Chapter 12 Tyler
"He’s probably in the smoking area," Naomi rattles off as we enter the casino. She’s half walking, half running, her shoulders tense and her strides wide.
I’m right behind her, feeling like a part of some surreal noir movie where neon lights spilling across the carpet are loud and demanding, throwing rainbow shadows against blank faces.
We weave through the crowd, past the jingling slots, and Naomi points toward the roulette table. "I can’t with him…" she mutters. Her voice is tight, full of something too heavy for words.
I follow her line of sight and spot Adri leaning against the edge of the table, his hair falling loose, a mess of black against the white of his T-shirt. There’s a drink next to him, the glass almost empty with only melting ice cubes.
He doesn't look like an authority.
Just a man who's given up.
We reach the roulette table, and Naomi touches his shoulder to get his attention, smiling at the casino worker apologetically. "Adri, come on. Let's get you home."
His eyes drift to us, slow and sluggish. First, he looks at his sister, then at me. His brow furrows in confusion. "What’s he doing here?" He attempts to grab his glass but misses. His knuckles knock it over, and the remaining alcohol spills onto the wood and fabric.
The lady sitting across from him scrunches her nose.
"He’s helping me drag your drunk ass to the car," Naomi says flatly. "Get up." She slaps his back.
"I’m not done yet." He waves her off with a flick of his wrist.
"Yes, you are."
"I’m older. You don’t get to tell me what to do, Shrimp."
"Adri, I’m serious," she hisses out. "I can’t have you doing this to me. I can’t have Koda calling me about you making a fool of yourself in my place of work."
"Ah, Mr. Casino Owner." Adri smiles crookedly. "I get it now. Embarrassed of your bro?"
There’s something in the air, an unspoken tension brewing just beneath the surface, and I can't tell if this is a natural state of sibling rivalry or if there's a deeper, more insidious animosity lurking behind the facade.
I feel like I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be witnessing this.
"Give me a hand, will ya?" Naomi asks me all of sudden, trying to get Adri off that chair.
I shove my thoughts aside and rush over to help her.
Adri yanks free, stumbling back and slamming into a passing couple. For a second there, he looks like he might lash out at them for being in his way, but the fight leaves him as fast as it comes.
"Ah, fuck it," he blurts out, his entire frame slumping somehow.
"I’m sorry, guys," Naomi quickly apologizes. "Tough week at work. He had too much to drink."
The couple hurriedly departs, shaking their heads in disapproval. I grasp Adri's arm and drape it over my shoulder to prevent any further mischief.
"Time to go, big guy," I say as I steer us away from the foot traffic and head toward the exit. Naomi walks next to him on the opposite side.
"Whaaat the hell are you doin' here, Strings?" Adri grits out, more to himself than to us. My old nickname sounds weird coming from his drunk mouth. "I thought I was savin' ev'ryone. ‘S mah job."
"You sure do, buddy," I agree. "When you’re sober."
I glance at Naomi briefly. Her eyes are a mix of pleading and angry now, her lips a tight line. She’s fuming.
"Didn’t I tell ya to sh’tay away from my sister?"
I choose not to respond. I want to avoid a public confrontation with Adrian Medina. It's not about my fame or a potential story for the tabloids. It's about sparing Naomi from additional humiliation.
Outside, the desert is windy, and the parking lot is half empty.
Naomi stays quiet until we finally haul Adri to my car. He’s heavy, like a bag of wet cement, and I’m drenched in sweat by the time we manage to cram most of him into the back seat.
"Whatcha doin' here, Brady?" Adri slurs the same damn question as I attempt to stuff his lanky left leg inside.
"You’ve already asked me that," I reply, giving his scuffed boot a gentle nudge with mine for emphasis.
Watching me wrestle his stubborn limb is clearly getting old for Naomi; she hunkers down, seizes her brother’s ankle with both hands, and shoves the rebellious leg inside with impressive force.
"There." She claps her hands as if to clean off the dust after a hard day of work. Then she rises up, her gaze swinging over to me. "Let’s go." Without further ado, she climbs into the passenger and buckles up.
I follow her lead and get behind the wheel. She dictates her brother’s address while I punch it into my navigator.
Adri slumps against the seat, his eyes half closed, his breath reeking of whiskey. "Didn't want her to…" he mumbles. "I guess it’s my fault."
Naomi swivels in her seat to face him and reaches out to brush his hair back from his face. Her fingers are gentle, even now. "Just rest, Adri."
I look in the mirror, watching him drift off. "How often does this happen?"
She sighs a long, tired sound. "More than I'd like."
"Your mom knows?"
"I think she does, but not all of it." Naomi glances at her hands in her lap, then at the dark road unfurling before us on the other side of the windshield.
"He doesn't want to be home when he’s off work.
Could be PTSD." She’s avoiding my eyes, still staring ahead.
"He won't talk about it. Or the drinking. Or…anything."
"That sounds like him," I say. "Good ole tight-lipped Adri." He sure can keep secrets. I should know.
Her mouth twitches in a sad almost smile. "I guess some things truly never change."
Adri’s been silent for a bit, and I wonder if he's asleep. Then he stirs, clutching at some invisible regret, and the words tumble out again, "I ruined it," he slurs, his voice thick and distant. "Didn't I?"
"I can’t tell what you’re saying, Adri," Naomi replies. "Let’s talk when you’re not wasted, yeah?"
"Wasted? Me?" He leans forward and his forehead slams into the back of my headrest. Gravity and too much whiskey. "Fuck." He paws at the spot that just collided with my seat.
"Will you settle down?" Naomi grits out.
"Don’t think I d-don’t know, Shrimp…" His index finger wags unsteadily in the space between our shoulders. "You ssssneaked a thoussssand worth of food to him back in our high school days, didn’t ya?"
"Is that so important now?" she asks impatiently.
"‘Course." He snorts out a laugh. "You made us go bankrupt."
"We never went bankrupt. We sold the truck because Dad was sick."
This information seems to give Adri pause. He frowns like he’s trying to remember what dimension he’s in.
"Just chill, bro," I tell him. "We’re almost home."
"Don’t wanna go home," he counters.
"You have no choice in the matter," Naomi says insistently. "It’s either that or we drop you off back at your station. You can sleep it off there in holding or something."
"Ouch," I whisper. "That’s harsh, Shrimp."
She slaps my arm. "Don’t you ever call me that, Strings."
"Seems like you made it even." I grin at her.
"You two are still…ridiculous," Adri supplies.
"And you’re still a pain in the ass," I come back.
"Ah, shit happens, Brady… Shit happens."
Finally, we pull up to his house, a small place with chipping paint and weeds taking over the yard. Naomi digs in her bag for keys while I drag him from the car. He leans on me, heavy and limp, a mess of old sweat and new misery.
We reach the front door, and she quickly unlocks it like she’s done this a million times.
"I take it you have your system," I whisper, trying my damnedest not to drop her brother.
"I come by sometimes. I gotta have a spare set," she explains, pushing the door open.
I haul Adri inside while Naomi turns on the light.
The house is chaos, clearly a bachelor pad.
The smell of old takeout hangs in the air.
Dishes are piled up in the sink, and a trail of clothes and unopened mail litters the floor.
Naomi looks around, and I see the embarrassment flash in her eyes.
She shouldn't be embarrassed. He should. But I know how it goes with families.
"No wonder he needs a babysitter," I say, shaking my head.
She doesn't laugh. Just pushes a case of water off to the side so I can get Adri through.
We make it to his room and ease him down onto the bed.
"Is that you, Brady?" His eyes are on me, unfocused, but the look is there. Guilt and something else, something harder. "Are you fuckin’ back in town?"
Meanwhile, Naomi adjusts his pillow.
"Yes." I nod. "Get some sleep now, man."
He lets out a shaky breath, mumbling, "I ruined it."
Naomi stands up straight, her brows knitting together. "What’s he talking about?"
I shrug. "Not sure."
She sighs. "How does he keep his badge?"
"He doesn’t drink while on duty…right?"
"No. I haven’t heard anyone complain. But off-duty? Total town drunk." She heads toward the door slowly, a shadow of disappointment crossing her face. "Dad would've been let down," she adds softly, almost more to herself than to me.
I glance at Adri, once my best friend, and follow his sister, closing the bedroom door carefully behind me.
In the warm glow of the living room, I spot Naomi hunched over at the sink in the kitchen area.
The soft light catches her face as she flicks on the faucet, and water rushes out with a steady shhh that fills the space.
Her hands move expertly over each dish, suds frothing around her fingers.
Without a word, I fall into rhythm beside her, placing the slippery dishes onto the drying rack.
When we finish, she wipes her damp hands on a towel, then digs into the pile of takeout boxes cluttering the counter.
"His sister owns a restaurant," she mutters, "And he still chooses to eat this junk."
With smooth movements, Naomi crams the boxes into a black trash bag that smells faintly of garlic and soy sauce, remnants of what appears to be last night's Panda Express feast.
"Want me to take it outside?" I offer casually.
"No," she replies with a hint of finality in her voice. "He'll handle it tomorrow." She drops the bulging bag by the door and nods toward me—a silent gesture telling me it's time to go.
Outside on the porch as she locks the front door with her copy of the key, she says, "Thanks for the help."
"Don't mention it."
We stand there for a moment in the heavy silence of the desert night. I want to ask her a lot of things, but the right words don't come.
"You should probably get me back to my car," she reminds me.
"Yeah." We start walking to my Audi, leaving Adri to his dreams and demons.
I'm not sure which are worse.
The car's silence presses in as we leave Adri's house behind, a thicker quiet than before. Winds rush against the windows like an urgent reminder of the space and emptiness out here. Naomi's reflection is a ghost against the glass, those dark, intense eyes lost in thought.
"He's been shutting me out ever since I came back," she says, her voice a whisper that cuts through the noise in my head. "At times, it pisses me off. But mostly, I’m just scared."
I grip the steering wheel tighter as we drive on. The old highway unfolds before us, a straight shot through memories and mistakes.
"You think he'll ever get help?" I ask.
"He won't even talk about what happened when he was overseas. How am I supposed to get through to him?"
"You keep trying." My voice cracks with something I don't want to name. "You never give up."
"Like you did, you mean?"
I flinch, the accusation hitting harder than I’d expect. "I didn't want you to miss your shot," I mumble out, sounding extremely unconvincing. "Cooking school, New York, your own restaurant. You had your dreams."
"Not the only dreams I had, you know." Pause. "Doesn't matter now anyway."
"It does to me."
The air feels heavy with everything we never said during the past seventeen years. Naomi's face is lost in the darkness, but I can feel her next to me, close yet impossibly distant.
"It was so easy back then," she says softly. "Remember?"
"How could I forget?"
The memories flood back, vivid and relentless, pressing in on all sides.
"We thought we had it all figured out." She laughs bitterly.
"And then I screwed it up. I seem to have a knack for that."
I see her faint smile in the reflection of the window. It cuts me, the way something beautiful does.
"Only seventeen years of silence, Ty. No big deal."
The community parking lot looms ahead, empty and bathed in the amber from the pole lights. I pull in and kill the engine. The sudden quiet feels louder than anything else. Naomi opens her door without a word, and I scramble to follow her.
"Naomi," I say, but she's already walking.
The ground feels unsteady as I catch up. My heart's a frantic mess in my chest, like that one guitar solo that doesn't know when to stop.
She turns at her car, her keys in her hand, and I'm there, breathless and burning with everything I shouldn't be. I know now why I’ve been staying away all this time, why I’ve been terrified to reach out to her.
Nothing has changed between us. Even after a string of faceless ex-girlfriends—she’s the only one who’s ever made me feel all these strange things. She’s the only one who matters.
"Hey," I whisper, and it comes out rough, like gravel. I forget what I was going to say next.
She meets my eyes, then it happens. Something in me snaps. All the old promises and regrets crash together, a train wreck of need and our past life. I lean in, drawn to her like a magnet, and kiss her without thinking.
Her lips are soft, warm and familiar. It's like coming home. The world tilts, dizzy and perfect, but only for a second.
She pulls back, her eyes wide and hurt and angry. All the things I love about her.
Then the slap. Hard across my cheek, the sting fierce and sharp.
"Seventeen years of silence," she hisses out, her voice shaking. "And you think you can just kiss me?"
I stumble back half a step and try to find the right thing to say, but it’s not there, scared off by that glare in her eyes.
She gets in her Subaru and slams the door extra hard. The engine roars to life, and she's off, the taillights disappearing into the night, leaving me alone with the taste of her still on my lips.
What the fuck did I just do?