Chapter 31 Tyler #2
Once all the technicalities are dealt with, we climb into the basket, and it feels like climbing into the future. The space is limited here, and there’s a tiny table next to our seats, where a bottle of champaign is ready for us.
The pilot reminds us to remain seated during the flight when we’re drinking.
I hand Naomi a glass. The bubbles seem to match the butterflies in my gut.
"Vintage," she notes, eyeing the bottle.
"Like us," I say, and she smiles around the rim.
The burner roars, the ground shifts, and we rise, rise, rise into the sunset.
The view unfolds below us, a sea of orange and gold and green and gray. We float, suspended in a world of our own. At some point, Naomi leans against the basket and looks over the side, her eyes filled with wonder as she stares down at the land.
Me?
I can’t take my gaze off her.
"Look," I say, pointing out the collection of colorful boxes to the right. "There’s Sageview Ridge downtown. And over there—"
"The wind farm!" she shouts, breathless, gesturing at the group of windmills gathered at the bottom of the mountain.
"Looks so different from up here."
"It does." Her hand brushes mine, tentative, as if she’s afraid this is all too fragile. "Everything’s so…small."
"Not us," I reply, watching her.
The sun dips lower, setting the mountains on fire, painting the sky with every color we ever dreamed of. It feels like a second chance, a clean slate. She glances at me, and I see the question in her eyes, the doubt she can’t quite hide.
"Naomi," I say, needing to tell her. "I couldn’t give you any of this before. But I can now. I can take care of you."
Her lips part. "Ty…"
I shift closer, my hand finding hers, holding on tight. "I know what I want this time."
"You mean it?" Her voice is soft, like she’s afraid to let herself believe.
"Remember how you once said that your people don’t move because they’ve lived and died on this land for centuries?"
She nods, her eyes watery all of a sudden.
"All those places from your past…New York, Paris, Miami, Rome… They don’t matter because they’re not home. This, here, is home, and I want to give it to you." I practiced this speech for days, but now that I’m saying it, it seems like all the wrong words come out.
There’s a long pause, and she sets the drink back down and rises to her feet. She's turned away from me to the horizon, staring down at the valley floating by below, the colors of the land melting into one another.
"Nomes?" I call softly, unsure of what she’s thinking. But then I realize she’s not looking at me because she doesn’t want me to see those tears she quietly wipes away from her cheeks.
"I’m scared, Ty," she says over the roar of the fire in the burner.
"You don’t have to be. I’ve got you." I set my own drink down and move to stand right behind her and wrap my arms around her, pressing my body up to hers.
"It’s not just us," she explains. "It’s the constant scrutiny we’ll be under. The scrutiny that can ruin us all over again."
"I could just fade away…" I whisper. "I could just stop being that guy. In a year, no one will remember my name." The prospect of being nobody for her is tempting. And I think—no, I’m positive—I can do it. I can say no to the things that have been my life these past seventeen years. I can say no to the career in music. It never allowed me to write my own material anyway. I’m writing here and now with her by my side.
Naomi draws a deep breath, like she’s about to say something, but it never happens.
The moment wraps around us, gentle and full of foreshadowing. The air is crisp, the world beneath us blurring into what-comes-next. Her head rests on my chest, and I feel it all—the love, the fear, the leap of faith we’re taking together.
I breathe in, letting the hope fill me. It’s more than I dared wish for. More than I thought we’d get. We’re floating, flying, rising above everything that once held us back.
"Promise you won’t mess it up, Ty," she says.
"Promise."
"And by the way, I’m impressed."
"Well, the night’s just getting started, baby," I whisper in her ear.
The ride comes to an end just as the sun teeters on the edge of the mountains, ready to dip below them. We're back on solid ground, our hair wild and tousled from the wind, my head slightly swimming from the champagne we downed while floating through the sky.
The ground crew sends us off with smiles, and the manager strolls over, guiding us back to the limo. I open the door with a playful bow. She lets out a giggle and slides inside. I hop in after her and pull her onto my lap.
Outside, the evening landscape rushes by in a hallucinatory blur of colors as we cruise toward Rancho Mirage. The resort is perched atop a hill with twinkling lights blending seamlessly with nature.
Naomi doodles patterns on my arm with her fingertip, tracing whimsical shapes over my tattoos while we steadily climb toward our destination.
I'm dizzy with her, with this, with everything we have again.
"I always knew you were insane," she whispers.
I kiss her forehead, knowing we're only getting started. "You haven’t seen anything yet."
"Not sure if I can take it," she jokes, her breath warm against my cheek.
I hug her tight, the scent of her, the feel of her like nothing I've ever known. It’s been a long time since I let myself want something this much, and I almost forgot what it’s like—this emotion of finally getting what I’ve dreamt of.
The same emotion filled me the day I received a response from The Deviant’s management, stating they liked my audition and wanted me in the band, wanted me to take the place of one of the most prolific rock guitarists of the decade.
It was the day I called her for the first time after leaving her.
Drunk and high on my success. She was the first person I wanted to share the news with.
A few years later, I called her again on New Year's night when I was wasted. I wanted to tell her I missed her but I don't remember if I actually did.
"You’re quiet," Naomi whispers.
"Just thinking," I admit.
"About?"
"Us."
She opens her mouth to speak, but that’s when limo pulls up to the resort and the driver rushes to open the door. I climb out first and offer my hand to her. The lights from the sign paint us pink and gold as we get out. She intertwines with fingers with mine, and we walk inside.
It's been forever since I've seen her like this.
Happy.
Carefree.
I think I want to keep it that way.
We pass through the hotel lobby, ride up an elevator, and walk down the hall, stopping in front of a tall, glossy door. "What’s this?" she asks, suspicion and delight in her voice.
"Find out," I say, turning the knob.
The spa suite is all ready for us. Soft music drifts through the room, and Naomi's eyes go wide when she sees the hot tub filled with rose petals.
"You didn’t," she breathes out.
"Too cheesy?"
"Very." She removes her boots, tossing them in the middle of the suite and rushes over to the tub. She tests the water first, then swivels to look at me from across the room. Her cheeks are pink, and her eyes are wild.
I shrug, trying to play it cool, but the truth is, I can’t stop smiling. "Anything for you."
We move deeper inside, and I uncork a bottle of wine, then pour a glass and hand it to her. She peeks at me over the rim, and I know she can tell how much I'm trying.
"You really went all out, huh?" she says, taking a sip.
"Told you we’d do this right."
"Looks like we are." She pulls me close, her lips brushing mine.
Her touch sends my heart into overdrive. "You ready?" I ask, a little breathless.
"Sure."
I grab her hand, and we head to the massage room, where low light spills across the tables and two masseuses are waiting for us. The air here is slightly perfumed with the scent of lavender and clean sheets.
We slip out of our clothes, stealing glances at each other, and I wonder if I can handle this. If I can keep my promise and not screw it up. The table is cool against my skin, but all I feel is the warmth radiating from her body as we lie side by side.
The masseuses begin their work, kneading away the tension that's built up over seventeen long years. Naomi turns her head, her gaze finding mine, and it feels like a spark. Like something bigger than us, bigger than anything we've ever known.
"This is amazing," she murmurs, her voice thick with relaxation.
I reach for her hand, our fingers brushing in the half-light. "Better than our teenage plans?"
"Better than any plans," she replies, a sleepy smile on her lips.
The massage deepens and so do the glances we exchange. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, but there's a heat in them that matches the fire inside me. I'm lost in it, lost in her, and I don't want to find my way back.
When the session is over and the masseuses leave, we move back to the main room and duck into the hot tub.
There, we sit across from each other, naked, surrounded by bubbles and foam.
"This is so good," she says. "I approve."
"I’m glad to hear it." I pour us more wine and hand her a glass.
My skin’s alive and on fire where my fingers touch hers when she takes it from me.
"This is the real reason you brought me here, huh?" She laughs, her voice echoing against the tile. "To get me drunk?"
"Guilty," I say, scooting over to sit beside her.
We fumble in the tub for a moment, balancing the glasses, and I take a second to admire the ink on her back—the collection of falling feathers—until she’s pressed up against my chest. I’m turned on and relaxed at the same time.
Part of me wants to have her, hard and fast and madly.
But part of me wants to take it slow and savor every inch of her in a sensual dance of seduction.
The water cradles us, soothing and warm and healing.
"So," she says, tilting her head to look at me. "What’s next on the agenda?"
"Well," I say in her ear, my voice rough with simmering desire, "I thought I’d give you a couple of orgasms."