Chapter 5
Liam
Lightning flashes, illuminating my room. The knocking grows more frantic. I pull on a t-shirt, already wearing sweatpants to sleep, and trudge through the darkened living room.
“I’m coming,” I mutter, though not loud enough for whoever is pounding on my door to hear.
When I pull it open, the wind nearly yanks it from my grip.
Standing on my porch, silhouetted by another crack of lightning, is the gray-haired woman from the neighboring cabin.
Beside her stands a small girl—her granddaughter, I assume.
Both are soaked through, their hair plastered to their heads, clothes clinging to their frames.
The little girl’s bottom lip trembles, either from cold or fear or both.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” the woman says, raising her voice above the storm. “We need help.”
I rub the sleep from my eyes. “What’s happened?”
“It’s our cat, Lucky.” The woman’s voice quavers. “She got scared by the thunder and jumped out the window. Now she’s up a tree crying, and we can’t get her down.”
The little girl looks up at me with wide, pleading eyes.
I swallow a curse. Of course it’s a cat in a tree. Of fucking course.
“Come in,” I say, stepping back to let them enter. Water drips from their clothes onto the floor. “Wait here. Let me get changed.”
I leave them in the living room and head back to my bedroom, flipping on lights as I go. I strip off my t-shirt and rummage through my dresser for something I don’t mind getting soaked. As I’m pulling on a hoodie, I hear a door creak open behind me.
“What’s going on?” Tyler stands in the doorway to his bedroom, shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-hanging basketball shorts.
His hair is mussed from sleep, his eyes heavy-lidded, but there’s no hiding the defined muscles of his chest and abs.
I drag my eyes away from his torso. “Neighbor’s cat is stuck in a tree.”
“And that’s our problem because…?” He crosses his arms, which only makes his biceps more pronounced.
“Because they knocked on our door, and I’m not an asshole.” I yank a pair of sneakers from under my bed.
Tyler scrubs a hand over his face, then through his light brown hair, making it stand up even more. “Fine. Give me a minute.”
He disappears back into his room without another word. I sit on the edge of my bed, lacing up my sneakers, trying not to think about how this “bonding weekend” won’t stop becoming weirder with each day.
I return to the living room and tell the woman, “My stepbrother’s coming too. We’ll get your cat down.”
“Thank you so much,” the woman says, relief washing over her face. “We’re just across the way. I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t answered.”
Tyler emerges a minute later wearing a t-shirt and jeans, his hair somewhat tamed. He nods at the visitors, then looks at me. “Let’s go.”
The four of us step outside. The rain soaks through my hoodie, cold water running down my neck and back.
The woman leads us across the muddy path separating our cabins, the little girl clinging to her hand.
Lightning splits the sky, followed almost immediately by a thunderclap that feels like it could crack the earth.
“There!” The woman points when we reach their cabin.
The tree stands about twenty feet from their porch—it’s tall, with branches stretching up into the night.
I squint through the rain and spot the cat almost immediately—a small, light-colored ball of fur huddled at least thirty feet up.
It’s perched near the trunk, tail wrapped around itself, clearly terrified.
“Christ,” Tyler mutters beside me. “It had to pick the tallest tree.”
I assess the situation. The branches look spindly near the top, especially where the cat is sitting. But the lowest branches are within reach, and the tree seems climbable—for someone lighter than Tyler, at least.
“I’ll do it,” Tyler says, stepping forward.
I place a hand on his chest, stopping him. “You’ll break the damn thing. I’m lighter. Let me.”
His eyes narrow. In the flickering lightning, his face is all sharp angles and shadows. “It’s lightning out here. What if it strikes while you’re up there?”
“If it hits the tree,” I say with more calm than I feel, “we’re all dead. Not just me.”
We stare at each other in a silent battle. Water drips from his eyelashes, runs down his face. Finally, his jaw tightens.
“Fine,” he says, then moves to the woman and her granddaughter. “You two should wait inside. We’ll handle it.”
The woman hesitates, but when another crash of thunder booms overhead, she ushers the little girl toward their cabin door. “Please be careful, boys,” she calls to us before disappearing inside.
Then it’s just me and Tyler in the rain.
“This is stupid,” he says, watching as I approach the tree. “We should call someone.”
“Who?” I shake my head. “Fire department isn’t coming out here for a cat in a tree during a storm.”
I grab the lowest branch and test it with my weight. It holds. With a grunt, I pull myself up, sneakers slipping on the wet bark. The branches are slick, but manageable. I climb higher, feeling Tyler’s eyes on me from below.
“Be careful,” he calls up. There’s something in his voice I can’t place. Maybe it’s annoyance that I’m not following his order.
I focus on the climb. One branch after another. The rain pelts my face, runs into my eyes. My hands are going numb from cold. The cat watches me approach, its eyes reflecting what little light there is, unblinking and wary.
“Hey there,” I murmur as I get closer. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you down.”
I step on the next branch, testing it before putting my weight on it. It seems solid. I pull myself up and then—crack.
The branch snaps beneath my foot. For one sickening moment, I’m falling, my stomach lurching into my throat.
My hands scramble desperately, fingers scraping against wet bark until they catch a branch above me.
Pain shoots through my shoulders as my full weight yanks on them, but I hang on, legs swinging in empty air.
“Liam!” Tyler’s shout cuts through the storm. “Get down! Now!”
I pull myself up, muscles screaming, until I can hook a leg over a branch and regain my footing. I’m shaking, but I’m not falling anymore.
“I’m okay,” I call down, not sure if he can hear me over the rain. “Almost there.”
“This is insane!” Tyler paces below, his face a pale oval looking up at me.
I ignore him and keep climbing. The cat is just three branches higher now. Its cries are pitiful, a desperate meowing that tugs at something inside me. I know what it’s like to be scared and stuck, seeing no way down.
When I finally reach it, the cat presses itself against the trunk, ears flat.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, extending one hand. “I’m here to help.”
The cat stares at me, trembling. I keep my movements slow, gentle. It takes a minute, but eventually, it allows me to scoop it into my arms. It’s freezing cold and soaking wet, but it doesn’t scratch or bite—just shakes against my chest.
Now comes the hard part—getting down.
I cradle the cat with one arm, using the other to guide my descent. The going is slow, each step cautious. When I reach the broken branch, I pause. There’s a gap now, too far to step down safely.
I look down. Tyler stands below me, rainwater streaming down his face, his expression tight with tension.
“I can’t get past this gap,” I call down.
“Throw me the cat!” he shouts back.
I hesitate, looking at the trembling animal in my arms.
“Trust me!” Tyler spreads his arms, planting his feet wide. “I won’t drop it!”
Carefully, I hold the cat out. “Sorry about this,” I murmur, then let go.
The cat drops through the air with a startled mewl. Tyler lunges forward, arms outstretched. He catches it against his chest, cradling it with surprising gentleness.
“I got it,” he calls up. “Got you, little one,” he murmurs to the cat, stroking its wet fur. “Shh. You’re okay now.”
I hang there, one arm wrapped around a branch, watching him.
Tyler Murphy—cocky athlete, perpetual thorn in my side, the guy who’s made it his mission to push every button I have since our parents got married—is whispering soft nothings to a frightened cat, his face gentle in a way I’ve never seen before.
Something twists in my chest, hot and unexpected.
He glances up at me. “Wait there. Don’t move.” Then he sprints toward the neighbor’s cabin, cat held securely against him.
Lightning cracks again, this time close enough that I feel the electricity in the air. My legs tremble with exertion, arms burning from holding my position. The minutes stretch while I wait, clinging to the tree, the storm raging around me.
Then Tyler is back, running through the rain, his t-shirt plastered to his body. He positions himself beneath me, eyes locked on mine.
“Jump,” he calls. “I’ll catch you.”
I stare down at him. “Are you insane?”
“Just trust me—for once.” His voice carries a certainty that hooks into me.
I weigh my options. My arms are giving out. The storm is getting worse. And twenty feet up a tree during a lightning storm isn’t where I want to die.
I count in my head. One. Two. Three.
I let go.
The fall is a blur of fear and rain. Then impact—not with hard ground, but with Tyler.
We crash down together, his arms wrapped around me, taking the force of the fall.
We hit the mud with a wet thud, the breath knocked from both of us.
Pain jolts through me, but less than it should be. He broke my fall.
We lie there in the mud, rain pouring down on us, both gasping for breath. I’m sprawled on top of him, our faces inches apart. His arms are still around me, holding tight.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough.
I nod, unable to speak. I’m aware of every point where our bodies touch—chest to chest, hips to hips, legs tangled together. His face is so close I can see individual droplets of water on his eyelashes. My gaze drops to his mouth with a sudden realization.
I want to kiss him.
Right here. In the rain and mud.
My head dips. His eyes widen, recognizing my intent. For a second, I think he might meet me halfway.
Lightning splits the sky overhead with a crack like the world ending. We both flinch, the moment shattered.
Tyler clears his throat. “We…should go inside.”
I roll off him, mud squelching beneath me. We scramble to our feet, both of us dripping, covered in mud and rain. He glances at me, eyes scanning my body.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, and I can’t tell if he’s asking about potential injuries or about what almost just happened.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, wiping at the mud on my jeans. “Let’s go.”
We jog back to our cabin in silence, the storm still raging around us. When the door closes behind us, we’re left standing in the dark entryway, soaking wet, breathing hard, not looking at each other.
And I still want to kiss him.