Page 139 of Resurrection
"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 ofDreamscape 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.
32TYLER
The school year’sfinally 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.
