the sky over montana didn't just break; it shattered. one minute the horizon was a bruised purple, and the next, the heavens opened up with a violence that only the backcountry understood. the rain was cold, needle-sharp, and relentless, soaking through denim and flannel until it felt like lead against the skin.

kayce led the way, his hat pulled low, water streaming off the brim in steady rivulets. he didn't have to look back to know you were struggling; he could hear the catch in your breath over the roar of the wind. he hooked a hand around your elbow, his grip firm and steadying, guiding you toward the silhouette of the old line shack nestled against the timberline.

the door groaned on its hinges, protesting the intrusion, but kayce shoved it open and ushered you inside. the air was thick with the scent of dry dust and aged pine, a sharp contrast to the damp chaos outside. he didn't waste a second, moving toward the small woodstove in the corner. his movements were practiced and efficient, the habits of a man who had spent more nights under the stars than under a roof.

"get those wet layers off," he muttered, his voice gravelly and low. "you'll catch your death if you stay in 'em."

you stood by the small window, watching the lightning illuminate the jagged peaks of the valley. you were shivering, your wet hair clinging to your neck, the fabric of your shirt sticking to your curves in a way that made you feel exposed. kayce didn't look up as he struck a match, the small flame flickering against the blue of his eyes before the kindling caught.

he stood, crossing the small space to a supply crate. he pulled out an oversized work shirt, the fabric rough but dry. he held it out to you.

"turn around," you murmured, your voice trembling from the cold and the weight of the silence between you.

"i've seen you before, darlin'," he said, his voice steady but strained, echoing with a decade of things left unsaid. "a lifetime ago."

you gripped the shirt, the warmth of the stove finally beginning to crawl through the room. "that's the problem, kayce. it feels like a different life. like i'm looking at a ghost."

kayce stepped closer, the heat radiating between you. the tension in the room was thicker than the storm clouds outside. he reached out, his calloused thumb brushing a stray drop of rain from your cheek. the touch was light, almost hesitant, but it grounded you in a way you weren't ready for.

"i ain't a ghost," he whispered, his gaze intense and unwavering. "and i ain't forgotten how it felt to have a reason to come home."