Page 96 of Resurrection
"It’s not a big deal," I reply.
"This is weird," he mumbles more to himself than to me. "Being back in town."
I grip the steering wheel, the leather rough under my fingers. "It can be."
"Is it weird for you?" His eyes open for a second, like he's searching for something, but they close again when he doesn’t find it.
I don't respond. Instead, I think about how many times I've sworn this would never be me again. Back to caring more than I should. The headlights cut through the dark, and I try to focus on the road and not on how fragile he looks. It’s like the mask is gone and the real Tyler Brady is beside me. Not the rockstar but the broken boy from a tiny desert town, the boy whose dreams came true, but he’s still not happy.
"It's just for tonight," I say, maybe to him, maybe to myself. "I’m only helping you because it’s the right thing to do, Ty."
He lets out a low laugh that's as sad as it is short. "Isn't it always?"
The streets of Palm Springs are eerily empty this late. Everyone else has found their way home except for us.
His parents' house is just as I remember—big, flashy, and dark, tucked at the end of a road that goes nowhere. I’ve been here once or twice in the past with my own parents. Our families are still very friendly. The fallout is just between him and me.
I pull into the driveway, turn off the engine, and take a moment to breathe. The quiet is thick, settling around us like a blanket no one wants.
Ty doesn't move when I open his door. I poke his shoulder, soft enough that it feels more like a touch than a nudge. "Come on," I say. "Let's get you inside."
He stirs, but it's like waking the dead. "Just…leave me in the car."
"Not happening," I reply, firmer this time. "I'm not letting you sleep it off here. Besides, it’s my car. I need it to go home."
"Sleep in the spare room."
"Ty, no. Let’s get this over with. I’m tired and I have a long day tomorrow."
He lets me haul him out, lets me put my arm around him, lets me carry him through the night like he's always known I would. The gravel crunches under our feet, and the sound is too loud, too real.
We get to the front door, and I'm struck by how natural it all seems—his weight heavy on my shoulder. We fit together like puzzle pieces that clicked into place long ago. The door swings open without resistance. Around here, people probably think their wealth buys them security and forget about locking up.
Inside, the house smells of laundry and a faint hint of something floral. Something Colette Brady brought here with her from the old place. Everything is dim and still, the only noise being our ragged breathing and the soft rustle of our clothes.
"Last door on the left," Tyler says as I maneuver him past the couches and toward the hallway.
"Quiet," I whisper. "I don’t want to wake up your parents."
The hallway is lined with family photos. Some are recent, but others are old enough to have come from a box in the attic. Ty as a kid, all knees and elbows and bright eyes. Ty in high school, when his smile turned into that cockylopsided grin. They stare down at us as we make our way past, accusing and nostalgic.
My arm aches from the effort, but I don't let go. His bedroom is at the far end of the hall, and I brace myself for the last few steps. We get there with no creaky floorboards or turned-on lights. No sign that anyone else in this huge house even knows or cares that we're here.
Ty stumbles through the door and sinks onto the bed. I should leave now. I should go back to my life that was simple before he showed up and started stirring all the old things back to the surface.
I take a step back, ready to bolt, but he catches my wrist. It's a soft grip, the kind that asks rather than demands.
"Sit with me for a bit," he says, and the words hang in the air like a plea.
I don't want to, not really. But the part of me that's already perching on the bed knows I will. He's holding on too tight, not to me, but to all the doubts he's tangled up in.
"It’s really late, Ty."
"Just a few minutes. Just till my heart settles."
"Okay," I agree.
He smiles up at me from the pillow. His grip on my hand remains the same. "Thanks."
