Chapter 10 The Kiss
The Kiss
DYLAN
The sky hasn’t learned mercy. By dusk, another storm piles up on the horizon, darker and meaner than the last. Clouds bruise purple, thunder growls low, and a hot wind rattles the loose tin on the machine shed.
Even the cattle shift uneasy in the pasture, tails swishing as if they can smell trouble.
I should be inside checking the generator.
I should be doing a hundred useful things.
Instead, I find myself pacing the yard with Madison at my heels, both of us spoiling for a fight we haven’t named yet.
The first raindrops smack the dust hard enough to raise the smell of iron and earth, sharp and metallic.
My pulse syncs with the sky—fast, restless, waiting for the break.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters behind me, voice edged like glass. “Every time I try to help, you shut me out. You’d rather wrestle the storm alone than admit you might need me.”
I turn, the words striking deeper than they should. Rain slicks her hair to her cheeks, lashes spiked. She looks like defiance carved out of lightning. And maybe she’s right. I’ve carried weight so long, I don’t know how to hand it over.
The wind kicks harder, tossing water sideways. Thunder cracks, close enough to rattle my bones.
Everything feels like it’s about to snap—the storm, the farm, me.
And standing there in the middle of it is Madison, daring me to admit the truth.
***
The rain thickens fast, slanting like a curtain between us and the rest of the world. Madison crosses her arms, chin tilted, daring me to argue. Fine. She doesn’t have to wait long.
“You think this is a game?” I snap, louder than I mean to. “Roof patches, market smiles, playing house for the neighbors—it’s not a brand, Madison. It’s survival. If this place falls, it doesn’t just hurt me. It hurts crews, suppliers, families who depend on the contracts.”
Her eyes flash. “You think I don’t understand pressure? I built my business from nothing, Dylan. I work eighteen-hour days feeding content to people who forget me the second I stop posting. I know what it means to keep something alive when the odds are stacked against you.”
“Hashtags and filters won't hold a roof on,” I bite out, the words tasting bitter the moment they leave. “That’s not the same as weather and debt and land that doesn’t care if you’re tired.”
She steps closer, rain plastering her shirt to her frame, every word sharp as hail. “And you’re so stuck in your pride you can’t see that maybe my skills could save this place. Marketing, branding, events—those could pay bills just as much as soybeans and corn.”
Lightning rips across the sky, bleaching her face pale and fierce. The thunder that follows shakes the ground, but it’s nothing compared to the quake in my chest. Because she’s right. And admitting it feels impossible.
“You don’t belong here,” I grind out, half a plea, half a shield.
“I do if I fight for it,” she fires back. “Same as you.”
The storm surges, rain drumming hard enough to drown reason.
The argument crackles like live wire, each word pulling us closer, until the heat between us has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with everything we’ve tried to bury.
***
The distance between us disappears in a blink. One second we’re spitting words like weapons, the next a magnetic force pulls us together. The rain pelts down, thunder cracks again, I catch her wrist, hauling her against me. Her breath stutters, warm against my mouth despite the cold rain.
Far off, headlights smear through the rain. A truck bounces into the yard, tires hissing on the wet gravel—Matthew’s rig. I barely register it in the heat of the moment, too consumed by Madison to think of anything else.
I kiss her. It’s not careful. It’s not rehearsed.
It’s fire meeting gasoline—fierce, consuming, years of resentment and want colliding in one impossible moment.
Her fingers clutch my soaked shirt, anchoring me as if we’re both about to be carried off by the storm.
I taste rain, salt, the stubborn defiance that has always driven me insane—and underneath it, the sweetness I never let myself remember.
The world drops away.
There’s only her, pressing back just as hard, as if she’s been waiting for this as long as I have.
Lightning flashes, and for a second it feels like the storm is ours, bending around us, warning and blessing all at once.
***
When we finally break apart, I’m gasping like I just surfaced from deep water. Madison’s eyes are wide, pupils blown, lips red and trembling. She looks wrecked—and so damn beautiful it hurts.
Reality slams back. We’re standing in the open yard, drenched, breathing hard. My hands are still on her waist; I force them to let go. She takes a step back, wrapping her arms around herself like she’s freezing. Or like she’s afraid of what we just did.
The silence is heavier than thunder. Every thought screams at me to speak—to apologize, to demand, to confess. But all I manage is her name. “Madison…”
Her chin wobbles just enough to undo me.
She shakes her head, a single, sharp motion, like she doesn’t trust her voice.
The storm keeps roaring, but between us, it’s worse—quiet, raw, filled with everything we never said.
***
The silence stretches, taut as a wire. Do we regret it? Do we crave more? The truth hangs in the charged air, unspeakable but undeniable.
Then movement catches at the edge of my vision. Matthew stands by the tool shed, half-shadowed, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. His expression is carved from stone, but his eyes—those give him away. Anger, yes. Concern, too. And something else I don’t want to name: betrayal.
He sees his best friend kissing his sister in the middle of a storm, and the weight of that lands on my chest like a hammer.
Madison follows my gaze and freezes, color draining from her face.
For one suspended second, the three of us are locked in the storm’s eye—lightning, thunder, history binding us all.
Matthew doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. His look says everything: you’d better know what you’re doing, Carter.
But here’s the thing the storm doesn’t hide: he’s carrying something too.
His truck’s headlights still glow faint behind him, cutting weak beams through the rain.
He wasn’t coming here for show—he came to check the north pasture fencing before the storm hit harder.
He always does; habit from years of working alongside Ray.
He probably saw the lightning crack over the ridge and drove straight over, worried the cattle might break loose.
Now instead of fences, he finds this—me and Madison in the middle of something neither of us can name.
My fists clench at my sides. I don’t know if I do know what I’m doing. All I know is the taste of Madison still on my lips, the storm between us and around us, and Matthew’s gaze drilling into me like judgment and protection rolled into one.
The thunder rolls again, closer this time, and the storm hasn’t even begun to break.
Matthew doesn’t move right away. His eyes flick to Madison, then back to me, and I can read every line of conflict written across his face even through the rain.
He wants to protect her—he’s always wanted that.
He doesn’t trust me not to break what’s already fragile.
But under the anger, there’s something heavier: recognition.
He saw the way she leaned into me, how I reached for her without thinking.
Maybe he knows this isn’t a whim or a game.
Maybe he hates that part most of all—that he can see she might actually be safer with me than without.
He drags a hand over his mouth, torn between stepping in and walking away.
When he finally turns toward his truck, shoulders stiff, it’s not relief I feel.
It’s warning, and the weight of his silent verdict follows me as surely as the storm.
***
Madison bolts first, her boots splashing through the mud as she disappears toward the farmhouse. I stay rooted, rain pouring down my face until I can’t tell where it ends and I begin. My chest heaves, but not from the storm. From what we just did—and who saw it.
I lean against the fencepost, rough wood biting into my palm.
The kiss plays back in a loop, sharper than lightning, hotter than fire.
I’d give anything to do it again. But Matthew’s glare burns just as fierce.
He’s not wrong to doubt me. I’ve spent years building walls against Madison, convincing myself I didn’t need her, that she didn’t belong here.
And in one reckless moment, I tore it all down.
The rain starts to ease, thunder rolling farther off.
My body unclenches, but my head’s a snarl of guilt and want.
I imagine Matthew climbing into his truck, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles pale.
He came here to check fences, to keep the farm safe.
Instead, he found me failing the one job he trusted me with—protecting his sister.
Lightning flickers weak in the distance, the storm drifting east.
But the one inside me is only getting started.
***
Morning brings a brittle kind of quiet. The sky is scrubbed clean, the fields steaming under pale sunlight. Birds start up again like nothing happened, but the ground still holds the storm’s scars—muddy ruts, broken branches, puddles shining silver.
I spot Madison across the yard through the kitchen window.
She’s hanging laundry, hair pulled into a messy knot, sleeves rolled, moving with that brisk determination that says she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.
My throat tightens. I want to go out there, to say something—anything. But what?
Matthew’s truck is parked by the barn. He’s already working, like always, like nothing ever shakes him. But I know better. He glances at his sister, then at me through the glass, and the message is clear as if he shouted it: don’t screw this up.
I press my palms flat against the counter, heart heavy. I’ve fought storms my whole life. Fixed fences, patched roofs, faced down debt. But nothing compares to this—wanting Madison, hurting her, needing her—and knowing that one wrong move could cost me not just her, but Matthew too.
The storm has passed, but the damage is just beginning.