When Jonah tendered his resignation, the university had a collective heart attack. I’ve never seen such a desperate scramble from academia before—the department chair calling at midnight, the dean personally flying out to “discuss his future” at the university. They were willing to offer him whatever he wanted to stay on—double his research budget, teaching assistants, reduced course load, even his own dedicated storm chasing vehicle with university funding.
He’d been ready to turn it all down—every grant, every lab, every polished promise—until I pointed out that universities like his didn’t just want someone like him, they needed him. So wefound our middle ground. He teaches in the fall and winter, and come spring and summer, we go out chasing. The best of both worlds, where neither of us had to give up what we loved for the other.
The university didn’t stop there. They knew who my father was, and what I’d lost out there with helping Jonah get his data. They offered to reimburse me for all of it, every last piece, like a check could somehow square things. But it wasn’t really about the money. Dad would always be with me when we chased, but it was time to let it go. To let him go.
So instead, they set up a scholarship in his name. Something that would carry on a little piece of what he’d built, without trying to replace it.
And me? They offered me a position as a storm chasing consultant, which I find kind of absurd considering I hadn’t set foot in a classroom since I dropped out freshman year after not being able to pay my tuition. But they were determined to keep Jonah, and if legitimizing our partnership was part of the deal, they were more than willing to make it happen.
“Girthmaster’s battery is fully charged,” Jonah calls over the howling wind, already shifting into work mode despite his disheveled appearance. I catch myself watching the way his wet shirt clings to his chest as he fine-tunes the drone’s settings. “Barometric readings are off the charts.”
I finish tugging on my boots without bothering to tie the laces and join him at the back of the SUV. Max watches us from inside the vehicle, his nose pressed against the window.
“She’s moving east-southeast,” I observe, tracking the tornado’s path across the empty field. “No structures in sight.”
“Just how we like it,” Jonah agrees, excitement lighting his expression. He hands me the controller. “You want to fly?”
“You sure you don’t want to?” I ask, surprised. Over the past month, he’s gotten pretty attached to Girthmaster—more like a favorite pet than a piece of equipment.
“You have better instincts,” he replies simply, and my chest does that ridiculous flutter I still haven’t gotten used to.
“Careful, Professor. I might start to think you’re getting sentimental.”
“Purely scientific reasoning,” he insists, though the softness in his expression gives him away.
“Mmm-hmm.” I take the controller, unable to hide my grin. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Girthmaster lifts into the air with a strong, steady hum, holding firm against the rising winds. I guide him toward the tornado, keeping enough distance for safety while staying close enough for solid readings. The drone responds beautifully, steady and reliable.
“Readings are coming in clear,” Jonah reports, focused on his tablet. His hair is dripping, water tracing down his neck as he works.
“She’s widening at the base,” I call over my shoulder, watching the tornado expand in real-time.
Jonah steps up behind me, his chest pressed against my back as he peers over my shoulder at the screen displaying Girthmaster’s feed. His wet shirt soaks through mine, but his body heat keeps me from shivering.
“Incredible,” he breathes against my ear. “The inflow jets are symmetrical.”
I guide Girthmaster in a wide arc around the tornado, keeping him at a safe distance while capturing every angle of the magnificent storm. Rain pelts my face as I concentrate, but I barely notice it anymore.
“Pressure’s dropping,” Jonah reports, his voice taking on that excited-scientist tone I’ve come to adore. “Look at these readings!”
I can’t help but smile. His enthusiasm is as contagious as it was that first day in my truck. Only now, I don’t find it annoying. Now, it’s just another part of him that I love.
“Send Girthmaster in a little closer on the northeast quadrant,” he suggests, pointing toward a particularly active section of the storm. “There’s something unusual about the wind shear pattern there.”
“On it,” I reply. I maneuver our drone through the gusting winds, angling him toward the northeast quadrant as Jonah requested. The massive drone holds steady despite nature’s best attempts to knock him off course. That’s my boy.
“Careful,” Jonah warns, his breath warm against my ear. “Don’t get too close to the debris field.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I remind him, though I can’t help but smile at his concern. “This isn’t my first tornado rodeo.”
Through the camera feed, I can see the swirling vortex in stunning detail, the way the clouds twist and churn, defying gravity and common sense. It’s beautiful in the way only truly dangerous things can be.
“Look at that!” Jonah points excitedly at the tablet screen. “I’ve never seen anything like this in the field before.”
“That’s because you spent most of your career hiding in a lab,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow.
“A mistake I’m thoroughly enjoying correcting,” he replies, his hand settling on my waist in a casual gesture that still sends warmth through me despite my rain-soaked clothes.
