Yours Since Yesterday

by Jennifer Bernard

  Padric’s favorite security specialist arrived at the tiny one-runway Lost Harbor airport the next day. He’d first hired Ethan James for a show at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles. At the time, Ethan had been working with his sister, Olivia, as part of James Investigations. Now he ran the firm on his own, which meant he had even less available time than usual.

  “The only reason I’m doing this is because your last song fucking ripped my heart out,” grumbled Ethan after the two of them had exchanged hugs. Ethan already knew how Padric liked to deliver his hugs, and didn’t object. “And because it’s Alaska. Bucket list, baby. Check it off.”

  “Fun fact: this little town is the most beautiful place in the entire state.” Padric grinned at him as he showed him to Zoe’s car, which he’d borrowed for the pickup. “Not that I’m at all biased.”

  “So you grew up here? And now someone wants to kill you?”

  They slid into the little red Subaru.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Scare me, probably.” As he started the Subaru, he noticed Ethan’s gaze straying to the objects scattered on the dashboard. Zoe had a habit of collecting beach debris, like some kind of magpie, and leaving it on the dashboard to bake in the sun. A sea urchin shell, an iridescent raven’s feather, a dried wild rose. She’d explained that these things would all end up in a clay figure at some point. In the meantime, her car was a mess and always smelled like low tide at the beach.

  “Rental car?” Ethan asked mildly.

  “No, it’s Zoe’s. She’s…” He hesitated. What was Zoe, exactly? “An old friend. My best friend growing up. We’re seeing each other. You’ll meet her.”

  “I feel like I know her already.” Ethan touched a decapitated doll’s head that had been bleached by the sun and mottled with algae. “Bit of a morbid streak?”

  “Not at all. You like pizza?”

  Even though Maya had asked him to avoid the Last Chance, he couldn’t resist taking Ethan there at least once.

  “I like it in LA. What the fuck does Alaska know about pizza?”

  “You’re going to eat those words, my friend. With extra cheese.”

  Not only did Ethan acknowledge that Lost Harbor might have the best pizza this side of Little Italy, he also fell instantly for the entire staff of the Last Chance—or at least the Bellini part of it. Monica and Alexis had him laughing within two minutes of his arrival.

  “Please stay for our festival!” they begged as soon as they found out he did security. “It’s the world premiere, and we can’t pay you but you can have all the pizza you want. We’ll be your own personal pizza carriers. We’ll follow you around with a pizza plate wherever you go.”

  “Damn, that’s tempting. Not quite as much as a salary, though.”

  “Celery? We can give you celery. The biggest celery you’ve ever had.”

  Ethan’s booming, infectious laugh captivated the girls and everyone within earshot.

  He hit it off with Zoe, too. Her charm had him eating out of her hand—literally, when she dropped a locally brined anchovy into his open mouth, after teasing him about mutant fish in LA.

  “Well? Best anchovy you ever tasted?”

  Ethan smacked his lips and grinned widely at them all. “Not that it’s saying much, but yes. Best weird little fish I ever had.”

  Zoe high-fived Ethan, her eyes glowing. Everything about her was so radiant and breathtaking that Padric wanted to whisk her to the back pantry and feel her up right then and there.

  Why not? Their time together was running out. Soon he’d have to leave, and she would never come with him. They had to grab every opportunity they had.

  “Zoe, can I speak to you in private for a second?”

  “Sure. Girls, you’re in charge. Ethan, keep an eye on them.” Zoe finished giving orders and led him to a quiet corner of the glassed-in deck.

  Not exactly what he’d had in mind.

  “What’s going on? Did you find something out about the evil baking soda perp? I like that word, perp. It sounds so authentic.”

  “Nothing’s going on. I just want you so bad I can’t fucking see straight.”

  Her pupils dilated and a flush came across her cheeks. The chemistry between them was so hot and fluid and easily ignited. It ought to have a periodic table all its own.

  “I’m right there with you,” she whispered. “You’re making my nipples tingle, just talking like that.”

  “I want to lick them right now. Fuck all these customers. Tell them to get out so I can spread you across this table and taste every inch of you.”

  He watched her throat move as she swallowed, and imagined her mouth around his cock. Under the table, he moved her hand to his crotch.

  “Feel this? Happened as soon as I saw you in your damn apron.”

  Maybe he really should avoid the Last Chance, because he couldn’t handle himself around Zoe.

  He tightened his jaw as she stroked him under the table. Good thing Mrs. Bellini had always insisted on tablecloths. His gaze dropped to her chest, and he imagined her nipples swelling behind her dress.

  “You busy later?” His rough voice could have scraped the scales off a fish.

  “Very busy, apparently.” With a wink, she drew her fingernails across the fabric stretched over his bulge. “How long is your friend hanging around?”

  “I’ll get him his own damn room. He’s extra security for the public, not for me. Are you coming to the auction?”

  “As if I would miss that. I heard you might sing a little bit at the auction.”

  He grinned at the speed with which the news had made the rounds.

  “I’ll give you a private show anytime, babe. No bid required.”

  He’d pictured it already—her naked in the Jacuzzi, him singing to her as the moon rose over the bay.

  “Don’t you want me to bid on you and save you from some crusty old fisherman? Or Boris Clancy? What if you end up serenading his chicken?”

  He chuckled at that. “I have thought about the risks here. I might end up twenty miles out of town on some homestead, singing to an old Russian trapper in his outhouse. I may need to add some fine print before this thing kicks off.”

  Smiling, she gave him one last lingering caress, then drew her hand away. “I have to get back before the twins set another fire. See you later?”

  “Unless some crazy disaster happens, yes.”

  “No, those only happen when we’re together,” she pointed out.

  “Aren’t you thinking of orgasms?”

  “Haha.” And by the flush on her cheeks, he knew that she was thinking of orgasms. The wild and wonderful ones they gave each other, over and over, every single time they found each other together in his bed.

  His bed. Always his bed. In his hotel room.

  “Hey.” He snagged her wrist as she got up to leave. “How about I sneak through your window tonight?”

  “Are you getting tired of those thousand-thread-count sheets already?”

  “No, it’s just—it’s a hotel room. It’s impersonal and temporary. Your bed, on the other hand, is drenched in you. Your scent, your presence, your dreams.” He made it sound like a song lyric.

  “You make it sound like I need to wash my sheets,” she said dryly, refastening the string of her apron.

  Only Zoe felt free enough with him to mock his off-the-cuff songwriting. “I’m being poetic. People pay me for that, you know.”

  “I know. And it’s a lovely image. Nice thought. But I just can’t take a chance on my mother seeing you.”

  “I thought you told her I was here.”

  “I haven’t had a chance.”

  “She probably heard me on the radio.”

  “I don't think she did. If you were anyone else…” She hesitated, biting her lip. “But you’re a Jeffers. And I really worry what would happen if she caught sight of you. Her health is so precarious. Actually, it’s more that her mental state is precarious.”

  “But Zoe…you can’t let her hold you hostage lik
e that.”

  She stiffened. “Hostage? What are you talking about?”

  “I remember how your mom was. Seems like she hasn’t changed much. She’s got you right where she wants you.”

  Zoe’s expression shifted. “You’re talking about…who told you all that?”

  “Seems like it’s common knowledge for everyone except me. Why didn’t you mention it?”

  “It never came up. But I told you I’m a Lost Harbor lifer, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  That wasn’t exactly what he remembered her saying. “Is that your choice or your mother’s choice?”

  “Stop that. It’s both, and obviously you don’t understand.” With as icy an expression as someone with Zoe’s natural warmth could manage, she stalked back toward the counter, where Ethan was still laughing it up with the twins.

  Not understand? That was a load of crap. No one understood better than he did, since he’d witnessed the Bellini family in action.

  As soon as she was back behind the counter, he sent her a text. Sorry. I just want to see you, that’s all. All of you. Bed included.

  She glanced up, her expression already softening. I’ll send you a photo of it.

  Will you be naked in it?

  Absolutely. Oh, I nearly forgot. I have something for you.

  A blank envelope with baking soda? Are you that mad?

  Close.

  He laughed out loud, drawing glances from a few customers.

  I’m actually serious. I’m going to put it in the backseat of my car. I’ll walk to the hotel after work and pick up my car.

  Wild with curiosity about what could be “close” to an envelope with baking soda, he texted, Any more hints?

  Just 1. If you don’t want to see me after you get it, leave my car here, so I don’t have to come to the hotel to get it.

  I guarantee I’ll still want to see you. Ethan and I will walk to the hotel so you can have your car back now.

  She picked something up and disappeared through a back door that led to the garbage enclosure where he’d talked to the eagle. As the door swung open, he caught a glimpse of that same eagle perched on the railing. Probably waiting for a pizza snack. He probably hung out here a lot.

  But Zoe wasn’t carrying a bag of garbage. Craning his neck, he saw that she held a shoebox. The eagle didn’t seem too disappointed. He settled down to clean his wings with his beak.

  The door swung closed. Now Padric was beyond curious about that shoebox.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Padric shoved his phone back into his pocket and rejoined Ethan. “You okay here for a minute? I have to do something outside.”

  “I’m ready to go. See you later, kids.” Ethan slapped some money on the counter and stood up. Damn, now Padric was stuck with Ethan when all he wanted to do was see what the hell Zoe was leaving in her car for him.

  “How about an ice cream cone before we head back to the hotel?” he asked his friend.

  “I feel like you’re throwing me a kid’s party. Pizza, ice cream, what’s next? A bouncy house?” Ethan ambled out of the pizza shop, his limp barely noticeable. Padric knew that he fought an ongoing battle against the effects of childhood osteosarcoma. When they’d first met, Ethan had been wearing a cast.

  “Just showing off the wonders of Lost Harbor.” He gestured toward a deck built into the boardwalk, with benches and a set of industrial binoculars set onto a concrete post. “You can get a closeup view of the glaciers over there. Lost Souls Wilderness has at least four of them visible from the harbor. They’re shrinking fast, so better look while you can.”

  Ethan zipped up his jacket against a gust of wind—all too common on the ocean side of the boardwalk. “As an investigator, I know perfectly well you’re trying to get rid of me so you can flirt with the gorgeous pizza goddess. As your friend, I will obediently stare at the glaciers while you do your thing. And then I need to get to the hotel and do some work.”

  He should have known he couldn’t fool Ethan. That was the whole point of hiring an investigator; they noticed things. While Ethan strolled toward the overlook, Padric hurried back to Zoe’s Subaru.

  An open shoebox sat on the backseat. It was filled with envelopes and sheets of notepaper. He picked up the envelope on top—blank, just like his joking guess. Smiling at that, he slid out the piece of notepaper inside.

  Dear stupid Padric,

  I hate you for not being here. I should probably be over it by now but I’M NOT. I’m still mad. I’m stuck here with these looney-tunes parents losing their shit and there’s nowhere I can go for a break. THIS SUCKS. Where are you? Nate said he thinks you moved to Texas, but then Mrs. Donovan said she got a postcard from your mom from Nevada. No one even knows where you really are! You could at least tell me, your supposed best friend. I really hate my life right now. And I know you’ll never see this letter so I can just say whatever I want. So here it is.

  I wouldn’t hate you so much if I didn’t love you.

  There. I said it.

  Bye now. I’ll write again soon because it’s the only thing that keeps me sane while my parents rage at each other.

  His pulse racing, Padric dropped the letter back into the shoebox. Holy shit. All that fresh teenage anger poured into his veins like an injection. And that line—she loved him, yet she hated him, and somehow the two were intertwined. The more she loved him, the more his absence made her hate him.

  He got that. And it broke his heart a little.

  He picked up another letter.

  * * *

  Dear Idiot.

  Very bad despicable humiliating day. I overheard two boys on the hockey team talking about me. One said I was trying to “get with him” and that “girls with big boobs always want it bad.” It felt so slimy and horrible and I couldn’t even look at them afterwards. I think they knew I heard, because they snickered when I walked past. But they just didn’t care.

  I want my best friend. I want my boy best friend who doesn’t look at me like a piece of meat. Those boys make me want to become a lesbian. I might try it because it can’t be worse than those hockey boys. But Nanette says it doesn’t work that way, you either are or you aren’t, and she should know because she just came out as bi.

  The thing is…I can’t stop thinking about you. And you’re a boy. My brothers keep saying you’re gay but I think they’re trying to make me feel better because you’re gone. I should tell them that we kissed, then maybe they’d stop. But then also my parents would kick my ass and they have enough to worry about already. Where are you now? Someone said you were in Florida and that your dad is going to sell real estate there. Are there manatees there? I’ve been reading about the manatees. All I do is read now. Everything else sucks.

  * * *

  Padric ground his teeth at the thought of those boys and their demeaning comments. He knew how it went down. One boy said something and then the others felt they had to keep up. It was a bonding, competitive kind of thing, each trying to out-asshole the others. But for Zoe to overhear it? How crushing, especially at that age.

  He remembered how nervous she sometimes got about her curves when they started to develop. One day she’d dress to show off her body, the next she’d pull on a baggy hoodie and hide herself away.

  Excitement used to course through him when she wore her tight clothes, but he’d do everything in his power to hide it. He didn’t want to freak her out with his constant half-chubbies. Her hoodies had helped a little, except then he’d fantasized about what she looked like under them. Especially because every day her boobs seemed bigger.

  The memory of all those lustful teenage thoughts made him wince. Was he just as bad as those hockey asshats?

  No, because he never would have talked about Zoe like that.

  A memory came back to him from the end of a fishing trip, when he was offloading the catch onto a fishing tender. He knew the tender deckhands from school; they were seniors and he was a freshman. The entire time he and his father were transferri
ng the silvery salmon to the tender for processing, the deckhands teased him about Zoe.

  “That girl you hang out with, she’s hot. What do you guys do, homework? Anatomy? She let you touch those melons?”

  He’d refused to even respond, figuring anything he said would make it worse.

  “Seems like any guy who can keep his hands off that piece of ass gotta be gay. You gay, kid?”

  Eventually he’d lost it and launched himself across the tender like some kind of teenage pirate. Since it was two against one, he’d wound up on the deck rolling in fish slime while the two deckhands whaled away at him. His father had rescued him before things got out of hand, but he’d wound up with a cut lip and a black eye and very sore ribs.

  The only thing his father had said was, “Not bad for two against one.”

  Even though he’d been in pain for a week after that, the satisfaction of landing at least a couple of blows made up for it.

  Back to the letters. None of them had any dates, but he could vaguely place them according to their maturity level and the level of Zoe’s anger and pain. The last time-related reference she made was to the death of her father, which he knew had happened three years after the Scandal.

  Either she’d moved on by then or been too busy to fill up a notebook with her emotions. Or maybe that was when she’d gotten a boyfriend and didn’t want to “betray” him by continuing to write to a phantom.

  The letters were so raw and personal that he knew she never would have actually sent them. If she’d intended to, they would have been very different. They would have been less “ripped from her diary.” The fact that he was far away, in another world, meant that she could express herself with no limits.

  He loved the letters, even though most of them included some kind of insult in the greeting. Dear Stupid-head. Dear Fish-for-Brains. Dear Dweeb. They all started out that way, but they ended on a tender note. A wistful question about where he was at that moment, or a familiar joke, or a “miss you so much,” or a “I don’t really hate you, you know.”