Chapter 9 Tyler
I lean against the wall of the community center hallway, pretending it’s an act of rebellion and not just my desperate attempt to stay standing.
Adri's intense glare drills into me, his eyes dark and furious, as if he's personally offended by my existence. He looks about two seconds away from ripping the hair out of that neat little bun of his.
"Really, Brady?" he grits out, shaking his head. "In front of the children?"
"I’m sorry, man," I reply with a shrug.
"Let’s go over the incident again," he says, jotting something down in his tiny notebook.
There's a hum of agitated conversation bleeding through the walls. I thought the noise would give me a chance to slip away unnoticed. But now here I am, under Adri’s magnifying glass, feeling like the world’s oldest juvenile delinquent.
"What happened?" he repeats, firmer this time, like he's trying to wrestle a confession out of me. I see the concern under his thick eyebrows, but it’s the kind of concern that could put me in jail if I breathe wrong.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Lachlan happened," I say. "He was grabbing Naomi. I might’ve…reacted."
"You might've reacted," Adri says, cutting me off before I can explain anything else. He's all brisk and official, nothing like the incoherent jerk I saw at the casino last night.
"He had his hands on her." I try to sound calm but fail. "I just stepped in. He had it coming."
Adri crosses his arms, and I can almost hear the muscles flex under his shirt. "Don't you know any better, Ty?" There’s a warning in his voice. "Not here. Not at a children’s event."
"It’s your own sister we’re talking about. Maybe you should care a little more?"
He doesn't even blink. "I do care," he says. "But Naomi can handle herself. She’s not fifteen. She’s a grown woman. Besides, what gives you the right to butt in after all this time?"
His words hit harder than a punch, and I have to bite down on the frustration bubbling up. Of course Naomi can handle herself. She's been doing it ever since I met her. "Oh yeah? Look whose fucking fault this is."
"What’s that supposed to mean, Brady?"
I want to unleash my wrath on him, but if I want to get Naomi’s trust back, I better play nice with her older brother.
"Nothing," I blurt out. "Forget it."
With a grunt, Adri pulls out his citation book and scribbles something in it. "You’ve been in town, what? Two weeks? And you’re already creating drama."
He slaps a piece of paper onto my chest. I grab it before it falls to the floor, staring at it like it might explode.
"Seriously?" I argue. "Another ticket?"
"Be thankful that Pratt isn’t pressing charges."
I stand there, scrutinizing his back as he turns to leave, a mixture of anger and helplessness fighting it out inside me.
"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Adri?" I shout at him.
"Very much," he replies, glancing at me over his broad shoulder. His lips curl into a sarcastic smirk. "And you deserve it."
I watch him walk away, his long strides confident and unyielding. The paper crumples in my hand, a crutch for my frustration.
God, how I hate this town sometimes.
I stuff the ticket into the back pocket of my jeans and walk out of the building, where a few kids are shouting and laughing in the parking lot. The place is practically trembling inside and out from all the commotion.
I circle around back, looking for air, for space, for somewhere where my latest citation can be the only thing judging me.
Instead, I find Naomi.
She’s sitting on a frame of the raised garden bed, all perfect hair and imperfect mood.
She leans forward, her elbows on her knees, and stares at the dust like she's expecting it to talk back.
I think about sneaking off like a coward, leaving her to this strange silence between us.
But no. I didn't get this far by playing it safe.
I step closer, my shadow breaking the afternoon sun over her. "Hey, how are you holding up? Is your wrist okay?"
She doesn't respond and doesn't look up. I clear my throat, and it sounds loud against the open sky. "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to make all this fuss. I just saw him grabbing you and lost my cool."
That gets her attention. She glances up, looking surprised and skeptical, like she’s caught me stealing cookies and I'm denying it. Those big brown eyes I’ve never forgotten, lock onto mine. "What are you doing here, Ty?"
I rub the back of my neck, trying to come up with an answer that won’t make me sound like a complete idiot.
"After yesterday, I thought…maybe we could try talking again.
" I take a deep breath, as if it’ll keep me from rambling.
"I didn’t know where you live, so I stopped by your folks' place, and your mom said you'd be here. "
Naomi narrows her eyes. "You could have just called."
"Would you have picked up?"
"Probably not." She almost smiles, almost lets me off the hook.
"Lachlan’s still a bully." More a statement than a question.
She nods. "Yep. Pratt hasn’t changed at all."
"I heard he’s divorced now?"
"No woman in her right mind would stay with him."
"I can see why."
"Ty, you don’t have to protect me from him. I can manage the guy."
Since the conversation seems to be flowing smoothly, I take it as a hint that it’s safe to sit down next to her.
I slide my hands into my jacket pockets, feeling the leftover tension from my confrontation with Adri. "Yeah, well. Old habits."
Silence ensues.
"It doesn’t seem like things have changed much since high school," I say with a chuckle.
She turns her head to me. Her expression softens but only a little. "Sometimes, it does seem like it." She glances at the ground. "And I wonder if I can erase the past seventeen years or just go back in time and do it again."
I kick at a rock by my foot, not sure where to look or what to say. "Would you do it differently?"
"Don’t know. What if I made other choices and I didn’t have Oasis anymore?"
"You always did want to own your own restaurant."
"Yeah. And you always wanted to be in a band and make tons of money."
"I wasn’t good at anything else. Just riffs and solos."
Again, she doesn’t reply, as if she’s agreeing with me.
"What are you doing back here, Naomi?" I ask. "You could be anywhere."
"Why would I be anywhere?" The corner of her mouth quirks up just a hint. "My mom wanted me closer, you know, with dad being so sick these past few years. It’s easier to breathe at home too. It’s where I grew up and it’s where I’ll die. It’s where our family belongs."
The answer feels unfinished, like there’s more she’s not saying.
But I understand what she means. It’s not just a hometown for her.
It’s where her people belong, whatever is left of them, anyway.
It’s the kind of belonging that’s rooted in the soil and the air, woven into the fabric of reality and history.
But I don’t have the right to comment on that.
Instead, I say, "I’d feel better if you were away from Lachlan Pratt. "
"He’s just a big baby. You need to stop underestimating me, Ty."
"He always had a thing for you. An unhealthy obsession."
"You had an unhealthy obsession with me too," she jabs back.
"Guilty," I admit. "But we both know Pratt isn’t like me. Remember how he bullied that skinny kid throughout high school?"
"Decker?"
"Yes. That’s right. Dude always had a black eye or bruises on his arms."
"Poor kid."
"Is he still around?"
"To be honest, I’m not sure." Naomi shrugs. "I don’t think he left town. But he hasn’t been at any of the reunion dinners."
"Well, I haven’t been at any of them either."
"Maybe you should come to the one this summer."
"Is this something that you guys do every year?" I laugh at the notion. "Isn’t that exhausting?"
"It’s not a big thing. Besides, with Brittney being a vice principal, it’s fairly easy. No need to jump through hoops to get the gym to ourselves once a year."
"Ah, you two still tight?"
"Not as much as before, but we still talk often."
"Good." I try to keep the conversation light. "Your brother thinks I’m nothing but trouble."
"He’s not the only one."
I wince, a little too on the nose. "Harsh."
"You always were a drama queen," she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Don’t deny it."
We sit there for a beat, the distance between us full of things neither of us can say because it doesn’t feel like the right time.
Then I speak up, "I am sorry for behaving like an entitled asshole. I lost my cool when I saw you and Pratt… I should have trusted you to fix it without it getting messy."
"It’s not me you need to be sorry to," Naomi replies, rising to her feet. "It’s the kids and their parents."
"You want me to apologize in front of them? Right now?" I glance up at her, lifting my palm in the air to block the afternoon sun.
"I have a better idea," she says, mischief in her eyes. "There’s a high school talent show in a few weeks."
Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that.
I raise an eyebrow. "Thrilling."
"I’m one of the volunteers overseeing rehearsals," she tells me. "If you’re looking to apologize, you should come. Help out. Actions always speak louder than words."
There’s a challenge in her voice, and I don’t miss it. It’s like she’s daring me.
I let out a breath, then say, "I’d be happy to." And this time, I know I mean it. Even if the idea of exposing myself to this little town is daunting.
But the idea of being around Naomi Medina is terrifying in the best way possible.