Chapter 20 Tyler
Today, my parents’ house smells like beer and Mom's cooking. She’s been fussing with dinner all afternoon while Dad and I hang out in the living room. The TV blares with the usual crack of the bat and his running commentary. He always gives his own enthusiastic play-by-play.
Dalton Brady—yeah, that guy practically pumps baseball through his veins once the season kicks off.
I guess he’s who I inherited my obsessive streak from. For him, it’s sports; for me, it’s music. Potato, potahto.
Dad takes a swig of beer and says with a grin, "Damn good game. Freeman’s looking good."
I nod, but my mind's not in it. It’s still in that tiny office where Naomi and I made out a few days ago.
I can't stop thinking about her, the heat of our kiss, and the taste that’s still on my lips.
"So you're gonna stay awhile this time, huh?" Dad asks, not looking away from the screen.
Mom doesn’t wait for me to answer. Her voice carries in from the kitchen, full of hints and half questions. "Maybe it has to do with a certain someone?"
I laugh it off, but she’s right. Even after seventeen years, I’m still drawn to Naomi Medina like a moth to a flame.
Dad balances his beer on his knee. "Last time you were home this long, Bush Jr. was in office."
"That was in high school," I reply.
"Exactly," he grunts out.
"Don’t know if you noticed, but I'm not living on a tour bus anymore." I try to focus on the game, but all I see is her face.
"You staying for the reunion, Ty?" Mom shouts from the kitchen. I hear the scrape of a spoon against a bowl.
"Maybe. We’ll see," I call back.
"You should. You’ve missed every single year since you left for the city." Mom’s head pokes around the corner, her eyes all hopeful.
Dad lowers his voice like it’s some sort of secret he’s about to spill. "I hear you’ve been talking to Naomi."
"Maybe." I crack a smile, more to myself than to them. "A little."
"That girl has done well for herself." He keeps on looking at the screen, but something tells me his mind is elsewhere too as he continues talking.
"She almost ended up on that cooking show once.
" He uses the remote to lower the volume of the game a bit and shouts in the direction of the kitchen, "What was the name of that program, hon? "
"Which program?"
"The one the Medina girl got scouted for?"
"Flavor something," Mom mutters.
"Top Flavor," I add quietly. It was years ago, back when she was still traveling the world. I was a bit upset when I found out she didn’t get past the audition round. If anyone deserved to be cooking on TV, it was her.
"That’s right." Dad nods. "Now look at her—a restaurant owner. Like her father. May he rest in peace."
"Dad," Mom says as she comes into the living room. "Did he tell you he’s volunteering at the community center?" She gestures at me with a towel.
"Is that where you’ve been going these days?"
I don’t know why I blush. I’m in my mid-thirties, but my parents know how to make me feel like a little boy who’s been caught stealing a late-night snack from the kitchen.
"Isn’t Naomi volunteering there too?" Dad croaks.
I can practically hear Mom’s satisfaction when she says, "You see what I mean, Dalton?" Then she gets back to whatever she's been doing.
"You were a fool to let that girl go, son." Dad shakes his head, sounding a little disappointed. "You’re not even denying it. So you know."
"Don’t rub it in, old man."
He just laughs. "You better use this time you’re in town wisely before someone snatches her from right under your nose. She’s a catch."
Dad’s attention turns back to the TV, and he bumps up the volume.
My head's spinning, suddenly replaying every moment of that make-out session with her again. It’s hard to concentrate on the game with my pulse hammering.
I grab my phone, tapping it nervously. The sky through the window blurs into the past, and all I see is her. I give in and head outside, the evening air warm against my skin. The stars blink above like they know the story.
After a few minutes of hesitating, I pull up the information for Oasis and call the restaurant number.
We both know she won’t pick up if I try her cell. I mean, I hope she still has that same number.
The first ring makes my heart stutter. I wait, almost wishing that no one answers. Most places have an automated service, but no, there’s a click and then an unfamiliar male voice says, "Thank you for calling Oasis at Sageview Ridge Casino. How may I assist you today?"
"Can I speak to Naomi?"
"You mean Chef Medina?"
"Yes."
"Ummm…" There’s a brief pause. "Hold on. Let me see if she’s available. Can I ask who’s calling?"
"I have questions about my catering order," I blurt out. I don’t even know why. Because if I tell this guy I’m Tyler, she’ll just have him say she’s busy, and I’ll have to wait until next week to see her at the community center.
And I don’t think I possess the composure to face her in front of all those raging teens without talking it out first.
"I can help you with your catering order," the guy on the phone offers.
"I’d like to speak to the chef, please," I insist.
"Sure. Give me a sec."
I’m on hold for a while. There’s rock music playing in the background, a popular ballad from the 80s. We both liked that band as teens. If that’s not a sign that she hasn’t gotten over me, then I don’t know what is.
I lean against the porch railing, try to steady my breath, and wait. Finally, there’s another click and her voices answers, "This is Naomi." A muffled clatter of dishes and the hum of the restaurant in the background bleeds through the line.
I dive right in. "Hey, it’s Ty."
"Seriously? I have no time for this. We’re short-staffed and slammed. I gotta go."
"Look, hold on. Don’t hang up."
"You have three seconds."
Three seconds to make my point. Fuck it. "I can't stop thinking about what happened," I fire off. "Have dinner with me tomorrow?"
She hesitates just for a second, but I catch it. "Is this a joke?"
"No, it’s not. I think before we see each other next week at the community center, we need to talk about that kiss."
"I really am busy, Tyler." I hear her sigh. "I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know."
She hangs up then, without waiting for my response.
Frustration and hope are tying my gut in knots. I stare at my phone, wondering if trying to win her over is pointless.
Don’t give her up, motherfucker.
You gave her up once.
You can’t do it again.
Main Street feels the same, dust settling into familiar grooves, just like seventeen years ago. A collection of prickly desert plants adorning the storefronts that refuse to grow up. The slightly cracked mosaic pavement. The towering backdrop of the San Jacinto Mountains.
Not much has changed in this sleepy town since I left. Like it’s frozen in time.
I walk past the restaurants and the cafes with memories pushing against the bright sun.
The barber shop's still there, its spinning pole rustier than I remember. A couple of older guys standing on the corner watch me, like they’re wondering if I'm lost.
I duck into a jewelry store, thinking maybe I'll find something for her. My mind races with everything that needs to be said, everything I've held in since yesterday's phone conversation. She didn't say no.
Although she didn't say yes either.
It's hot inside, and I move past the glass displays and stare at the offerings, but nothing stands out. I step back onto Main, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might still remember—or recognize—me. I’m wearing shades and a baseball cap, hoping it’s enough to disguise me.
That’s when I see it—the flyer for the high school reunion, tacked to a bulletin board. I’m staring at it as if it holds the answers to all my questions.
Out of nowhere, the sheriff's cruiser swings onto the street with that unmistakable wail of sirens slicing through the air and skids to a halt just inches from me by the curb.
"What now?" I grit out at the vehicle just as its door opens.
Of course it’s fucking Adri.
He steps out of the cruiser in his uniform. Sunglasses hide his eyes but not the tension that’s all over him.
My heart’s drumming a familiar beat. Adri moves like he’s been waiting for this, his boots heavy on the pavement. I brace for it, knowing what’s coming.
"Hey, Brady. What’s this I’m hearing about you sniffing around my sister again?" he asks in a flat voice, his words like bullets.
I take a deep breath and try not to lose my shit. Locals are watching us, their heads turning like they’ve been waiting for this show. I gotta keep my cool. There are too many fools with phones ready to record whatever’s TMZ-worthy.
"What Naomi and I do is none of your business," I reply.
Adri steps closer, his sunglasses hiding the glare I know he’s shooting at me. His hand hovers too close to the service weapon on his belt.
I don’t flinch. This angry hothead is only hurting his own reputation.
"I’m her brother," he hisses out. "Her well-being is very much my concern."
"Oh yeah?" I say, my voice low, intended only for him, not for those passing by. "Where were you seventeen years ago, huh?"
"You broke her heart once. I won't let you do it again."
"That’s rich coming from you." I square my shoulders. "You’re the one who wanted me out of Naomi's life. You’re the reason I left."
Adri’s stance goes rigid. It’s the same anger from all those years ago, the kind that can make a guy leave the only home he’s ever known. He moves closer and his finger jabs at my chest. "You better walk away before it’s too late."
"She’s not a kid anymore, Adri. Maybe you should let her decide instead of deciding for her."
I see the old fury crack through, a flash of what’s underneath all that big-brother armor. People zip by, looking at us like they’re sure the fireworks are about to start.
My voice of reason tells me I should walk away, let it go, let her go too.
But I'm not that guy anymore. Not a fucking coward. I know I promised myself I’d behave for Naomi’s sake. But her brother is a complete tool. And I’m not scared of him anymore.
Adri shakes his head, and his lips press into a thin line. He leans in and speaks low enough that only I can hear. "You think you can just waltz back into town, flash a few smiles, and she’ll forget?"
"She still doesn’t know the truth, does she?"
Adri’s face tightens. It’s all over him now, the strain and the anger, the years he’s carried it.
"She's not a consolation prize, Tyler. Go back to LA."
"I’m not listening to you this time, and I’m not leaving," I spit the words back at him.
He finally steps back and turns partially away, but then takes one last shot. "I’ll be watching you."
I stand there as he gets into the cruiser, and it feels like my chest might explode.
A couple of teenagers snicker as they walk by.
I don’t know what they’re laughing at, but I can guess.
They remind me of me. I stare down the street and at the horizon, where the dust meets the sky, and I’m fuming with it, all of it.
Maybe it’s time she knew.
Maybe I should just tell Naomi the whole damn story.