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"He calls himself a tornado wrangler."
Javi's words rang through Caroline's ears like a cowbell struck with a drumstick. Tornado wrangler? What did that even qualify? And why was Tyler Owens of all people—a man Caroline had known to be just another frat pledge with an addiction to beer pong and rodeo dancing—chasing storms in rural Oklahoma, capitalizing off of it on YouTube, and whipping around in a red pickup truck decked out with speakers and rocket launchers?
Then, as Tyler and his band of wrangling buddies unloaded and began to hand out Tyler Owens patented T-shirts, Caroline realized: She wasn't surprised at all. This was exactly who Tyler had always been, except now he had a following, which made him twenty times more dangerous.
"Tornado wrangler?" Kate repeated curiously, watching the crew of hillbillies with a curiosity Caroline wished she could share. "What does that even mean?"
Javi pursed his lips, arms crossing defensively over his chest. "Just means our world is going to shit."
Meanwhile, Scott and the rest of the Storm Par team were in pure stitches at the thought of Tyler being Caroline's ex-boyfriend, and they had absolutely no means to hide their feelings about it. "I mean, Barbie dating Tyler Owens. Who would've thought, man?"
"Definitely not me," Mike added, laughing.
Caroline clenched her jaw, furious that her past was finally back to bite her in the ass. She shook her head, then ripped her eyes away from Tyler with horrible difficulty.
"Can we focus?" she said, impatience tainting her tone. She gestured to the tablet in Kate's arms. "There's a nice-looking cell out in the east we could go after. But whatever y'all think, honestly—I'm not the storm expert here. Just anywhere where those damn tornado wranglers won't be is fine by me."
She stalked off, pulling the brim of her branded cap down over her eyes and keeping her head toward the ground as she entered the motel to check in. It was a nice place, better inside than out—though during storm season, Caroline knew it was a blessing straight from the Lord to find anywhere to stay the night. This one in particular happened to be one of the good ones.
Lucky for Caroline—she was pretty sure if she had to sleep in another flea-infested motel room ontop of the fact that she was chasing the same storm as her college boyfriend, she would've blown a fuse.
"Javi Rivera shoulda had me checked in?" she told the lady behind the motel's front desk, palming the counter anxiously in an attempt to ground herself. Somewhere behind her the bell above the door jangled excitedly. "Caroline Sullivan. I'm on the Storm Par tab."
"Woah, now—she's one of the rich kids."
Another person slid up to the counter on her right side, a familiar voice accompanying it. Caroline clenched her jaw and extended a hand toward the older woman behind the counter for her room key, ignoring the figure beside her with every ounce of her being.
