Page 145 of Resurrection
I move closer, ready for the hit, ready to take it when he decides to unload.
"Parading Brady around like it’s nothing? As if he didn’t ruin your life?" His voice is low and controlled, a controlled explosion. "This whole town’s going have a good laugh, Naomi. He’ll take off, and you’ll be the punchline."
Naomi doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t waver. She stands there, as defiant as I’ve ever seen, and I wonder if this is it, if this is where she realizes what she’s signed up for.
"Thanks for the warning," she says. Her eyes don’t leave her brother’s. "I’ll take my chances."
He stares at her, then me, then her again. He doesn’t know what to do with this version of his sister, this stubborn, confident, we’re-in-it-together version that refuses to budge.
I see the moment he gives up, see it in the hard set of his jaw as he spins and stalks away, leaving me standing there, wondering what just happened, if maybe this is going to be okay after all.
Naomi turns, her face unreadable. Her shoulders lift in a small carefree shrug.
"You're okay?" I ask.
"I hear the food tonight’s gonna be the bomb," she replies matter-of-factly. "It’s a catering company from Palm Springs I’ve heard a lot of good things about." She loops her arm through mine. "I’m hungry."
I blink, stunned.
"Let's go eat."
By the time we make it back inside and find our table, the rumor of us has already spread through the entire school and probably the town. I bet some of these bozos are texting their friends and relatives to tell them that Tyler Bradyand Naomi Medina are back together and holding hands at their seventeenth high school reunion.
Of course we’re seated next to Brittney and her husband. Dude is a real chatterbox, asking me about touring and guitars and all the nerdy shit. He’s not trying to hide the fact that he’s a fanboy.
I don’t mind. He seems fun.
Across from me sits Jon with his date. Her name is Solange, and she’s apparently from San Diego, where she’s studying to get her degree in marine biology. Nice and educated gal. I approve. Plus, she and Naomi hit it off.
The conversation drifts like predictable elevator music. Families. Careers. The eternal gossip about who’s trending and who’s on the outs.
I'm holding Naomi's hand under the table. Her touch is the only thing keeping me anchored amid the low murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses that fill the gym. The DJ is playing all the nineties hits and I’m overcome with all those old teenage emotions. I’ve forgotten why I chose not to feel in the first place, why I shoved those feelings down and locked them up after joining The Deviant.
I sneak a peek at my phone, wondering how long these reunions usually drag out.
"Are these things always this packed?" I ask, scanning the room.
"Mostly, yes," Brittney says.
"It’s not even an anniversary date," I supply.
"There were a lot more people when we celebrated fifteen years," Jon says, sipping on his beer. "Plenty of folks came out who are now out of town."
"Sharon never comes." Naomi nudges my shoulder with hers, pointing at a woman with short black hair sitting two tables over. "I think the only reason she showed up this year is because of a rumor in town that you’d be at the reunion."
"Once a playboy, always a playboy," Jon croaks.
"Who? Me?" I scoff, kissing Naomi's cheek. "I’m a one-woman man."
Every single person at the table claps.
The evening buzzes with light-hearted banter. Contrary to Naomi’s earlier sentiment, the food is nothing to write home about but pleasant enough. Even though I feel like I'm on a display like an awkward art piece everyone in the room needs to inspect, it's not as mortifying as I'd braced for. Mostly because she’s with me. She makes it worth it.
Brittney giggles at something Naomi says. Her husband joins in, then I find myself chuckling too.
Eventually, when nature calls, I excuse myself and venture out to look for a restroom.
My heartbeat quickens at the thought that Adri could be lurking around a corner, waiting for me to give me a piece of his mind and ruin my night.
