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Tyler Owens had always loved the chase. He’d thrived in the adrenaline of it, the raw energy that came with tearing across fields and highways, knowing that something wild and unpredictable was just up ahead. But these days, the thrill felt hollow, an empty echo that couldn’t fill the place Kate had carved out in him. She was his calm, his tether, the familiar heartbeat he’d gotten used to falling asleep beside.
Seven long weeks of restless nights, tossing and turning on motel beds that sagged in the middle and reeked faintly of bleach. His patience was wearing thin; even Boone, his road partner and long-time friend, was noticing. Boone would catch Tyler zoning out in the middle of a map review, his gaze far away, lost in the thought of a phone call with her, imagining her laugh or the warmth of her hand. Tyler knew Boone had caught him sneaking a smile more than once and rolling his eyes every time he saw Tyler glance at his phone.
“She’s doing something to you, man,” Boone had told him one night, a teasing grin on his face.
“You’re a goner.”
Tyler just smirked, running a hand over his tired face. He was aware of the way he’d softened around her, how even out here, in the middle of nowhere, his thoughts still strayed to the quiet moments back home. Back to when he’d come up to New York, hauling that U-Haul trailer up from Oklahoma, to bring her back to Sapulpa where she’d be close. Even then, he’d known that he couldn’t stand another long stretch without her. They’d been inseparable ever since, sharing a corner of her mother’s place that felt more like home than any guest room could. But now, she was finishing her dissertation, pouring over years of research, and he’d been back to empty motel rooms and restless nights.
Night was the worst. The stillness, the dark, all of it only magnified how much he missed her. He’d lie there in the pitch-black of his motel room, staring up at the cracked ceiling, and remember the way she’d curl into his chest at night, her fingers tracing slow circles on his arm as she talked softly about her day or her work. He never thought he’d crave such a small, quiet thing, but without it, he felt lost, like he was running on fumes. Or he’d think about sitting on the porch with her after dinner drinking sweet tea and the conversations they would have about anything and everything as they would watch the sun set. It was the simple things in life with her that brought him the greatest joy.
He’d check his phone constantly, waiting for the notification of a new text from her, a small update about her dissertation progress or a goodnight message. She’d sent him pictures of her makeshift workspace, strewn with papers and notes, several half-drank coffee cups beside her laptop, captioned with “you'd think a tornado came through here!” It always made him chuckle, imagining her hunched over her work, hair falling around her face, frustration in her eyes.
His fingers itched to be there, to tuck her hair back behind her ear, to see the moment she looked up at him, the irritation fading into a smile as she shook her head. She was close—so close to finishing—but that just made him miss her all the more. He wanted to be there to celebrate with her, to see her final keystroke and the smile that would break across her face, knowing she’d completed it.
When they were back at another dusty motel with flickering neon lights, he made his nightly call. Dialing her number, he waited, listening to the steady ring and hoping she’d pick up and hadn’t fallen asleep working on her dissertation. When her voice came through, soft and clear, he felt his whole body relax, his heart settling as if he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
“Hey, Cowboy,” she said, the warmth in her voice making him smile immediately.
“Hey, Sapulpa,” he murmured, leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes as if he could picture her there with him. They talked about the storm that day, her work, their plans to hopefully meet soon. But as the conversation went on, neither wanted to say goodbye, knowing that the road still stretched out ahead of him.
Eventually, she yawned, apologizing for being tired. He laughed, the sound low and full of longing.
“Guess I’ll let you sleep,” he said, though every word felt heavy. “But I’ll be back soon. Sooner than you know.”
And as they finally hung up, he knew what his next move was. He was going home, to her. The crew would be fine traveling to Texas without him, but he, he was going home to Kate.