Chapter 31 Tyler #4
The accusation rips through me, tearing open the doubts I’m trying to ignore. But this time, it’s different. This time, I know what I want. I stare him down, a dare, a challenge. "It won’t be like that."
"You think because you stuck around for a few weeks that makes you different?"
"I think because I love her it does." The confession explodes from me, raw and unchecked.
Adri’s jaw tightens, and I see the hit land, see the history he holds like a shield. "You love yourself, Brady. That’s it."
I’m about to fire back, about to throw everything I’ve been keeping in me all these years at him, when Naomi appears. She’s between us in an instant.
"Out of all places, you choose to do this in a church?" she snaps. "Stop it." Her eyes pin us both. She’s angry, but it’s more than that. She’s afraid too. "This isn’t the time. Or the place."
Adri glares, a silent war still raging on his face. "He’s not worth it," he mutters, turning on his heel.
I watch him go. Naomi stands in front of me, her arms crossed, the silence between us heavy.
"I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to—" I start, but she cuts me off.
"Not now, Ty. Please."
Her voice is tight, controlled. She’s holding herself together, holding all of this together. I reach for her hand, but she pulls back.
"I should’ve known you two weren’t going to play nice, not even today."
I leave shortly after, not wanting to aggravate her brother even more.
Later that night, she texts me. The message is short but enough. She wants to see me. We meet at her place. The moon’s the only witness as I slip inside the house.
The earlier storm has passed, but although the frustration still simmers beneath the surface, it’s less threatening than before. Naomi’s still mad, but her arms pull me close, her mouth on mine, her words a soft echo of what we can’t be in public.
"I’m sorry about today," I whisper when we draw apart to catch some breath. "I shouldn’t have let your brother antagonize me."
"I really don’t want to talk about him now, Ty." She grabs my jaw and yanks me down to her, kissing me again.
Her reassurance is dizzying, and I want to show her how much it means to me. With my hands, my body, my tongue. The places I trace and kiss and learn all over again.
She grabs at the hem of my T-shirt and pulls it up and over my head. Then we’re a mesh of skin and breathless gasps as she wraps herself around me, as I press her into the softness of her sheets, into the hard line of my desire.
We hold on, tight and desperate, afraid of the time we’ve already lost, of the future we can’t predict.
The sex is wild and wordless. There’s no finesse to it, just relentless desire, driving us to that point of no return, to the edge of that proverbial cliff.
The comedown is almost violent. We both tumble on the bed, panting and sweaty.
She’s soft and tight underneath me and I don’t want to leave her side ever.
The next night, I’m at her place again. And the night after that.
The days blur into each other. We’re drunk on the secret we’re keeping, on the rush of being us after so many years apart.
Naomi calls me late, whispers my name into the phone like she’s pulling on some invisible thread.
I’m there in minutes. The thrill of sneaking in heightens everything, every touch, every look, every yes as we crash into each other, as we tear away the barriers, the doubts, and the clothes that get in our way.
Her house is full of us, of our laughter, our moans, our frantic nights and lazy mornings.
My parents don’t ask questions when I don’t show up at the house until lunch. They’re probably guessing what’s going on, but I have no intention of discussing my relationship with them.
Sometimes, I feel like we failed all those years ago because the entire town had their eyes on us.
Maybe it was the weight of expectation, the pressure to live up to the fairytale.
It’s different now. I want to preserve the little privacy she and I have, shield her from the outside world and everything that comes with me—the chaos of stardom.
The time ticks by, sometimes slow and sometimes fast. I’m settled into this routine where I spend time with her, and when she’s busy, I write music.
I have no idea if any of the songs will ever turn into a solo record, but just like all those years ago, I can’t not write when she’s in the picture.
Every moan the night before is a new chord the morning after.
I like it. Just me and my guitar. Something I couldn’t truly do with The Deviant.
Then one night, the call from Leif comes. I’m lying in Naomi’s bed, surrounded by the scent of her skin, her soft breath a hypnotic lullaby in the dim room. She’s had a long day at work and is asleep, and I’m here by her side.
I immediately silence the call, debating if I should pick it up.
I was clear that I wasn’t going to take the gig the last time I spoke to my manager.
But responsibility pushes me off the bed.
Could be something urgent. Could be news about the next season of Dreamscape Diaries.
That’s the only gig I’ll take, because I don’t need to be away from Naomi to write the score.
Leif’s voice scratches through the connection like an old vinyl as I dash to the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
"How are things at home, Tyler?"
"Fine. What’s up? It’s late."
"I didn’t want to wait until morning. I’m circling back about the Vortex offer."
"I thought we agreed I wasn’t going to do it. Besides, I heard they went with Andrews?"
"Andrews is out. Scheduling conflicts. I just got off the phone with their management, and they’re willing to double the initial offer. You’re in, right?"
The offer is a temptation, and for a second, I waver. Because, frankly speaking, I do miss being on the road, miss the crowds, and the money is great. Not many bands pay this much to someone who’s a stand-in.
"Man, look… I thought I was clear I didn’t want a gig that long.
" I’d be gone six months, maybe more if dates are added.
"I can do a one-off show, but I don’t really want to leave town right now.
" I don’t care about the town, but I don’t want to leave Naomi.
I promised I wouldn’t do that to her. I’m sticking to my word this time.
"You need this," Leif asserts. "You’re well aware of that, and so am I. If you’re not chosen as the lead composer for the upcoming season of Dreamscape Diaries, you’ll be jobless for a year.
Besides, the production company is changing the showrunner, so there are no guarantees.
I seriously doubt you can maintain your lifestyle solely on the royalties from your previous work with The Deviant.
We both know your cut is small. And that house in LA…
" He pauses. "Let me remind you—you didn't buy it outright.
You're making mortgage payments. If you don't work, you won't be able to afford to keep the property. "
That's a low blow, even for Leif. "Yeah, I get it," I grit out. "You earn when I earn."
"It’s my job to make sure you’re busy, and you’ve been lazing around in the middle of nowhere for four months now."
I stare at the floor, then at the mirror above sink, at the reflection of a guy who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing anymore.
Leif waits, and the world waits. Only, I’m not ready to juggle my personal and professional life, not ready to be apart from her again.
"I’m tired, Leif. I don’t really want to discuss this anymore. Tell the Vortex guys I’m not available."
"Fine, but this is going to be my last warning. If you don’t get your shit together, I can’t keep you as a client any longer.
You’re not part of The Deviant. You’re a free agent.
I’d think twice before I throw away a good gig like the one you’re being offered.
Soon, you’ll have fewer chances to play arenas.
Instead, you’ll be playing local bars for six people in attendance. "
It’s harsh, but deep down, I know Leif is right. I rode someone’s coattails all these years, and I need to be working more than ever right now to keep myself relevant.
"Noted," I grunt out.
"I'll assume it's just the late hour affecting you and give you the benefit of the doubt. One last time. I’ll do the best I can to stall and follow up again in a couple of days. Think about what I said very, very hard, Tyler."
The line goes dead.
I push the door open and exit the bathroom. For a second, I just stand in the center of the room, the phone a heavy weight in my hand. I see Naomi, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the peaceful shape of her. I think of the past weeks we’ve spent together, how real it feels, how dangerous.
I want to believe I can have both. The music and the girl, the future I lost and the future I want. But doubt creeps in, loud and persistent, louder than Leif, louder than Adri, louder than my own damn heart.
The bed dips as I slide back beside her. Naomi’s hand finds me, a soft, sleepy touch, and the guilt claws its way up my throat.
She stirs, her eyes opening slightly, and I brace myself for the question I’m not ready to answer.
"Everything okay?" Her voice is a drowsy whisper, and I see the trust in her eyes, the trust I’m holding like a live grenade.
I can’t bring myself to shatter it. Not yet. "Nothing important," I lie, the words a bitter taste on my tongue. "Go back to sleep."
She smiles, soft and real, and buries her head in my chest.