Yours Since Yesterday

by Jennifer Bernard

  Padric tossed his bag on the suitcase rack and sank onto one of the couches with a sigh. The suite had two bedrooms and a living area, a kitchenette and its own hot tub out on the balcony. And that view of Lost Souls Wilderness…icy white mountain peaks, deeply forested slopes with shadowed ravines, inlets glimpsed like secrets in the wild.

  He wondered if he could spot the Larkspur Trail, the one he and Zoe had started to hike on that fateful day. Maybe it was just past that peak shaped like a perfect cone?

  “Okay, dude.” Nate dropped into the couch perpendicular to Padric’s. “Want to tell me why you’re staring at mountains when you’re supposed to be on tour?”

  “How do you know my schedule? You stalking me?”

  “Don’t fan-shame me. I follow you on Facebook.” Nate’s easy grin reappeared. “I happen to like teenage whiner music.”

  Padric clenched his jaw at the insult most frequently flung his way. He’d heard it enough, he ought to be used to it. “It helps people, okay?”

  At least he’d thought so—until recently.

  “Relax, superstar. I love your music. Like I just said. I might even follow you on Instagram. Not sure because I keep forgetting my password. Anyway, the question still stands. Why aren’t you in Sweden right now?”

  “I had a…voice thing. Nodes. Doctor advised a couple weeks of rest, and I couldn’t think of a more restful place than here.”

  Nate stretched out his long legs and shot him a skeptical look. “It might be restful for some, but for a member of the Jeffers family? You might be better off at a Calcutta street fair.”

  “Oh come on. It was so long ago, and I wasn’t even part of the Scandal. I was just caught in the crossfire.”

  “True that. Hey, I’m not complaining, just so you know. I’m glad you’re here. How long do you think you’ll stay?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  That depended almost entirely on Zoe. If she truly wanted nothing to do with him, he wouldn’t have much reason to stay.

  “Are you supposed to rest just your voice or everything?”

  Padric squinted at him. “Why? What are you getting at?”

  “We’re about to start a round of training for volunteer firefighters. If you’re looking for something to do while you’re here, come on by. Good crew, lots of fun, beers after every training session, and oh yeah, the occasional chance to save lives.”

  “Low on recruits?” he asked dryly.

  “Always. This town is just too damn small. Anyway, just thought I’d drop that thought. I need to get going, my shift’s about to start.”

  “But wait…”

  He didn’t want Nate to leave. Right now, Nate was a lifeline connecting him to his Lost Harbor, the real one, the one from his past, the one that didn’t have a fancy resort with double couches and a plastic bouquet on the coffee table.

  But Nate had a life that included other things besides playing entourage.

  “We’ll have to grab a beer sometime soon,” Padric finished.

  “You know it.” Nate gave him a little salute and whisked himself out the door.

  And just like that, Padric was alone. Actually alone—with no handlers or managers or publicity people or backup singers or roadies nearby.

  Chapter Three

  The quiet settled over Padric like a suffocating blanket.

  Nope. He wasn’t ready to be alone. He wasn’t used to it anymore. And now that he was…other thoughts crept into his mind.

  Terrible thoughts.

  Thoughts he kept trying to bury, but couldn’t. Thoughts about the fucking trend that was spreading like wildfire through his fanbase.

  Unable to stop himself, he pulled out his laptop and logged onto his private hotspot. He didn’t trust other networks.

  He’d bookmarked several pages where he could find new postings about what they were calling the “PJ parties.”

  Cute name for something so gross.

  In one forum, someone named Tweenie45 had posted a video of her brand new “PJ.” The raised mark, shaped like the Gothic letters of his logo, glared red against the inside of her arm. It made his own arm throb with sympathetic pain.

  “My mom’s about to freak,” she’d written as her caption. “No pain, no gain, amirite? This is for me and Padric, not her or anyone else, so she can suck it.”

  Padric made himself look at the mark she’d put on her own skin—a permanent mark, not some kind of tattoo that could be removed when she came to her senses. No, these brands would be there forever. That was the point, according to their thought process. PJ Party 4EvR.

  But these were kids. Kids who had taken one damn line from one his songs and twisted it into something he’d never intended.

  It wasn’t even a good line! “You brand me with a kiss, your name on my skin, deeper than magic, undone from within.” One crappy line and hundreds of fourteen-to-seventeen-year-olds had decided they had to put brands on their skin.

  He’d tried to stop it. At first he’d kept it low-key, simply posting messages on his social media pages.

  “Lots of misinformation out there about my song ‘Soul Brand.’ Every phrase in it is purely metaphorical and was never meant to be interpreted literally. I would never want anyone to harm themselves; in fact, I condemn it. If a PJ party exists, it oughta be about love and kindness, not self-harm. Never self-harm.”

  When that hadn’t stopped the viral trend from spreading, he’d made an official statement to the press, then done a televised interview. Nothing worked. These kids had convinced themselves that some magical thing was going to happen if they got a PJ brand. The worst part was that they were doing it to themselves or each other. Since no parent would allow it—and no professional studios would do it without parental consent—the kids took things into their own hands.

  It was horrifying.

  And yeah, he had a mild case of nodes, nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. But he had a much bigger case of “what the fuck is happening right now” and “get me the fuck out of here so I can figure out what to do next.” Also, a case of “will I ever sing again without causing someone to hurt themselves?”

  That was the worst part. He wrote songs because they ran through his head in wisps and snatches, driving him crazy until he could do the hard work of forming them into actual lyrics. He wrote songs because he loved music and wanted to share the joy.

  He did not write songs so a bunch of emo kids could have an excuse to hurt themselves. He’d rather shut up until the end of time. Maybe those nodes knew what they were doing.

  He closed his laptop and shoved it aside. So quiet. He used to love the quiet, even crave it. But now…fuck, he was a spoiled asshole too used to his fucking entourage.

  He grabbed the binder labelled “Lost Harbor Sights and Adventures” that sat on the coffee table next to the plastic bouquet. Calla lilies—a flower that didn’t even grow in Lost Harbor. Flipping through the pages, he saw flyers for fishing charters—the Jack Hammer, Hooked, Aurora Bay Charters—as well as adventure outfits offering everything from bear-viewing to kayak trips to nature tours. Forget Me Not Nature Tours, that was definitely new.

  Reaching the food section, he scanned through menus for Captain Crabbie’s, the Olde Salt Saloon, Tremaine’s Fish and Chips, Soul Satisfaction Ice Cream—wow, was that Trixie Tran posing with an ice cream cone? Another local girl who had grown up right.

  And then, there it was—Last Chance Pizza.

  Family owned and operated for over twenty-five years, Last Chance Pizza brings the mouthwatering flavors of wood-fired pizza and real homemade Italian tomato sauce to your doorstep. Now offering delivery within a mile radius.

  Delivery. Now that was an interesting thought. He wouldn’t have to risk being recognized. He could call the shop and maybe hear Zoe’s voice. She probably didn’t deliver the pizza herself, but maybe one of her sisters did. If so, he’d get a chance to find out what was going on with Zoe. And he’d get to taste the best pizza in the world again.


  Win-win-win-win-win.

  He dialed the number and, sure enough, Zoe answered. Even though she was clearly busy—a din of voices hummed in the background—she came across as unhurried on the phone.

  He’d always appreciated Zoe’s refusal to be rushed. She moved at her own pace and no one else’s.

  “Last Chance Pizza, can I help you?”

  He hesitated. Should he identify himself or not? Would she recognize his voice no matter what? “Hi, Zoe. It’s Padric.”

  A frozen moment later, she spoke again. “Hi. Can I help you?”

  “I…uh…saw that you offer delivery now. I’d like to order a pizza.”

  “What kind? Our menu’s online.”

  “That’s okay, I have it here.” He fumbled with the binder. Damn, he couldn’t detect one bit of warmth in her voice—and Zoe was fucking made of warmth. Sometimes it came in the form of fire, but that was good, too. “I’ll take a Greek. Large.”

  “That’s enough for at least two people.”

  Ha! Was she subtly inquiring as to whether he was alone or not?

  “I’ll eat the rest tomorrow. Actually, scratch that. You’re right, I’ll get a medium.” That way he could order another pizza tomorrow. Maybe one for breakfast, another for lunch, then dinner. He’d wear her down with pizza orders.

  “Medium Greek. Where are we delivering it to?”

  So professional. So cool. Like one of those impossible peaks across the bay.

  “To the Eagle’s Nest, the Admiral Suite.” He felt almost embarrassed saying the name.

  “Okay then. The Admiral Suite. I guess the Emperor of All He Surveys Suite was already booked?”

  Finally, a crack in her armor.

  He laughed, a little too heartily. “Yeah, someone’s getting fired for that.”

  But that sounded like an asshole thing to say, and it wasn’t even funny. Face it, he was rattled. “Just kidding. No one’s getting fired unless it’s me for cracking a lame-ass joke.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.” The slight softening of her voice gave him a rush of hope. “It’ll be about half an hour.”

  “I’ll be here. Any chance you’re playing delivery girl today?”

  “No, I’m playing restaurant owner today.” All the frost returned to her voice. “It’s a fun game that keeps me extremely busy. Half an hour.”

  “Wait!” He stopped her before she could hang up.

  “I mentioned the extremely busy part, right?”

  “Forgot to mention that I’m booked under the name Gavin Strike.”

  “Gavin Strike,” she repeated, laughter welling in her voice. Well, it was better than ice. “That’ll be twenty-two fifty-five, not including tip, Gavin.”

  And she was gone.

  His ear still vibrated from the sound of her voice as he put down his phone. He often heard color in sounds. His alarm always screamed in an obnoxious shade of yellow. His own voice sounded like various shades of blue to him. Zoe’s voice, deep and rich and husky, held notes of violet and mahogany.

  One thing her voice didn’t show was any hint of illness. Whatever ailed her must be something not obvious.

  Half an hour later, a knock sounded on his door. He opened it to find himself staring at a girl unnervingly similar to Zoe when he’d last seen her. This girl was slimmer, with shorter hair and eye liner—something Zoe rarely wore back then.

  “You came!” she exclaimed as she pushed her way into his suite. “I can’t believe it’s actually you!”

  “You’re Zoe’s sister?”

  “Yes, I’m Monica.” She thrust the pizza box at him. “Twenty-two fifty-five, please. It’s quite easy to round up to thirty, of course.”

  “Math whiz, huh?” He handed over forty dollars. “Two twenties is even easier.”

  “Wow.” Her eyes widened as she tucked the cash into the pocket of her denim leggings. “Do you need change?”

  He waved her off as he opened the box and inhaled the divine scent of his favorite pizza. “Damn. Better than ever.”

  “It’s probably about the same,” Monica corrected him. “We haven’t changed one single thing about the recipe in forever. My granny would freak if we did.”

  “Why mess with perfection?” His mouth was literally watering from the aroma of tomato sauce and melted cheese. But before he indulged, he had a few questions for Zoe’s sister. “Come sit down. You can fill me in.”

  She danced from one foot to the other. Both of her wrists were loaded with friendship bracelets. Without thinking, he checked the inside of her forearm and didn’t see any trace of a stupid PJ brand.

  How screwed up was it that he’d automatically searched for one? God, he hated this.

  “No, I can’t stay,” she said. “But I just wanted to say how incredibly excited we are that you actually came. Me and Alexis, I mean. My twin. There’s something very important we’d like to discuss with you, so would you maybe have time—”

  “Yeah, the stuff about Zoe,” he said impatiently. “What’s going on?”

  Her gaze skittered away from his. “I can’t get into that right now.”

  “You and your sister wrote me that letter. You’re the reason I came all this way.”

  “Yes, we wrote the letter. We heard that you were really good friends with Zoe before the Scandal.”

  “Best friends.”

  “Yeah. Well, so, yeah, we thought you wouldn’t mind if we contacted you, and…ohmigod, it’s so great that you’re here! It’s really great!” Her phone buzzed and she rolled her eyes. “I have to go, but I just want to say welcome back, and hopefully we can talk really soon. Just—don’t do anything until we explain.”

  “Do…what?”

  “Anything! Especially about Zoe. Okay bye!”

  The door closed behind her, leaving Padric staring at it blankly, pizza box in hand.

  What the hell was that all about? The letter from the twins had motivated him to come all the way to Alaska. Now she didn’t have time to talk about it?

  Something was fishy. Aside from all the actual fish in this town.

  He sank his teeth into a slice of pizza. Visceral pleasure sank all the way down to his bones. God, Zoe made good pizza. Had she made this particular pie? Had she thought of him while she’d sprinkled extra feta cheese and thyme on it? She’d remembered exactly how he liked his pizza. Was she really as furious with him as she’d sounded on the phone?

  Why was she being so cold to him, anyway? He hadn’t had a choice about leaving. His father had whisked them out of Lost Harbor so fast that Padric had even left his backpack in the locker at school. Nate had collected it and probably still had it somewhere.

  So good, this pizza. Every mouthful tasted like his very best memories. Diving off the ramp on hot days, to the wrath of the harbormaster. Playing tag up and down the boardwalk—two points for every tourist who yelled at them. Bonfires on Seafarer’s Beach as dusk turned to dawn, skipping night completely.

  If Zoe really hated him, he’d be able to taste it in her pizza, wouldn’t he?

  He finished every last crumb, already looking forward to the pizza he planned to order tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  “Mama, if you try one more time to get that blender down, I’ll have to ground you.” Zoe reached for the Vitamix in which Nicola Bellini made her daily doctor-recommended smoothies. Her mother stayed close to home these days, but she still hated admitting any kind of limitation. It was a game they played; Mama tried to do something she couldn’t, Zoe helped her, Mama played the martyr.

  “Ridiculous,” snorted her mother as she sank back down into her favorite kitchen chair. Her fluffy white cat Athena jumped onto her lap and curled up. “My poor mother tried that and it didn’t work. I ran off and got pregnant.”

  “Okay then. Please make sure to use protection, Mama. We can’t handle any more kids in this family.”

  Her mother laughed until she coughed, while Zoe quickly put together a banana-kale smoothie for her. “Take your pills,”
she told her, then pressed the button on the blender to drown out her mother’s protests.

  She used the time to wrestle with the question that had plagued her ever since Padric had reappeared. Should she warn her mother that a Jeffers was roaming the streets of Lost Harbor? Or should she hope Padric was long gone by the time Mama found out?

  Monica and Alexis were right; one of her friends would probably tell her. And maybe that would be best. The Scandal had been deeply humiliating to Nicola Bellini, and she hated talking about it with her children. In fact, the only thing she’d told Zoe was short and to the point. “Your father made a mistake with that devil woman, but he’s apologized and that’s the end of it.”

  “But what about—”

  “Your friend is gone, and that’s for the best.”

  Every time the topic of the Scandal came up again, her mother had a mini breakdown.

  She released the button to find her mother glaring at her. “That’s too long, it’s going to be mushy.”

  “Smoothies are supposed to be mushy.” She poured the green liquid into a glass and set it in front of her mother. With a hand that trembled ever so slightly, Mama picked it up.

  That tremble wrenched at Zoe’s heart. Her mother’s health was so clearly degenerating. She didn’t like to leave the house, and she used a walker when she did so. She still loved to cook, loved her family, but sometimes she slept through the entire afternoon. Nicola Bellini’s passion had always been protecting and taking care of her family, and now it was Zoe’s responsibility to take care of her.

  What would be the most caretaking approach when it came to Padric’s return?

  He was a busy man. A rock star. He wouldn’t be here for long. Why risk a breakdown when Padric might disappear at any moment?

  No, she decided as she watched her mother take a shaky sip of her smoothie and make her usual disgusted face. She wouldn’t tell her mother. She’d just hope that Padric left as soon as possible.

  Or she’d try to hope that. When she wasn’t ogling the all-grown-up heartthrob version of her former best friend.