Page 138 of Resurrection
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’tnotwrite 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 ofDreamscape 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.
