It had been five years since she left Sapulpa. The tornadoes had nothing to do with Beau or Cathy, truly, but they still managed to tear their family apart. (So what if he decided he hated tornadoes and storm chasers?) For those five years, Beau had tried to push the memories down, bury them beneath layers of duty and routine, but they always found a way to resurface.

"I keep thinking," Beau started in almost a whisper, "if I had been there, maybe... maybe things would have turned out different, y'know? Maybe her friends woulda been okay and she wouldn't've felt the need to leave."

"Beau," Cathy muttered his name and reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on his. "You can't blame you not being there for what happened. And, in the end, Katie made her own choices. She was always stubborn, just like her father."

"She'd hate you sayin' that," he mumbled quietly. The guilt lingered in his chest either way, a constant, gnawing presence. He had been so focused on the farm, on keeping everything together after their father passed, that he hadn't seen how much Katie needed him. And when she turned to storm chasing──something that had always fascinated her but terrified him──he hadn't supported her the way he should have. He had failed to keep her safe. Now she was thousands of miles away, and he was left with the regret of what could have been. "I just want her to be safe," he said.

Cathy squeezed his hand again and her eyes filled with the wisdom of a mother who had seen too much loss.

"She is, Beau. She's strong, just like you. And she knows where home is when she's ready to come back."

Beau nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wanted to believe that, but the fear of losing her──forever──was always there, lurking in the shadows.

His eyes were half-closed when Cathy slammed the table with her open palms and stood up suddenly. Beau startled at that, shuddering. "Ma?"

"What? I just think we've had enough of this heavy talk," she decided, a bright smile on her face. "We've got better things to do than just sit around and mope, don't we? Go chop your poor, real old and real overworked mother some wood, Bobo."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll get right to it," he said as he got up from the table. He stretched, grabbing his hat and heading for the door, but not before pausing to kiss his mother's cheek again. "Thanks, Ma. For everythin'."

Cathy patted his hand, eyes twinkling. "Go on, now. And don't forget to think about that social."

Beau laughed softly, tipping his hat to her as he stepped outside.

"Will do!" he called back, though they both knew he'd likely spend that night the same way he spent most──alone, with his thoughts, surrounded by the quiet of the farm. Just because everyone liked him well enough didn't mean he had to show each time. And lately, he seemed to be stuck waiting by the door or the phone for either person of a certain two.

But for now, there was work to be done, and Beau Carter had always been good at burying his worries in the soil, hoping that one day, something better might grow from them.

The early morning light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The day was shaping up to be a good one──clear skies, mild temperatures, the kind of day that made him grateful for the life he had. The morning was beautiful, but there was a storm brewing inside him, one that he couldn't quite shake. He just hoped, wherever she was, that Katie was looking at the same sun, thinking of home, and knowing how much she was missed.

Beau walked with a steady, purposeful stride toward the woodpile near the edge of the property. As he passed through the yard, he noticed the early stirrings of activity among the neighboring farms.

"Morning, Mrs. Thompson! Need a hand with that?" he called out.

The woman from the farm down the road was struggling with a stubborn gate latch on her fence. Without a second thought, Beau veered off his path and jogged over to her.

The elderly woman looked up, her face lighting up with relief. "Oh, Beau, you're a lifesaver! This darn thing won't budge."

Beau set his hat down on a fence post and took hold of the latch, giving it a firm but controlled tug. It gave way easily under his hands.

"There you go," he said with a smile. "Should be easier now."

"Thank you, dear." Mrs. Thompson squeezed his arm gratefully. "You're always so helpful. I don't know what we'd do without you around here."

"Let's just hope this altruism won't be the death of me." Beau's smile stretched, an oxymoronic blur of pride and humility in his expression.

Mrs. Thompson nodded thoughtfully. "Ain't that right, young man. How's Cathy doing?"

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Beau returned to his woodpile, picking up the heavy ax that leaned against a nearby stump. He set a log on the chopping block, positioning it carefully before drawing the ax high above his head. With a smooth, practiced motion, he brought it down hard, the satisfying crack of splitting wood echoing through the air.

He fell into a steady rhythm, the physical exertion grounding him. Each swing of the ax was precise, purposeful. But as Beau lifted the ax for another swing, a sudden tightness gripped his chest. It was sharp, and unexpected, forcing him to pause. For a moment, he simply stood there, his hand instinctively going to his chest.

"C'mon," Beau muttered under his breath, as if willing the discomfort away. He took a few more deep breaths, waiting for the pain to subside. When it did, he let out a slow exhale, relieved but wary.

He knew what this was──a flare-up, one of many he'd experienced over the years. It wasn't the first time his heart had given him trouble, and it likely wouldn't be the last.

With a determined shake of his head, Beau picked up the axe again. He was fine, he told himself. Just a momentary blip.

The sun was higher now, its warmth settling into his skin, and the familiar rhythm of chopping wood resumed. But in the back of his mind, a small seed of doubt had been planted. He was always the one taking care of everyone else, but who would be there to take care of him if something went wrong? More importantly, would he have the strength to face whatever storms there were when they finally came?

　A few weeks earlier, and in a different part of Oklahoma.

　The highway stretched out like a ribbon of asphalt, disappearing into the Oklahoma sky horizon, and the only sound inside the tricked-out truck was the hum of its grumpy engine. Tyler leaned back in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other comfortably in his lap as he narrated to the camera held by Boone.

"What's up, tornado geeks?" His voice was smooth, full of energy, as if the very idea of an impending twister had ignited something inside him. "We're headed straight into Tornado Alley today, where a big one's supposed to hit. Trust me, you wouldn't wanna miss this."

His truck was a storm chaser's dream──reinforced body, weather instruments bolted to the roof, so on and so on. Tyler's fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel, the beat matching the music playing softly from the truck's speakers. His eyes flicked from the road to the sky and back again, searching for any sign of the storm he knew was coming. He lived for the shiver running down his spine when the skies darkened, and the winds howled. For as long as he could remember, it had been like this──moving from one storm to the next, never settling, always chasing. Nothing could pin him down and, well, wasn't that just admirable?

"Radar's picking up some rotation about fifty miles north," called out Lily.

"Perfect." He grinned. "We'll head that way. Let's see what this beast has in store for us."

Tyler leaned forward, peering through the windshield as if he could make the storm reveal itself sooner. "Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath.

Boone whistled beside him, almost jumping up in their seat. "Looks like StormPAR's in the area too. We might run into them."

"StormPAR?" Tyler's lip curled slightly, the name pulling him out of his head. "Those guys always seem to pop up right when things get interesting. Well, if they're out here, we'll just have to outmaneuver them, won't we?"

Lily shrugged, not taking her eyes off her screen. "They've got good equipment, but we've got each other."

Tyler chuckled in the direction of the camera, a low sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Aww! Did you guys hear that? So cute, let's get those suits with the power of friendship!"

Lily rolled her eyes as Boone snickered in unison with Tyler. "Let's make sure we give them a show they'll never forget," she concluded.

The truck rumbled over the asphalt, tires gripping the road as if understanding the gravity of their mission. Suddenly, the horizon ahead flashed with light──distant lightning, stark and jagged against the darkening sky. Tyler's heart skipped a beat, his grip tightening on the wheel. "This is it, folks. This is what we've been waiting for," he said, his voice slipping back into the practiced, charismatic tone his audience loved. "Buckle up, because things are about to get wild."

As they approached the area where the storm was forming, Tyler noticed a line of squeaky-clean, white vehicles parked on the side of the road, cameras and equipment pointed at the sky. Tyler's jaw clenched slightly.

"Looks like the competition's already here," he muttered.

With a roar of the engine, Tyler veered off the main highway onto a dirt road that led closer to the epicenter of, well, attention. The truck jolted and bounced over the rough terrain, but Tyler kept it steady, eyes fixed on the dark clouds swirling above.

Tyler's grin widened as the tires of his truck kicked up a cloud of dust, the engine growling with the thrill of the chase. He leaned out of the window, waving a hand toward the StormPAR jackasses. It was impressive how boring these guys looked for working in the same field as him. Storm chasing was supposed to be gritty, raw, and real──not sanitized for public consumption.

"Hey, hey, hey, StormPAR!" Tyler called out, his voice dripping with faux enthusiasm. "How we doin'?"

His crew chuckled as Boone, ever the cameraman, swung the lens away from Tyler and zoomed in on the StormPAR team. "We're live on YouTube! Say something!" they whooped.

Tyler watched as the StormPAR folks gave awkward, half-hearted waves, clearly not as comfortable in front of the camera as he was. He couldn't help but smirk.

He took a moment to relax, his practiced showman's grin slipping into something more genuine as he leaned back into his seat. And, as his eyes scanned the familiar faces of the crew, one stood out. A newcomer, a woman he hadn't seen before, with sharp eyes that reminded him a lot of someone else.

Before he could think too much about it, one of his friends urged him to kill the engine. The wind was starting to pick up, carrying with it the scent of rain and the promise of something bigger. He hopped out of the truck, his boots hitting the dirt with a solid thud, and glanced around.

His gaze zeroed in on the woman he'd noticed earlier. She was standing a little apart from the rest of the StormPAR crew, her attention focused not on their corporate gadgets, but on the way the wheat in the fields around them rustled in the strengthening breeze. Intriguing.

Her eyes tracked the flow of the clouds, how her hand absently reached out to touch a stalk of wheat as if she were feeling for something beyond the tangible.

"You know," Tyler said as he approached, his voice cutting through the whistling wind, "I used to do that, too. Compare the wind direction to cloud movement. Get you a feel for the shear... Yep. Sometimes the old ways are better than the new."

The woman turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, though Tyler wasn't sure if it was of him, specifically, or just of a shared understanding.

"So, where you coming in from?" he asked, his tone perfectly pleasant and conversational. He hoped.

"New York," she replied, her voice steady, with just a hint of the city's fast pace lingering in her words.

Tyler hummed, surprised despite himself. "Well, you're a long way from home, city girl. So, you like working for the guys at StormPAR?"

"It's..." She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his, before she answered. "It's different from what I'm used to."

His lips parted, but the huffs and puffs coming from behind interrupted him. He glanced over his shoulder.

"Tyler, do we know which storm we're going after yet?" a voice asked.

Tyler shot the British journalist a look, his mind half on the conversation he was having, half on the storm still forming overhead.

"Well, why don't we ask..." He turned back to the woman, raising an eyebrow in invitation.

"Kate," she supplied.

Huh. A Kate from New York.

"Hi, Kate. I'm Tyler," he said, holding out a hand.

"And I'm Ben," the man, face flushed from the jog, chimed in. "I'm a reporter, doing a piece on American storm chasing."

"So, city girl," Tyler continued, turning his full attention back to the woman. "Any chance your family's actually from Sapulpa?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, a beat too long. Tyler could see the shift in her expression──a flash of something between surprise and caution. She didn't answer right away, clearly weighing whether or not she wanted to reveal that piece of information. But in the end, she nodded.

"Yeah," she admitted, her voice softer now. "They are."

Tyler's curiosity deepened. Sapulpa wasn't that big of a town, and the name Kate──Katie, to be exact──had come up in a conversation with a friend some time ago.

"Why are you asking?" Kate questioned, her tone cautious but not unfriendly.

"No reason at all," Tyler replied with a shrug and a lazy smile on his face. The wind picked up again, stirring the fields around them.

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