Chapter 26 Naomi
The golden hue spilling through the sheer curtains in Ty’s room tells me it's morning as I tear my eyes open. My arm rests over his chest, feeling his body move with each breath. I watch him, my face only inches from his, and for a brief moment, it’s like we never split up, and I want to stay in this bed forever.
But I’m scared.
And running late according to the digital clock on my phone.
So I do the only thing that seems safe.
I kiss him, soft and quick. And then I sneak out from his room on my tippy toes. I’m holding my shoes in my hand because I don’t want to wake up his parents. It would be extremely embarrassing to get caught like this and at my age.
Although my car in their driveway is a dead giveaway that there’s a guest somewhere in the house, thank God, it’s early and no one seems to be up. Hopefully, my spending the night in Ty’s room will remain a secret.
I drive home with a local radio station blasting and the windows down, past the empty lots, past the field of windmills, past the green and brown mountains. Once I’m at my place, I hop in the shower, clean up, get dressed, and make myself a cup of fresh coffee.
My phone buzzes the minute I jump in my Subaru to head over to the restaurant. It’s Ty.
I don’t pick up.
He calls again.
I text him instead.
See you at the community center.
I’m not ready to face him yet, not in private. I’m afraid I’ll be tempted once more. It’s best we’re only together in public places with plenty of people around. Because otherwise, this will become another mistake.
Over the next few weeks, I somehow manage to keep myself together. Ty keeps calling and texting me with almost annoying persistence, trying to ask me out, but every time, I turn him down politely. It seems effective. Or at least, that's what I'm hoping.
At the community center, there's no denying he's the favorite—juggling chairs, stacking boxes, tuning guitars, organizing props like a pro.
As we inch closer to the talent show, things are starting to get hectic. But right before the event, everything unravels. Asher doesn’t show up for the dress rehearsal, and when I’m finally able to get him on the phone the next morning, he fails to give me an acceptable excuse.
The day of the event, I arrive at the school early to oversee the prep. The auditorium echoes with sound as furniture thuds and sneakers screech on the tile floor.
I hold a clipboard, scanning the schedule. Around me, kids yell back and forth, and I can't hear myself think.
"I doubt it’s working, Ms. Medina." Miranda hands me the microphone, and feedback squeals through the speaker system as I try to test it.
It feels like the entire city of Sageview Ridge is crowding the building.
A toddler pulls on my sleeve, trying to steal my attention.
I don’t know who he belongs to—perhaps one of the parents or volunteers who failed to get a nanny.
A former classmate says hello. A worker from the coffee shop I go to sometimes asks me about the curfew. Apparently, his kid is in the show too.
It’s overwhelming.
"Breathe, Naomi," I mutter to myself as I move through the back room, where the talent is gathering.
"We lost the duct tape again!" shouts a volunteer from somewhere off to the side.
I shout back, "Try looking where you left it!" I pace the room like a mother hen, my nerves dancing in my chest as I tell everyone to keep it together.
Preshow energy hums, and the parents stand in clusters, their arms full of snacks and water bottles. Children push past, a flurry of anxious limbs.
But the biggest problem? Only three quarters of Phoenix Down is here today.
I run through the crowd and grab Miranda. "Where's Asher?"
She shrugs, her brow pinched with worry. "I haven’t spoken to him since last night."
"Last night? Was he sick?"
"I don’t know. He just said he was okay. We didn’t talk long. He said he’d be here today."
Panic trickles in as I check my watch. The event is about to start, and our star guitarist is missing. Besides, the dress rehearsal, he skipped one practice last week too. That’s not like him.
I tap my foot, thinking. Where the hell is he?
"We can't play without Asher," Kenny whines.
I bite my lip and try to think. "I know, buddy. Hang tight, okay?" I squeeze his shoulder and push my way through the rowdy teens and then outside, where the noise isn’t as bad.
I pull out my cell and dial Asher’s number. It rings and rings. No answer.
I try again. Leave a voicemail.
It's hot and stuffy all of sudden, and a sheen of sweat makes my shirt cling to my back. After a few minutes of contemplating, I punch in his home phone number and leave another voicemail for the entire family.
Satisfied with my message, I end the call and dial another person, the one who might know what to do.
Adri answers almost immediately.
"What’s up?" he grits out.
"I need a favor," I say, my voice steady despite the anxiety in my stomach.
"Since when do you ask me for things, Shrimp?"
"Quit it, Adri," I snap, then jump right in. "Can you do a wellness check on one of my kids? He’s been missing rehearsals and hasn’t shown up for the talent show. No one’s picking up the phone at his place either."
Adri’s an asshole, but when it comes to his job, he’s not messing around. He's great at what he does. "What’s his name?" my brother asks, voice switching to his work mode. "And an address if you have it."
"Asher Stone. I’ll text you the address in a second."
"Stone?"
"Yes."
I hear my brother grunting on the line like he knows something I don’t. "Ah crap."
"What?"
"That family is a mess. I don’t know why social services hasn’t taken the boy yet."
"You’ll check, right?"
"Yeah. No need to text me the coordinates." Adri sighs. "I know where they live. It's that trailer park up in Eagle Creek. Or in the area anyway. I’ll go right now."
"Call me with an update?"
"Okay."
"Later."
I pause, staring at the cracked pavement beneath my feet. "Thank you, Adri."
"Try not to lose your shit."
I hang up, exhaling slowly. It feels like all the air has left my lungs, and I struggle to pull it back in. I rub my forehead and pace for a few minutes, then head back inside, where the noise crashes over me again.
And there he is.
Tyler Brady.
Standing on one side of the room like a tattooed mirage. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, and my heart skips in a way I wish it wouldn’t. I’ll never understand why he’s so seemingly effortless in everything he does. Including looking at me.
He waves when he sees me, that boyish grin spreading across his face. I weave through the pandemonium, and a little part of me can't believe he showed up.
"Still alive?" he jokes, his eyes catching the afternoon light.
"Debatable," I say, clutching my clipboard like it's a lifeline. I motion to the stage. "Things are a little insane."
He laughs, the sound warm and easy. "Good thing I'm here, then." He moves closer, the hum of the room a backdrop to our little bubble.
I want to kiss him. It's a ridiculous thought given everything, but there it is.
Instead, I tell him, "You didn’t have to be here."
"I don’t mind, really," he supplies, his tone a bit more serious. "It wouldn’t make sense for me to attend all the rehearsal sessions and not show up for the actual event."
"We both know you’re not a fan of this school or socializing with former classmates." I lower my voice. "God forbid they the ask you for some tickets."
"That’s the worst nightmare of every musician." He smirks at me, but it’s clear we both aren’t saying what we want to say—the elephant in the room. The night we spent together and my sleeping in his parents’ house and him asking me out.
"Anyway," I change the topic because a brilliant idea has just flashed through my mind. "Let’s forget about your fear of the past and concentrate on the present. I have a problem, and you can help me fix it."
"Oh?"
I explain about Asher, my voice low so the kids won't hear the panic creeping in. "I'm trying not to freak out, but…you know."
"Can't you call your brother?" Ty asks.
"Already did," I say. "Adri's checking on them now.
" I shake my head, trying to clear the haze of agitation. "But he wasn’t at the dressed rehearsal yesterday, remember? And Miranda hasn’t spoken to him today either.
You might need to help me with the crowd.
Buy me some time until I know what's happening. "
"And if the kid’s a no-show?" Ty’s face grows a little worried too.
"Well, I sure hope he’ll turn up. He worked so hard. I’d hate for him to miss this chance, but there are three other kids in that band. It wouldn’t be fair to them."
"What are you saying?"
"You’ll step in, right?" I bat my lashes at him like I’m in seventh grade and have barely learned how to flirt.
"You’re not kidding?" he says, horror on his face.
"I’m not." I shake my head. "This is very serious."
"More serious than my ego?"
"You can’t compete with teenage disappointment, Ty."
He sucks in a lungful of air through his teeth and glances around to evaluate the crowd. People are eyeing him, and it seems like he’s not comfortable with it.
I take a step forward to close a bit of distance between us. It’s just shy of inappropriate now. "If you want to make it up to me, Ty," I whisper. "This is the right path."
He looks at me, really looks at me, then chuckles softly. "You always knew what buttons to press, Nomes."
Somewhere on stage, there’s a familiar tune blasting—I recognize the music that accompanies the dance routine the cheerleading team has been preparing.
"Ms. Medina?" the twins’ mother shouts exasperatedly, approaching us. "I hear Asher hasn’t shown up yet."
"Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to get a hold of him," I explain calmly.
She shifts her attention to Ty, and her expression morphs into something else, almost like a light bulb got turned on. "Aren’t you Tyler Brady?" the woman asks. "My sons love your work."
Clearly, the woman didn’t see Ty’s attack on Lachlan at the art show.