Chapter 3 Tyler
Saturday afternoon, I’m standing in front of the Medinas’ house, my pulse uneven and loud in my ears. I glance at the property to the left—the one that used to belong to us. It's the same and it's different. Memories flash through my mind, but I push them down.
I’ve been lucky enough these past view days. Getting pulled over by Adri was the only unpleasant surprise, but now that I’m here, there’s no going back.
You can’t keep running, Ty.
With a deep breath, I finally step into the house
People huddle inside, whispering and clutching at their little cups of sorrow. My folks are by the makeshift altar at the far side of the room, helping with funeral arrangements while Naomi's mom speaks softly to a steady stream of mourners.
I naturally scan the house for any sign of Naomi and Adri. Neither of them is in sight.
"Tyler Brady? Is that you?" a short, plump woman says, the surprise in her voice evident. It takes me a moment to realize it’s Mrs. Williams, my high school chemistry teacher.
"That's right," I reply quietly, hoping no one heard.
But they did, because several heads turn in my direction. The air is so heavy that I feel it pressing against my chest when people stop talking and look my way as I carefully maneuver through the room.
Some wear curious expressions, others look like they've seen a ghost. Someone mentions my name under their breath. "It’s been ages, kid," an older man says, patting my arm like I’m an actual child. "Look at you now."
I keep moving, exchanging soft hellos. Everything here is drenched in old memories.
The dinners Letty Medina used to feed us.
The games of Monopoly. The sneaking-out-at-night kind of shenanigans.
I’d wait for Naomi in the back alley until her parents fell asleep.
We’d go to the park down the street and talk for hours, then show up at school the next morning all puffy-eyed and exhausted.
Those were the best times, full of hopes and dreams.
Funny thing is, the dreams came true, but not in the way I thought they would.
Letty finally spots me, and her face lights up with recognition. "Tyler. So good to see you, mijo." She wraps her arms around me the same way my own mother does.
I offer my condolences. "Hi, Mrs. Medina. I’m really sorry about Jose. Everyone will miss him." The words stick a little in my throat.
"He’s at peace now," Letty says, pulling back a bit, her voice sad. "It’s better this way." Her hands are still clutching mine as she speaks. "He wouldn’t want to have continued like he was. His mind was long gone."
"I think you did right by him." I don’t know if that’s so, but it’s the kind thing to say under the circumstances.
"Have you talked to Naomi yet?"
My heart skips a bit. "No." I shake my head. "I haven’t seen her."
"She’s probably in the kitchen," my father, who’s standing by Letty’s side, comments.
"You should go say hi," Letty suggests.
"She could use some support," my mother adds.
"Is Adri here?" I ask, looking around. "I haven’t seen him either."
"I believe he ran out to get more water and soft drinks," my father informs me, gesturing at the large group in the living room. "A lot more people showed up than we expected."
"Well, he fed the entire Coachella Valley."
The Gobbler was the best food truck in town. Every morning, before the sun even stretched its arms over the horizon, a crowd was buzzing with anticipation in front of the truck. They were all there for one thing—Jose’s legendary breakfast tacos. That guy? He was like kitchen royalty.
When Jose's health took a turn, the Medinas had to pass the torch to his nephew. I heard from my mom that they still get a little slice of the profits pie, which is sweet, but it just doesn't have that original spark without him running the show.
And Naomi… She inherited those culinary superpowers from her late father.
"How long are you staying for?" Letty’s question yanks me out of my thoughts.
I glance at her, then at my parents, suddenly feeling guilty for not wanting to be here. "Not sure yet."
"You should come over for dinner sometime," Letty supplies.
"I’ll find some time," I say, even though I don’t mean it. But I’m not a big enough asshole to reject an invitation from the woman who fed me through all my teenage years on the day she’s burying her husband who spent almost two years in a coma.
Before the conversation takes a weird turn, I excuse myself and sneak out of the living room and into the hallway leading to the kitchen.
My steps falter as I pass the stairs to the second floor and enter the corridor.
There’s Naomi, standing by the collection of old family photos, looking like a portrait herself. Her long black hair is swept up into a bun, neat and precise, matching her simple black knee-length dress with short sleeves.
As if sensing my presence, she turns. I catch her gaze, and we both freeze for a second, everything hanging in the air between us. Her eyes that are the same as her brother's are ringed with dark circles but are unreadable. And for a second, it feels like nothing's changed… Except everything.
The pain—it lingers in her features and her body language.
Those tightly pressed lips I used to kiss so much.
That frown line on her forehead that I want to smooth with my finger.
Even the tension in her shoulders, which I can feel it across the hallway.
This is the first time I’ve seen her in person since I left Sageview Ridge for good, and it knocks the breath out of me.
Her face is the same, radiating strength, pride, and self-assurance.
Those deep, knowing eyes framed by thick black lashes.
The line of her cheekbones. That quiet confidence. That don’t mess with me attitude.
I’m hit with a rush of everything—the years, the loss, the emotions that still sit heavy in my chest, the ones I've been trying so hard to suppress. She hasn’t changed, not really. Not where it counts.
"Naomi… Hey," I say as I take one step forward. Then another and another, feeling like my legs might give out.
"Tyler," she replies flatly.
My pulse hammers at my temples. "How have you been?"
She just looks at me, her expression carefully blank. "You’re here."
"I—yeah." I rub the back of my neck, searching for the right words. "Heard about your dad. Wanted to come by and say my goodbyes."
"Thanks."
"Must have been tough these past couple of years."
"It was." She lifts her chin a little, as if it will somehow lessen our seven-inch height difference.
"I’m really sorry." Nomes.
"I appreciate it." Her response is clinical, like she’s reading from a script. I get it. She’s probably pissed off at me. I would be too.
"I didn’t think you’d ever move back to town," I mutter awkwardly, wanting to continue talking to her. But I realize I sound like a moron.
"What do you mean?"
"I just heard you were traveling. Paris. New York. Asia."
"What’s wrong with Sageview Ridge?"
"Nothing."
She tilts her head to the side, her eyes never leaving mine. "Just because this town is too small for your rockstar ego doesn’t mean it’s not a good place."
I don’t have a comeback. "I heard you opened a restaurant at the casino." I've been stalking your Instagram for years now.
The corner of her mouth twitches, but it’s not quite a smile. "It’s been open for a while now."
The way she says it feels like a blow to my rib cage. I stand there, words failing me. I’m not certain why I’m hoping for some kind of connection. It’s been seventeen years.
"So," she says, and there's that edge again. "Is this just another quick visit?"
I flinch at the sting in her voice. "I don’t know yet. I just finished working on the second season of Dreamscape Diaries. Nothing on the books yet."
"Okay," she says with no emotion.
"Hey… It’s really good to see you. I know I’ve been an asshole for never really trying to stay in touch." I pause, watching her carefully.
"That’s one way to put it."
"I wish things were different."
"What things?"
There’s an awkward moment of silence filled with the hum of the guests in the background.
"I’m glad you got what you wanted, Ty," she says all of sudden. "Your big dream."
"And I'm glad you achieved yours."
"How come you know so much about where I’ve been?"
Fuck. Busted. "I mean, you’re not a stranger. I wanted to make sure you were doing well."
She shakes her head. "And if I wasn’t?"
The question leaves me speechless for a second. "I knew you'd be fine. You’re Naomi Medina. Only the strongest person I’ve ever met."
Her cheeks redden a little. Bingo.
"You don’t need to do this, Ty."
"I’m just stating facts."
"Facts my ass."
"So… Besides being a very successful chef, are you seeing anyone?"
Time ticks by excruciatingly slowly. "You dumped me seventeen years ago, Ty," she finally replies. "Now you want to know if I'm dating?"
Her words cut through the noise of the house like a knife, slicing everything else away. I knew it would be like this, but I didn’t expect it to hurt so damn much.
"I didn’t—" I start, then stop, shaking my head. I don’t even know where to begin.
"You could have said something." Her voice breaks slightly, a crack in her armor. "You could have told me you didn’t want to be together."
"I thought I was doing the right thing," I mumble out an excuse, drowning in everything that’s been left unsaid.
"Right."
She’s standing there, all fire and defiance. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. We’re stuck in this moment, the past wrapped tightly around us, and all I can do is watch when she turns and starts walking toward the living room.
I know I should follow her, explain why things happened the way they did. But instead, I chicken out. I bolt from the house through the back door like a coward. I don't stop moving as I rush past the garden and toward the wooden fence on the edge of the property.
There, behind a jojoba bush, I find that plank that’s been weathered by the relentless desert and slide it open to squeeze into the narrow alley running behind the line of houses on the street.
This route is all too familiar and stirs up a cloud of memories—our sneaking out to see each other after the curfew imposed by our parents.
The silence here is loud, screaming around me and pushing me back to the things I thought I’d left behind.
I keep walking.
By the time I reach the park, my pulse has slowed, but my heart is still heavy. I hate feeling this way. I've been very good at keeping my emotions at bay all these years, but now that I've seen her, I can't seem to get a handle on them.
I find the old tree we used to sit under, the one that witnessed us making plans we’d never keep.
The wooden bench beneath it is like a relic of who we were, and I collapse onto it, running my fingers over the carved letters that are our initials, faint yet unmistakable.
We were so young and stupid, thinking nothing could touch us.
The park is full of children playing and people walking their dogs. Not something you’ll see three months from now when the heatwave hits. I take in a lungful of air, hoping it’ll calm my nerves, but the world feels raw and unfinished, and my chest tightens even more.
This is the reason I haven’t been back to Sageview Ridge.
The fucking past is everywhere, and it’s catching up with me.