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My stomach aches at its loss. It was expensive, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to replace it. I’ve resigned myself to using my old camera, which will still get the job done but will impact the quality of pictures I can take this weekend.

“Yes! The rockets!” Joey squeals.

He reaches to grab one, and Ryker bats his hand away, picking one up himself and holding it out for us both to see. “I went over these with both of you separately, but beyond our normal data collection, this is what this weekend is all about.”

Ryker hands it to me, and Joey pouts. I run my fingers along the smooth shaft imprinted with the TT logo on it.

“We want to get data from aboveground, in the heart of the tornado. That puppy right there is going to help us do that.”

“It’s really going to punch through the sinking air on the outside of the tornado?” I ask.

“That’s the hope.” Ryker smiles, the love for what he does palpable in this moment. “We’ve been working for eight years to figure out something like this. The specialized sensor that Hawk designed is inside the nose cone and attached to a parachute. The difficult part is that we need to be a quarter mile away from the vortex when we launch and send it right in the inflow notch of the supercell. Once that happens, we can directly intercept with Thor and collect data from the base with the subsonic sensor.”

“If anyone can get it done, it’s you,” Joey says.

“He’s right,” I echo.

Ryker takes the rocket back from me and studies it fondly before handing it to Joey, who smiles excitedly.

“It’s going to be all of us. We’re going to have to work together as a team,” Ryker says.

“Good thing you have the best of the best, then,” Joey replies.

Ryker bounces his gaze between us, and then his eyes drop down to Joey’s chest. His eyes narrow as he huffs. “You were serious?”

Joey smirks, handing the rocket back to Ryker so he can hold out the front of his shirt. “I’m surprised it took you so long to notice.”

A snort of laughter breaks through my lips when I see what’s vexing my professor. In the time Joey walked away and came back, he removed the button-up he had on and is showing off the custom T-shirt he had made—or maybe he made it himself. It has a collage of different images of Ryker’s face from chases over the years with “Tornado Daddy” printed over the top of it.

“You like it, Fin-Fin? I have more in different designs. I thought we could all wear them and take a family photo with T-Daddy in the middle.”

I stifle another laugh as Ryker crosses his arms over his chest. “Take it off.”

Joey smirks. “Okay.” He grips his hands at the bottom of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head just as Hawk and Ezra walk up beside us.

“Damn, Joey. You work out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?” Ezra chuckles playfully.

“Gotta keep up with Tornado Daddy somehow,” he volleys back, eyes making contact with Hawk instead of Ryker.

The older man’s face is neutral, but a moment ago, it wasn’t. I don’t think anyone noticed except me. But I saw the way Hawk’s warm gaze appreciated Joey’s six pack and rested on the V of his hips. It was brief, but it was there.

Joey flexes his arms while maintaining eye contact with him, which makes Hawk look away. The action only spurs a new curiosity over them. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s gone outside professional bounds with someone on this team? Unless I’m completely reading into it given my own situation…

All the same, I find the interaction interesting.

“Alright, alright.” Ryker huffs. “Put your shirt back on, Joseph.”

“You told me to take it off.”

Ryker fixes him with the stern look of a parent scolding his kid again, and Joey relents, putting the shirt back on.

“God, that’s great.” Ezra’s chest shakes as he eyes the shirt. “When he showed it to me and Hawk before he walked over, I told him you’d hate it.”

Hawk grins. “Joey, I think you should get one in every color.”

“Good idea!” Joey holds his shirt out proudly, making everyone but Ryker laugh again.

“It’s not funny.” Ryker groans.