Page 146 of Resurrection
The restroom's more crowded than a Friday-night concert. A pudgy ginger dude stands there, his name slipping from my mind like a forgotten lyric, and then there's Theo Kozak. Ah, Theo—the guy who sat behind me in English lit, always ready to chat my ear off.
Great. Just what I need.
"Tyler! My man!" Kozak says in this heavy-lidded slur as he spots me walking in. His hands are half soaped up when he pauses to wave at my reflection in the mirror. I'm beelining for that last stall like it's a safe haven.
"Hey," I throw over my shoulder, keeping it cool enough to not encourage conversation. Earlier, Theo hit me up about getting him tickets for Justice’s upcoming solo tour—insisted it would be for old-time’s sake. What a doofus.
I laughed it off internally. Wishful thinking on his part but definitely barking up the wrong tree.
Inside the stall, I bide my time until those two finally catch a hint and clear out of here.
I wait a few more moments to ensure they don’t come back, then wash my hands, and slip into the hallway.
There’s an old-school MC Hammer track thumping from the gym. Laughter and shouts rise up as people jump in rhythm. A trio burst out of the women’s restroom, all dolled up and giggling uncontrollably. They dart past me with wild hair swinging and a shared mission in their eyes—get to the dance floor before the chorus starts.
I sidestep to let them by, amused by their urgent joy.
As they reach the end of the hallway, Naomi's silhouette steps into view from around the corner. Her figure is bright against the dim lights as she walks over.
I begin to move toward her. Just as I get closer, she pauses midway and holds out her hand. On her palm sits my phone.
For a fleeting moment, my mind wanders off somewhere until instinct kicks in and I pat down my pockets—yep, empty. Must've forgotten it on the table. "You didn't have to bring it," I say, bridging the gap between us with casual strides.
Naomi studies me with that look—the one that pierces through layers of pretense, wrapping an unspoken question tight around our interaction. "I thought we were going to be honest with each other this time," she finally says, and it sounds like an accusation. "You said you didn’t have anything going on."
"What are you talking about?" My social battery is low, and I’m struggling to put together two and two.
"The text message." She shoves the phone at my chest. "Were you going to leave me again?"
"Naomi—" I grab onto the phone with one hand and reach out for her with the other. "I’m not going anywhere."
She pulls back, her eyes hard and hurt. "Then why didn’t you tell me you had a gig offer?"
"Because I didn’t take it." I shrug, slipping the phone into my pocket. "I don’t want to leave town."
She draws a deep breath and looks at the wall. Her facial features tighten like she’s trying to hold it together with everything she’s got.
"I’m not going," I insist, resting my hands on her shoulders. "I wasn’t sure it was even worth discussing."
There’s a bit of a pause filled with the distant rumble of hip hop from the gym.
"It was selfish and stupid of me," she whispers shakily. "To want you all to myself."
"It wasn’t."
"Do you know how it makes me feel?"
"I promised it’d be different."
"It makes me feel like I’m a noose around your neck, Ty," she breathes out.
"Don’t say that."
"Like I’m taking the only good thing in your life."
"You’re the only good thing in my life."
"No, I’m the runner-up, Ty. For you, music comes first. That’s why it didn’t work then. That’s why it’s all falling apart now."
