Chapter 15 Tyler
I’m outside Sageview Ridge community center, leaning against my Audi, acting like I’m too old to be nervous.
In reality, I'm most nervous I've ever been.
I should be back in LA by now, working on some new project. Instead, I’m stuck in my hometown, chasing Naomi Medina.
And writing new music.
My music.
Yes. I’ve been messing around on my acoustic for a couple of weeks now. I scrap a lot but not all, which seems like some sort of a glitch. It’s been ages since I’ve created something that belonged only to me.
Back in the days of The Deviant, I had very little input into the band’s music. Mostly, my freedom revolved around riffs and solos. Lyrics were out of reach since Justice was the principal songwriter.
But here and now, I don’t have any guidelines or instructions. I can do whatever I want.
And this feeling of not being tied down by someone else’s expectations is rousing.
The sun dips behind the hills, painting the sky with shades of everything that used to be, and I tap my fingers on the hood, counting the seconds until I lose my nerve.
It’s been too long and too raw—waiting for her like this—and both my phone and my gut says I should go. Coachella has attracted too many influencers and gossip chasers, and being on their radar is not something I want or need.
When the kids finally pour out of the community center, I duck behind the car, hiding the jittery mess inside me.
I don’t want to be seen today. If they spot me, I’ll be bombarded by millions of questions, and my resolve to do what I came here to talk about will be gone again.
Luckily, the teens scatter to their parents’ respective vehicles and don’t see me crouching behind my Audi.
What the hell are you doing, Ty?
Hiding from high school kids?
That’s right. Stooping any lower would be impossible.
And then I hear a voice call me—her voice. "Tyler?"
Shit.
I look up.
There she is, her dark hair a banner against the evening, her eyes locked on mine. And there’s a smirk on her lips.
Busted.
"Why are you here?" she asks, gesturing at me ducked down, about to kiss the ground. "And why didn’t you come in. Tired already?"
I jump up, pretending I wasn’t hiding, and dust off my jeans. "Just lost my contact," I mutter. That’s the first thing that comes to mind, and it’s obviously not a good excuse.
"Stop bullshitting," Naomi counters, marching closer. "You’ve got perfect vision."
She would know. I feel like I’m fourteen again, hoping she won’t notice my voice cracking. I adjust my shirt one more time, a real pointless gesture at this stage. "Maybe blindness is setting in. The years take their toll," I mumble, trying to play it cool and failing.
"Yeah, right." She scoffs.
We’re in the parking lot, but we might as well be standing on the moon for all the empty space around us. She stops just short of being close, her arms crossed on her chest like a shield all of a sudden. "The years take their toll?" she repeats, her tone heavy with more than I want to think about.
I rub the back of my neck, fighting the urge to hide behind the car again. "About the other night. I, uh, didn’t mean to ruin dinner."
"Is that why you’re here?"
"It was uncalled for, but I wanted to apologize for the kiss, and I didn’t know how to find you. I didn’t mean to crash your family time."
"Oh?" She raises an eyebrow, and I can feel the weight of her stare. My mind blanks, and the speech I had all planned out crumbles.
I open my mouth, and something between a grunt and a word slips out. Finally, I gather my courage. "I’m an ass. I know it."
"You notice anything?" Her hand bounces between our bodies. "The pattern?"
"The pattern?"
"You fuck up. You ask for forgiveness. You fuck up again. What’s the point of doing this if the result is always the same?"
"Do you have to be like this?"
She steps closer, and my heart stops. Fuck.
Why does that happen? Why can’t I not feel all these things when she’s nearby?
I half expect her to slap me again, but then she cranes her neck and presses her mouth to mine.
Her lips are soft and sweet, and even the time between us can’t diminish that spark I felt for the first time during my sophomore year of high school.
Everything freezes and then spins.
It ends before I realize it started, then she turns to leave. Panic clutches at my chest, and blood shoots straight to my cock. Seventeen years later, and she still has me in the palm of her hand. "What am I supposed to do with that?" I blurt out.
Naomi pauses, looks back with a cunning smile. "Same thing I did with your promises when you disappeared."
She’s gone before I can even breathe. The sky’s a shade darker, and I’m standing in the still desert evening with nothing but the echo of her words and the mess they’ve left inside me.
I’m too stunned to be think clearly or act logically.
Instead, I drive back to my parents’ place. The driveway welcomes me with string lights and the smell of Mom’s baking. But the taste of Naomi’s kiss is still tender on my lips, and I duck into my room before I’m summoned to the kitchen.
Despite the fact that my trusty old Fender is waiting for me, it’s my thoughts that need tuning. I pace the room for a few minutes, then settle into my chair and strum a few chords. But every note trips over itself, stumbling under the weight of the past that she just dropped back into my arms.
I know she did it out of spite, but it felt just as magical as it did the first time we kissed at sixteen, which only reinforced my belief she’s the only woman for me in this lifetime.
After a few minutes of pointless messing around with the strings, I leave my Fender behind and wander to the kitchen, where Mom’s baking away. The aroma of vanilla and chocolate wraps around me like a hug I don’t know how to accept right now.
"Thought you were on a diet," she teases as I grab a cookie, then start pacing the floor like I’m running from something that’s already caught up to me.
"It’s an all-cookie diet," I mumble through a mouthful. But I don’t taste anything, not really. I run my hand through my hair, feel the chaos inside me grow.
Mom’s eyes follow me as I make another lap. "You look like you’ve got something on your mind," she says, wiping flour from her hands. "What's troubling you, son?"
She pulls out a chair, and it feels more like an order than an invitation.
I sit down, the weight of everything is really starting to bother me. "Something like that," I admit. I hesitate, staring at the cookie in my hand, then give in. "It’s Naomi."
Her expression softens with understanding, not surprise. "Want to tell me what happened?"
"I can’t let it go," I finally confess. "I thought I had. I thought…"
It spills out before I can stop it, the whole mess of the parking lot and the years between us and the way her kiss was everything and was nothing like I imagined it’d be.
Mom listens, nodding, her silence saying all the right things.
"Tyler," she interrupts gently. "Maybe you’re not supposed to let go."
I stare at her, trying to understand. "It was a long time ago, Mom."
She gives me a smile, the kind that knows more than it lets on. "Not that long." She looks around as if the house itself is chiming in. "Maybe it’s meant to be that way, after all these years, both Naomi and you are back home to finish what you started."
I tip my chin, not trusting myself to speak, and turn to the window in the direction of Sageview Ridge. Somewhere out there, just a quick drive away, sits the Medina house, where I left my heart seventeen years ago, and I think I need to do my best to get it back.
Before this void inside my chest ruins me.