Page 124 of Resurrection
This morning, we had breakfast at the cafe near the hotel. It was busy and loud and hot, but I didn’t notice any of that. We sat in the corner, away from the heaviest foot traffic, holding hands on the table and staring at each other. And my world was complete.
Daylight was strong when we drove back. I gripped the wheel with one hand and the other sat in Naomi's lap, our fingers laced together. We parked in the small empty lot off the main road and kissed under a hot sky that seemed to stretch forever. After, she leaned against me as her hair got caught in the wind.
"Can't believe we're really doing this," she said.
"You, me, and LA," I told her. "No one can stop us."
We gazed at the horizon, and the world was just us and the future, our dreams rolling out like a map of places where we'd be together.
"Maybe we should live somewhere with a pool." She giggled. "So I can tan all year long."
"You'd be too distracting," I teased, but the idea thrilled me.
She tucked herself closer, and we made more plans. Even the ruthless summer heat couldn't stop us from fantasizing.
The next week, we didn’t see each other as much. Naomi was spending time with her family, packing, and preparing for our trip. At times, I wondered if maybe she was reconsidering her plans because the Medinas were relentless with their advice and endless with their reasons why she shouldn’t go with me. But I knew she'd follow her heart. I knew she'd follow me. We wouldn't give up on this, not after how far we'd come.
Our bodies were the only true luggage we needed, the only certainty, the only guarantee, and I knew wherever we ended up, it would be the right place. I'd play my guitar on the streets of LA if I had to. I'd do anything for us.
The promise of it burned through me in the days before our scheduled departure from Sageview Ridge. And then Adri fucked it all up.
The garage was an oven that day. My duffel bags were open and empty on the floor, my guitar case waiting like the loyal friend it was. Sweattrickled down my spine as I worked, but I didn’t care. The heat felt good, real.
My Honda was ready. I’d had the oil checked and the filters changed.
I was folding the clothes—my old leather jacket and shirts and jeans that Naomi liked on me. Everything seemed so much smaller now, like it shrunk along with the house and the life we were leaving behind. I grabbed CDs, some memorabilia, a few posters I wasn’t sure I needed. But they felt like a part of me. I figured it was just paper, so why not?
I was zipping up one of my bags when a shadow fell into the garage through the open door.
I looked up and saw Adri standing right outside.
"What’s up?" I asked. I saw no reason to be hostile. Yes, he was an ass, but he was Naomi’s brother. Even though I didn’t need his approval, I secretly wanted it.
Adri walked in without a word, his eyes scanning my half-packed bags like they were a volcano eruption in progress. "You're really going through with this?" he asked, crossing his arms.
The tension was coming off him like heat from the pavement. "What's it look like?" I shot back, stuffing my socks into another bag.
"You're making a mistake."
"Naomi's ready to go. You can't stop us." The words came out tough, but his stare was tougher.
"She's got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Strings." He hadn’t called me that in forever, and it felt nice hearing him say the nickname he himself gave me.
"That's for her to decide." I kept my hands busy, more to hide the frustration building up inside me. "She's old enough to know what she wants."
"What she wants?" Adri laughed. A short, hard sound. "You're dragging her to LA to chase your empty rockstar dreams. She’ll be a waitress, and you’ll end up playing on street corners."
"Fuck you, Adri." His doubt stung more than his hate toward me. "This isn't about me. It’s about us. Naomi knows what she’s getting into."
I grabbed my guitar case and let the silence thicken, hoping he'd give up and leave. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine.
"If you really care about her," he said, his voice tight and angry, "you’ll let her do what’s best for her. You’ll let her go to the culinary camp, where she can actually meet the right people and gain the right experience to end up at a good school."
The air was electric, and I could hear the low rumble of traffic from the highway in the distance, like the countdown to an explosion. "You don't get to decide that," I snapped. "You're not her fucking father."
He moved fast, faster than I expected, grabbing my arm. "That’s right. I’mnot, but it’s my job to take care of her. To make sure she’s not making stupid mistakes."
"Is that what you think this is?" I pulled away, my pulse loud and raw in my ears.
