Chapter 9 Cracks in the Armor
Cracks in the Armor
MADISON
Matthew yells as the ladder skids sideways. I grab the side rail; Dylan rides the sway and drops down over the last three rungs in one hard jump. The tarp rips free and whips into the dark like a black flag.
Thunder cracks overhead.
Matthew curses, shoving the ladder upright again before Dylan steadies it. Then he wipes the rain from his brow. “South doors are slamming open and shut—I’ll get them.” He takes off on a run toward the far end of the barn, leaving Dylan and me in the storm’s teeth.
At the door closest to us, a gust shoulders through the gap hard enough to slam it against my hip. The roof groans, sheets of tin clattering like loose teeth. Dylan glances my way, dark hair damp, jaw set tight. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
I cross my arms, rain misting my skin. “You shouldn’t be going up there.”
He’s already halfway back up the ladder, hammer in one hand, nails tucked between his teeth. Pure determination—and recklessness. My stomach knots. The whole roof looks ready to peel off, and he climbs it like it’s nothing.
Lightning flashes. Thunder cracks so close I flinch. Dylan doesn’t pause. He plants his boots on the top rung, muttering around the nails like this is just another Tuesday.
“Dylan!” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, split between fear and fury. “Do you have a death wish?”
He pulls the nails from his mouth, glances down with maddening calm. “Somebody’s gotta keep this place standing.”
The barn shudders, dust rains from the rafters. I press a hand to the beam beside me, heart hammering.
He’s impossible. Infuriating.
Yet watching him fight the storm, every muscle straining, I can’t deny the lump in my throat.
Beneath the stubbornness is a man carrying more weight than one person should.
And I’m not sure how long he can hold it up alone.
***
By the time Dylan climbs down, soaked and windblown, I’ve piled every tool I can find onto the workbench: nails, extra boards, even the flashlight that only works if you shake it.
Matthew hasn’t come back yet—off wrestling the south doors—so it’s just Dylan and me in the charged quiet.
onto the workbench: nails, extra boards, even the flashlight that only works if you shake it.
He gives me a look, part exasperation, part surprise.
“You planning to fix the whole barn yourself?” he asks, running a hand through wet hair.
“Only if you fall and break your neck,” I shoot back, pushing the hammer toward him. “Until then, I’m your assistant. Don’t die—I don’t need that on my résumé.”
For a second, his scowl falters. I swear I see the hint of a smile. He takes the hammer, and we get to work. He braces boards while I steady the ladder, our shoulders brushing whenever the wind shoves us closer.
The storm rages, rain drumming against tin, but inside the barn a rhythm forms. He hands me nails without asking; I keep the flashlight steady without being told. Every board secured, every tarp nailed down—small victories we share.
A gust hits and the ladder wobbles. Dylan curses. I grab the rung, my palm pressed against his boot. “See?” I call up, breathless. “Aren’t you glad I didn’t go inside?”
He looks down, sweat and rain dripping, and for once he doesn’t argue.
He huffs a laugh, low and real. “Guess I am.”
The sound startles me more than thunder.
Because it’s genuine. Not his usual sarcastic huff, but something warmer.
Something I wasn’t expecting.
***
The storm settles into steady rain. Inside the barn, the air is thick with damp earth, hay, and wet wood. Dylan sets the hammer aside, flexing sore hands. I lower the flashlight and shake the ache from my arm.
For a while we just stand there, leaning against opposite beams, listening to the rain. The silence feels heavier than thunder. My heart still races, but not from fear—from how close he is, from the way his eyes flick to mine then away like he’s holding something back.
“You always do this?” I ask softly. “Throw yourself at storms like you can wrestle them into submission?”
His jaw tightens. He stares at the floorboards. “Someone’s gotta hold the line.”
I push off the beam, stepping closer. “That’s not an answer, Dylan.”
He exhales slowly, shoulders sagging like the storm wrung him out.
“When my dad died, it felt like the whole farm could collapse overnight. Mom leaned on me. My brothers looked to me. If I didn’t hold it together, the place fell apart.
” He finally looks at me, eyes raw. “I don’t get the luxury of letting things go. Not then. Not now.”
My throat tightens. The sarcasm I usually reach for slips away. “I’m sorry. That must have been brutal.”
Silence stretches. I break it with a brittle laugh. “Think city life’s easier? Try waking to a hundred thousand strangers waiting for you to be perfect. Every post, every picture—if it’s not flawless, they’ll tear you down. And sometimes, I believe them.”
Surprise flickers across his face. For once, he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens. Really listens.
And somehow, in this creaking barn with rain hammering outside, it feels like we both set our armor down—for a minute.
***
The quiet stretches, fragile as a taut thread between us. Dylan leans against the beam, shirt damp and clinging to broad shoulders. I can’t look away. Not when his guard is down, not when he’s letting me see the cracks.
I step closer. “You don’t always have to be the strong one,” I whisper. The words are softer than I expect, but true. “You don’t have to carry it all alone.”
His gaze locks on mine, steady, searching. “And you don’t always have to be perfect,” he says quietly. “Not with me.”
The barn groans, wind shifting, but neither of us moves.
My pulse hammers, heat blooming in my chest. I’ve told myself for years that I hated my brother’s best friend.
Maybe I believed it then. But standing here now, so close I can see gold flecks in his eyes, I know I hadn’t given him a fair chance.
Our shoulders brush, and this time neither of us pulls away.
The air is heavy, electric.
Every nerve in me screams to close the gap, to find out if the pull between us is as real as it feels.
***
The air hums, so charged it feels like even the storm pauses to listen. Dylan’s gaze drops to my lips. My breath hitches. One more step and I’d be in his arms. One lean closer and years of distance and sharp words would shatter.
I want it. God help me, I want it. His warmth, his steady strength, the promise that maybe—just maybe—I don’t have to keep pretending I’m fine on my own.
I tilt my chin up. He mirrors me, his hand lifting like he might brush the damp hair from my cheek. My heart pounds so loud I’m sure he hears it. The world narrows to just this: him, me, the space between us about to ignite.
Then—
The barn door bangs open. Wind howling. “Madison? Dylan?”
Matthew’s voice cuts sharp as he reappears, rain streaming from his coat after wrestling the south doors closed. His eyes locking on us—too close, too telling.
I jerk back, heat flooding my face. Dylan’s hand drops, his jaw tight. For a second, the raw heat in his eyes flickers into something else—frustration, maybe regret.
Matthew’s gaze narrows. He doesn’t speak, but the warning is clear: don’t hurt her.
I press a hand to my chest, pulse racing. We were a breath away. Seconds from something I can’t take back.
And now, I don’t know if I want to.
***