Page 7 of Resurrection
Sageview Casino & Resort looming in front of me is all practical architecture, neon lights, and colorful signs coaxing the passers-by to enter with the promise of a win. It’s on the edge of town and I can see the city stretching out on one side of the building and the San Jacinto mountains on the other.
The way the past rolls over me like the tide, pulling me in and forcing my head under the waves, is overwhelming. I try to avoid reflecting on the years I spent in this town, yet the nostalgia keeps flooding back.
I shake it off and head inside. There, reality disappears and, and instead, I’m surrounded by the decorated walls and vibrant carpeting, the ding of the slot machines, and people’s chatter.
I move past the rows of blackjack tables and turn right, heading toward the bar.
There’s an acoustic band in the far-right corner, and they don’t sound too bad. Only, the guitars are drowned out by the casino noise.
I haven’t been here in a long time. During one of those short holiday visits when my family still lived next to the Medinas, I think a couple of buddies and me came down for a night of drinking.
Besides the three subpar joints downtown, this is the only place in Sageview Ridge for people to let loose and have fun. It’s not like LA, where any day of the week, you can just go to a new spot.
But she wasn’t here then. She was somewhere in Europe, working with some world-famous chef. At least, that’s what her Insta said. Running into her then wasn’t possible. But now that Naomi Medina has a restaurant of her own in this casino, the probability of crossing paths with my high school sweetheart—who hates my guts—is very high.
What’s worse—I wouldn’t know what to say to her.
By the time I get to the bar, my heart is beating a drum solo in my chest. I'm more wired than when Adri pulled me over. Thankfully, Jon picked a spot on the opposite side of the casino floor, and I ended up not even seeing her place in passing.
I find my friend in a booth near the back wall. It's quieter here. More private too. Less chance people will approach me for an autograph. I don’t feel like being Tyler Brady from The Deviant. I just want to be Ty for a few hours.
"Hey, Brady." Jon extends his hand for a shake. "I didn’t think you’d show." He’s all business. Dress slacks. White shirt. Expensive cologne. No one would have guessed Skinny J from The Rejects would be selling million-dollar mansions to the rich for a living.
"Got pulled over," I admit. "By Adri fucking Medina."
"No shit?" I know that grin, and I know that pitcher of beer on the table. We’ve done this before. He's already filling up my glass when I sit down. "Guy’s got a grudge against you."
"Looks like he does."
"I remember you two were inseparable our first year of high school. And then nothing. You have a fight because of his sister? He always seemed like the protective type."
"Ah, you know how it is when you’re a teenager," I reply vaguely.
"True, true." Jon waves at the waitress. "Honestly, I never even understood how you were friends in the first place. I figured he'd hate your guts by default since you had your eye on Naomi. Besides, freshmen and seniors don’t mix. That's just against high-school hierarchy, man."
"It’s ancient history anyway."
The waitress appears, and the topic of Adri Medina and our strange friendship is forgotten. And honestly, I’d like for it to remain that way.
"So," Jon says once we’ve placed our orders and the waitress is gone. "What's it like being a big deal, huh?"
I laugh into the glass, almost spitting out my beer. "You ask me this every time I see you. It’s a mess," I say, then add, "but it beats math class."
He raises his drink, and I follow. "We didn’t do much of that anyway, as I recall. More pranks than homework."
He’s not wrong. "Yeah. My mother still can’t understand why my grades were so poor."
Jon chuckles. "Ruined her dreams of having a son with a bachelor’s degree."
"That I did."
"How long you sticking around for this time?"
"Not sure yet. Was going to say my goodbyes to Jose Medina," I reply, matching his nonchalance. I wonder if he can tell how uncertain I really am.
"Ah. That’s right. You were neighbors for what, all of our high school years and then some? Until you moved your folks into that place I hustled for you in Palm Springs."
"Yes. He was a good man. Always telling stories. Funny as hell. It’s a crappy situation for his family." Somehow, the conversation is back to the Medinas, and it’s making me anxious. Whenever they come into the picture, I feel like my secrets are about to unravel. And I don’t know if I’m ready for the world to see me all exposed, to see the real Tyler Brady. He's been gone for so long, there's no point in resurrecting him.
