Chapter 24 Naomi
The night air brushing against my face is a welcome change from the heat of the kitchen.
I'm halfway through the casino parking lot, thinking of a hot bath and my feet up on the couch, when I spot Ty. Immediately, everything that happened between us last night rushes to the forefront of my mind. All day today, I’ve been trying to fool myself with that same lie I told him.
It’s just physical.
Ty’s perched on the edge of the garden wall surrounding the flower bed. He's like a gargoyle, swaying and unsteady. He's clearly drunk. Even his hair is intoxicated, the way it's hanging over his eyes. Damn it. The last thing I need right now is to deal with a wasted ex-boyfriend.
Nope.
Not doing this tonight, I tell myself, determined to leave. But instead, I halt. Or rather my feet halt without checking with my brain.
I stand there, stupidly caught in the neon haze of the building, and then those same feet that are supposed to be marching me to my car turn me around and carry me toward him.
My body is in fact a traitor.
"Ty? Is that you?" I call out as I approach.
When I get closer, he blinks up at me with bleary eyes, and I catch a whiff of alcohol.
"Are you stalking me?" I ask.
"Maybe." He grins up at me, a sight to behold. His clothes look like they just came out of the laundry, and the way he's swaying makes it clear he's too drunk to even sit up straight.
"Ty," I say, my voice a mix of exasperation and that other thing I don't want to name. "What the hell are you doing out here?"
"Hey, Nomes," he slurs. His lips try for a smile again but settle for a lopsided frown. "You’re here too."
"Not by choice." I cross my arms, trying to look stern, but worry creeps in like a stray cat. "How much did you have to drink?"
"Enough," he replies cheekily, as if that's an actual measurement. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in defiance. "More than enough."
I can already see this is going to be one of those nights. I can see that I should remove myself from the situation.
I don’t.
I just study my surroundings for a second.
The neon lights from the casino dance off parking lot signs and the pavement, painting the scene in oranges and pinks that look almost romantic if you don't know any better.
I release a heavy sigh, the kind that comes from the depths of a history too complicated to unpack.
"You have someone to take you home?" I ask, looking around like the desert around us will magically spit the answer.
"I haven’t thought that far ahead yet," he mumbles, waving his hand at me. "Come, sit with me for a bit."
"I’ve had a really long day at the restaurant. I don’t have the time or the desire to deal with your bullshit."
"Hmmm." He looks at me for a heartbeat, then says, "Is that why you haven’t called or texted? Lack of desire." He chuckles. "You seemed to have plenty of that last night."
This little shit. I draw a deep breath but choose not to attack him. What good will it do anyway? "You can't drive like this."
"You never know, Nomes." He wiggles his fingers in front of his face. "Curious what they call these? Magic hands. Hands ready to step in anytime your number one is out of commission."
"What are you talking about? Get up."
He attempts to focus on me, but his gaze slides off to the side like a car on ice. "You don't think I can walk without you?" There's something so pitiful yet endearing about his admission that it breaks my resolve a little more.
I look around, half expecting to find a hidden camera or a crew from one of those reality shows. But it's just me, Ty, and the silent cars that will all have hangovers tomorrow from the booze and perfume of their owners.
"Alright," I say, more to myself than to him. "Let's get you to your folks' place."
This sends him into a mumbling spiral. "Just a substitute, you know. Just…filling in."
I crouch next to him. "Ty, you’re wasted. Stop overthinking it and get up."
"Always second best," he mutters. "Never the real deal."
His head drops forward, and for a moment, I think he's fallen asleep mid-brood. I take a deep breath, more for courage than patience, and slide an arm under his. "Come on. Up you go."
He stumbles to his feet with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, and I can't help but chuckle. Some part of me hates that I'm doing this, but a bigger part—the part that remembers—won't let him fall. Even if he left me.
Ty is heavier than I remember, but together, we manage to make it to my Subaru. He's mumbling the whole way about being just a stand-in, as if the words themselves have been spiked and are rendering him drunker. And since he’s not making any sense, I choose to ignore it.
"Ty, stop," I say gently as I maneuver his body. "You're going to make yourself sick."
"Too late," he replies, his eyes closing as he slumps into the passenger seat.
I shake my head, not sure if it's due to affection or annoyance, as I buckle him in. Maybe a little of both. The door shuts with a solid thunk, sealing in the booze and misery. I rest my forehead against the window for a second, the glass cool and comforting, before getting in.
Tyler's asleep or at least pretending to be, and his breath fogs the passenger window.
I turn down the radio, the song too close to a memory. He's silent, but it's a loud kind of silence that fills the car like smoke. He's like that. Filling up all the spaces. In my Subaru and in my mind.
I’m wavering again. Rethinking Sonia’s revenge advice.
"Sorry for the trouble," he finally mutters, his voice a rasp in the dark. But he doesn't sound sorry. Just lost.
The tires hum against the road, and every now and then, he lets out a sigh that feels too heavy for someone who’s passed out. I glance at his slumped form. Even in his rumpled state, with his messy hair and stubbled chin, there's something about him that makes my heart remember how to hurt.
"It’s not a big deal," I reply.
"This is weird," he mumbles more to himself than to me. "Being back in town."
I grip the steering wheel, the leather rough under my fingers. "It can be."
"Is it weird for you?" His eyes open for a second, like he's searching for something, but they close again when he doesn’t find it.
I don't respond. Instead, I think about how many times I've sworn this would never be me again. Back to caring more than I should. The headlights cut through the dark, and I try to focus on the road and not on how fragile he looks. It’s like the mask is gone and the real Tyler Brady is beside me. Not the rockstar but the broken boy from a tiny desert town, the boy whose dreams came true, but he’s still not happy.
"It's just for tonight," I say, maybe to him, maybe to myself. "I’m only helping you because it’s the right thing to do, Ty."
He lets out a low laugh that's as sad as it is short. "Isn't it always?"
The streets of Palm Springs are eerily empty this late. Everyone else has found their way home except for us.
His parents' house is just as I remember—big, flashy, and dark, tucked at the end of a road that goes nowhere. I’ve been here once or twice in the past with my own parents. Our families are still very friendly. The fallout is just between him and me.
I pull into the driveway, turn off the engine, and take a moment to breathe. The quiet is thick, settling around us like a blanket no one wants.
Ty doesn't move when I open his door. I poke his shoulder, soft enough that it feels more like a touch than a nudge. "Come on," I say. "Let's get you inside."
He stirs, but it's like waking the dead. "Just…leave me in the car."
"Not happening," I reply, firmer this time. "I'm not letting you sleep it off here. Besides, it’s my car. I need it to go home."
"Sleep in the spare room."
"Ty, no. Let’s get this over with. I’m tired and I have a long day tomorrow."
He lets me haul him out, lets me put my arm around him, lets me carry him through the night like he's always known I would. The gravel crunches under our feet, and the sound is too loud, too real.
We get to the front door, and I'm struck by how natural it all seems—his weight heavy on my shoulder.
We fit together like puzzle pieces that clicked into place long ago.
The door swings open without resistance.
Around here, people probably think their wealth buys them security and forget about locking up.
Inside, the house smells of laundry and a faint hint of something floral. Something Colette Brady brought here with her from the old place. Everything is dim and still, the only noise being our ragged breathing and the soft rustle of our clothes.
"Last door on the left," Tyler says as I maneuver him past the couches and toward the hallway.
"Quiet," I whisper. "I don’t want to wake up your parents."
The hallway is lined with family photos.
Some are recent, but others are old enough to have come from a box in the attic.
Ty as a kid, all knees and elbows and bright eyes.
Ty in high school, when his smile turned into that cocky lopsided grin.
They stare down at us as we make our way past, accusing and nostalgic.
My arm aches from the effort, but I don't let go. His bedroom is at the far end of the hall, and I brace myself for the last few steps. We get there with no creaky floorboards or turned-on lights. No sign that anyone else in this huge house even knows or cares that we're here.
Ty stumbles through the door and sinks onto the bed. I should leave now. I should go back to my life that was simple before he showed up and started stirring all the old things back to the surface.
I take a step back, ready to bolt, but he catches my wrist. It's a soft grip, the kind that asks rather than demands.
"Sit with me for a bit," he says, and the words hang in the air like a plea.
I don't want to, not really. But the part of me that's already perching on the bed knows I will. He's holding on too tight, not to me, but to all the doubts he's tangled up in.
"It’s really late, Ty."
"Just a few minutes. Just till my heart settles."
"Okay," I agree.
He smiles up at me from the pillow. His grip on my hand remains the same. "Thanks."
I don’t know what to say. So I stay quiet.
"Hey, Nomes?"
"Yeah."
"I really am sorry…for leaving you."
"You already said that."
"You know, lately, I’ve been wondering…a lot…
If it was all worth it. Giving up on you…
on us. The things I did these past seventeen years, I never really did anything I wanted.
I followed orders. I was just a stand-in.
A stand-in for a dead guy. No legacy of my own…
Just a substitute." He's unraveling, the threads of his life coming apart in my hands.
I tie a knot, or at least, I try to. "It's not like that, Ty."
He looks at me, his blue eyes clouded with all the things he can't quite utter. "Then what is it? What am I?"
"More," I reply, and my voice is firmer than I’d expect. "More than you think."
I shift to sit a little closer to him, and the bed dips as if with the weight of what's always been there between us. The blinds let in a slice of moonlight that cuts across his face, and the room feels too small for everything we aren't saying.
"I'm not good enough," he whispers, and it breaks my heart to hear him so raw. "Not good enough to write my own music."
"What’s stopping you now that you’re not tied up by a contract and have all this time on your hands?"
"Don’t know."
"Well, maybe you should stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to writing. Your songs, the ones you wrote in high school, were great."
"I wish that was true. I'm just filling in for someone who died."
I reach for his hair to move it away from his eyes.
"You saved them, Ty. The band was a mess, and you made it work. Your path is different from his and that’s okay.
Sometimes, we’re trailblazers, and sometimes we’re saviors.
There’s nothing wrong with continuing someone’s legacy.
Those are the hardest shoes to fill for the toughest people. "
He lets out a shaky breath, one that feels like it's been trapped inside him for too long. "You always see the good in people, even when there is none."
"Don’t be stupid, Tyler Brady. There’s a lot of good in you. You’re just lost."
"I need a map to get out of this maze, Nomes."
"I don’t have one."
"What if you do."
"We’re all a mess," I say softly. "Not just you. We all have shit to deal with."
His shirt has pulled up a bit, and the ink on his skin tells stories I don't know anymore. But I want to. God help me, I want to.
He shifts closer, his sneaky arm around my neck all of a sudden. "Can’t lose everything again. Can’t lose you again."
The room is pin-drop quiet, and I can hear the thud of his heart. I lean my head against his shoulder, and his other arm wraps around me, cautious and careful.
"It's just for tonight," I whisper, knowing it won't be, knowing my revenge plan is ruined already.
"That's all I need," he replies, and we both know he's lying.
I shouldn't stay. Not when his parents are just down the hall. Not when I've just gotten back to a life that finally makes sense without a man. But he's so broken, and I'm so broken, and together, we make something that feels almost whole.
His breathing starts to slow, matching mine. I rest my head against his chest, the steady rhythm beneath me pulling me under. The moonlight cuts stripes across us, across the shadows that hide nothing and everything all at once.
I don't mean to fall asleep, but it happens anyway, like we both knew it would.