Chapter 32 Tyler
The school year’s finally over, and the reunion is just around the corner. Tonight's my shot to come clean to Mom and Dad about Naomi. It’s one of those busy nights when she's caught up at the restaurant, leaving me with a rare opportunity for this heart-to-heart.
Small towns have long memories and fast gossip trains. Keeping anything under wraps is more like holding water in a sieve.
"So," I start, setting my fork down. We’re halfway through dinner, cozy under the soft kitchen light. "I know this might catch you off guard, but I've got some news."
Dad mumbles something unintelligible into his mouthful of mashed potatoes. His focus never strays from his plate.
Mom pauses mid-bite, reaching out with her gaze.
My heartbeat kicks into double-time. It’s crazy that they still make me jittery after all these years.
"What is it, son?" Dad asks eventually when the pause lasts longer than expected.
I look between them—first at Dad, then at Mom—and slowly confess, "Naomi and I are seeing each other."
Silence.
I stare back at them both, their expressions so neutral, it irks me beyond measure.
"Did you hear what I just said?"
Mom nods ever so slightly before returning to her salad as if nothing explosive just landed on our table. "Yes."
"Then why am I getting the iceberg treatment?" I demand.
"This is not new to us, baby," Mom says with a shake of her head.
"You think we don’t know where you’ve been spending all those nights you didn’t come home?" Dad chuckles like it’s a given.
"And you said nothing?" I can’t believe them.
"What are we supposed to say?" Mom shrugs. "You’re an adult. You earn your living. You make decisions. Who are we to tell you what to do with your life?"
"Besides," Dad chimes in, waving his fork at me. "You and the Medina girl were always meant to be."
"Because why haven't you married someone else yet?" Mom adds. " And you’ve never brought a girlfriend home either. Even that girl from Brazil you were seeing."
It’s because I never really had a girlfriend. One-night stands? Sure. Friends with benefits? Guilty. But a serious relationship? Never. Isla was only an attempt to get over Naomi. And it didn't work.
"Anyway…" Dad drops his gaze to his plate and shovels more potatoes in his mouth, then mumbles out, "Don’t screw it up this time, son."
The following week, the engine of my Audi ticks like a heartbeat in Naomi's driveway while I’m waiting for her behind the wheel.
The quiet aftermath of Leif's recent call presses in around me, guilt whispering that it's not too late, not yet. He was pissed off and hung up on me when I told him I wasn’t going to change my mind and leave Sageview Ridge during his follow-up call.
Yes, passing up the Vortex gig is a mistake. A big blow to my career. But I’m not going to jeopardize what I’ve built here with Naomi these past few months. Even if the temptation the stage has always had is stalking me like the devil is trying to seduce me into another screw-up.
My phone buzzes in the inner pocket of my jacket, and I pull it out. An LA area code.
I pick up out of habit.
"Hey, Tyler?" the man on the line asks. He sounds familiar, but I can’t place his voice. "It’s Lennox. Briggs. From Vortex."
It hits me then. The lead singer. I remember him now. We did a couple of festivals together a while back when I was still with The Deviant. They were young and fresh with one album out.
"Hey, man," I reply, glancing at Naomi’s porch to see if she’s coming. "What’s up?"
"Sorry I’m calling out of the blue."
"No worries."
"I thought maybe if I talked to you myself, we could figure something out. Your management keeps saying you’re not available."
Oh shit. I take a deep breath, then supply, "Yeah…no…sorry, man. I’ve got some stuff going on right now, and I’m not able to commit to a long gig. What happened to Andrews? I thought you were taking my offer to him?"
"He’s got some other project with his own band. Couldn’t make it work."
"Sorry to hear that."
"Would you reconsider? We can match whatever you ask for."
"As tempting as it sounds, I’m gonna have to decline."
"Come on, dude… It’s an easy gig."
"I’m sure there’s someone else."
"Not with your skills. I can count the people who can play our stuff on one hand."
The truth sits like a brick in my pocket, and I can't ignore it much longer. There’s a part of me that wants to go back to touring. A part of me will always want that—the attention only the stage gives. It’s like charging up a dead battery. But right now, it’s not possible.
"Look, man," I tell him honestly. "I’d love to, and I think I’d jump at this opportunity if it was some other time, but I need to sort out a few things first."
"Bummer, Brady."
"Good luck."
"We’ve got two days before our official replacement announcement has to go out. Think about it, yeah?"
"Sure," I reply just to get him off my back.
We say our goodbyes and I end the call, no longer wanting to deal with him. He’s a nice guy and the band is solid. Could be a great opportunity, but Naomi’s in Sageview Ridge, and she’s the priority.
Just then, the front door swings open and she appears, beautiful and bold in a curve-hugging teal dress that makes my throat tighten. Seventeen years collapse into nothing. Or into everything.
I grip the wheel with both hands as she comes closer, then I remember about being a gentleman and rush to climb out of the vehicle and open the door for her.
She smiles, gives me a once-over. "Did I ever tell you that you clean up nice, Brady?" she supplies playfully.
I haven’t really done anything different except for putting on a pair of designer jeans, boots, white shirt, and a light jacket. "You may have mentioned it once before," I reply, pulling her to me to kiss her lips.
I know anyone passing by her place can see us, but we’re at the point where hiding seems silly. I told my parents, and she told her mother. The only person not happy with us seeing each other again is asshole Adri.
"Let’s go," she says, sliding into her seat. "Before my makeup starts melting."
It’s hot outside, typical for June in Coachella Valley. The only way to survive this heat is going from one air-conditioned space to another as fast as possible.
Her hair tumbles loose over her shoulders as she fumbles with the seatbelt while I slip behind the wheel. I can barely breathe, barely keep myself from kissing her senseless. The past few weeks have been like a dream, and I’m afraid I’m about to wake up.
This feels so much like that night. Prom. The taste of nervous excitement, the future just a heartbeat away. I remember us in the gym, our hands not knowing where to go, holding her tight while everything else fell away.
"You’ll stare me into a hole," Naomi teases, and I realize I haven’t blinked once since she got in.
"Don’t want to miss this look," I manage. "Can we just stay here? Skip the reunion?"
"Tempting," she admits, glancing around the driveway. "But the plan was to go, remember? We have a bet. If you skip it, then you lose. Plus, I heard someone’s super eager to show me off."
"True," I say. "Besides, I can’t wait to tell you my wish."
"You look amazing." She flicks the fabric of my shirt. "And we’ll see about that wish."
"Aren’t you the sweetest?" I grin.
"Okay, Tyler Brady. Let’s do this." Her eyes are daring.
I nod and peel out of the driveway.
The streets zip by outside, bathed in the bright afternoon sun. Her perfume fills the car, and I can barely keep my eyes on the road.
Our hands brush when we both reach for the radio, and I jolt like I’m still that kid who’s barely learned to flirt. She smiles, knowing the effect she has on me. Hell, and I’m not ashamed to show it.
"Same song?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at the old rock ballad that was topping the charts when we were in high school. It would always come up when we were either cruising around the neighborhood or making out in my Honda.
"Same song." I nod. "Only, now I have a car that actually runs."
"The other one ran fine too," Naomi protests. "Took us from point A to point B."
I grip the wheel with one hand and reach for her with the other, my nerves going wild when she meets me halfway. We’re in this together, I think. Really in this, and it scares the hell out of me.
"You okay?" she asks, giving me a quick squeeze. "You seem nervous."
"You make me feel sixteen again," I say, half teasing, half true. "And terrified. People will talk."
"I don’t care, anymore," she replies with a smile.
The first thing that catches my attention is Adri’s cruiser on the perimeter of the school parking lot.
"What’s he doing here?" I grit out, my mood dropping immediately as I maneuver my Audi toward the valet.
Naomi shrugs. "I think it’s standard security protocol for all events that run late."
"What are a bunch of thirty-five-year-olds going to do? Graffiti the gym?"
"You underestimate people in their thirties. Alcohol can make us do stupid things."
"I hope you’re not referring to our night at the resort?" I come to a stop, and the attendant is there, already opening the doors for us.
"That's precisely what I'm talking about."
"But consider the outcome," I say. "Alcohol is what brought us together."
"If that helps you sleep at night," she replies with a touch of sarcasm, then steps out of the car.
I open my mouth to respond with quip of my own, but she’s already moving toward the check-in desk. I catch up to her, and we pick up our name tags.
The woman helping us looks vaguely familiar. Her own name tag says Fiona, and I’m starting to remember now. She was always in the front row, taking notes and making doodles in the margins of her notebooks.
"Tyler Brady. In the flesh." She smiles at me, her gaze bouncing between Naomi and me. "I didn’t know you two kept in touch."
"We didn’t," Naomi replies sharply.
"Well"—Fiona smiles some more—"it’s good to see you two made up, then."
As soon as we’re out of Fiona’s earshot, Naomi whispers at me, "I think she had a crush on you in high school."