Here's to Yesterday

by Teagan Hunter

  “Pretty stars for a pretty girl,” Tucker says with a flirty grin.

  I attempt to mock it. “You’re gonna make me think you like me.”

  The grin he was sporting turns to a flush as I toss his words back at him.

  The fresh air starts to work wonders in about five minutes since I’m already starting to lose the very nice buzz I had going on. Now that my head is clearer, I’m more careful as I step up to the edge of the roof. I silently throw out a thank you to whoever thought it would be a good idea to line it with a waist-level wall because I’m still a tiny bit wobbly.

  I inspect the night sky and begin counting the stars, something I always used to do on my balcony when I’d had a bad day. Old habits and all that.

  “Some night, huh?” comes Tucker’s smooth voice from beside me.

  “You can say that again.”

  “Som—” he begins before it’s replaced by an “oomph” as I reach over and smack him. “That’s a wicked arm you got there.”

  “Keep it up and you’ll find out how wicked it is.”

  “Testy, testy,” he teases. “But really, how’s the head?”

  “How’s your face?” I smirk.

  Tucker barks out a humorless laugh. “Ouch. Good one.”

  We’re quiet for a moment. Car horns blare and random drunk people shout from the nearby bars. The roof beneath our feet thumps from the loud music that’s playing in between the sets at Mic’s.

  “Would it be terrible if I say I don’t want to talk about tonight? I want to forget. Just for tonight,” I plead quietly.

  “Is that where the alcohol comes in?”

  I nod. “Yes. Lots and lots of it.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  “You know, this is my first time getting drunk,” I confess.

  His eyes go wide. “No fucking way. There is no way that’s true. How old are you?”

  I glare at him. “You know I’m twenty-two, you ass.”

  “Youngin’.”

  “You’re only twenty-four!” I turn toward him, catching the small grin on his lips.

  “Yeah, for like, three more months.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, I’m not one to drink. I didn’t get the chance to go out when I was younger,” I tell him, returning my attention to the incredible view.

  “Not in college?” he questions.

  “Nope. Not even in college.”

  Tucker lets out a low whistle. “Sheltered much?”

  “Very. When I had the chance to let loose, I was too afraid to do so. It wasn’t until my senior year that I went to my first bar I didn’t work at.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “I had a miserable time. The bar scene definitely isn’t for me. I’d much rather stay home and watch movies or read or stalk hot models on Instagram.”

  Tucker grins. “That sounds very…fulfilling.”

  “Don’t make fun. It’s not my scene.” I shrug. “And I know that sounds crazy because I work at one. But working at a bar and going out to a bar are two different things.”

  “I can dig that. It’s not much mine either. I’m usually only in bars to play at them. I mean, I’ve been drunk and trolling before but I don’t make it a habit.” He pauses, causing me to peek over. I catch a small wince that I assume stems from his “trolling” comment. I know most girls would pounce on that, but I find it fascinating since I have next to no experience playing the dating game.

  Tucker clears throat. “So, why now? Why get drunk now?”

  I shrug, not really knowing why. “It seems like the typical response to a break-up, and I want to be normal for one night.”

  He dips his head. “Fair enough. But you could always come back to my place and pig out on ice cream and cheese puffs with me. That’s what I’ve always done.”

  Laughter bubbles out instantly, and before I know it, I’m on the dust-covered rooftop of Mic’s, holding my stomach and probably looking crazy. Although I know tonight is not the night for laughter, I can’t deny how wonderful it feels to let go and get all the crazy out.

  I look up at Tucker, who is now standing over me, his gold eyes shining with laughter in the night, as he takes a photo of me with his cell phone.

  “You ever repeat that and I’ll deny it, show everyone this picture, and tell them you’re insane,” he threatens with a grin that tells me he’d never do it.

  Grabbing hold of his now extended hand, I pull myself up and brush off my dress for the second time tonight.

  “So, how ‘bout it? Ice cream and cheese puffs at my place?” he asks hesitantly.

  I don’t have to think about his offer, because being with Tucker is exactly what I want. A bit odd since he’s so involved in all this, but he’s also become a good friend this past month or so. So much that it makes me sad to think about the wasted time I spent ignoring him, but it was only fair to Tanner.

  Look how well that turned out for you.

  Pushing away my thoughts of my now ex-boyfriend, I give Tucker a semi-forced happy smile and say, “Throw in a bottle of wine or two, and I’m in.”

  Tucker parks his BMW at the nearest open store, a Walgreens, and we walk inside still decked out in our “fancy wear,” as Tucker has taken to calling it. We get a strange look and watchful eye from the cashier, who calls out a hello as we walk in. I assume it’s from our attire and Tucker’s now swollen face.

  We must read each other’s minds—or pay really good attention—because I head toward the ice cream and Tucker heads toward the chips.

  “What chips do you want?” I heard him yell across a couple isles.

  I check myself before I start glancing around for someone watching, reminding myself that I want to let loose tonight, that I need to stop being the paranoid girl I normally am and let it all go.

  “Do they have the hot Cheetos?” I holler back.

  “My kind of woman!”

  The grin overtakes my face before I can stop it. Then I realize that it’s now okay to grin over the cheesy things Tucker says to me. So I do. I smile like a kid on Christmas day, simply because I can.

  I glance around the small ice cream section and come to the conclusion that I have no idea what type of ice cream he likes. So I take a page out of his book and yell, “Mint cookies or fudge brownies?”

  “Geez, Maura. No need to yell. I’m right here,” Tucker says from behind me.

  “Jesus!” I yelp and jump around to face him. “You scared the shit out of me!”

  “I prefer Tucker,” he winks.

  I reach out to smack his chest, but he dodges me, almost causing me to fall into a shelf. “Ass,” I mumble.

  “But I’m your ass.”

  My eyes close briefly in response to his statement and slight emphasis on your. I assume it was an automatic response of sorts on his part. Or at least that’s what I’m going to tell myself. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll always feel this way, if I’ll always feel guilty when Tucker says these types of things, or if it’s because this is all still so fresh.

  Ignoring whatever that was, I grab two random pints of ice cream and head toward the booze. Looking over at Tucker as we’re standing in front of the not-so-impressive collections, I say, “Red or white?”

  “White,” he replies, his gaze filled with a silent apology, sensing that tonight may not be the night for phrases like that.

  My response? I thread my fingers through his.

  “So this is what a bachelor’s place looks like.”

  I glance around the small, sparse apartment. It’s relatively clean. To my astonishment, there’s only one empty pizza box, three scattered water bottles, and one bowl on the counter.

  “Yep. Sorry it’s a mess. We weren’t expecting company,” he says, grabbing the box and bottles, carrying them into the small kitchen along with our bag of snacks and wine.

  “We?”

  “We. Gaige lives here too.”

  “Huh. I didn’t know that,” I say, genuinely shocked. “For how long?”


  “A couple months now. He was having troubles at home.”

  “Wait. He still lived at home? I thought Gaige was like super responsible or something.”

  Tucker regards me with serious eyes. “He is.”

  I get his meaning in those two words. Guess there’s a lot more to Gaige than he lets on. Seems to be a theme around here.

  “How come you live with your aunt?”

  I shrug when I know he can’t see me. “You’ve met my mother. That should be reason enough.”

  “Point taken,” Tucker says, resting up against the wall that joins the living room and kitchen. He crosses his arms and legs, watching me with curious eyes. “And the real reason?”

  “That’s a huge part of it. Plus Kassi is freakin’ awesome. She’s fun, and I can relate to her easily. I moved in with her after high school, spent all my time home from college there, and then continued my stay after I got my degree.”

  “How’d you end up at Perk almost every day last spring, then?”

  “I only had a couple classes, so I commuted from Kassi’s.” I shrug.

  He studies me as I meander around the living room, eyeballing the scattered slips of paper filled with scribbled words, and random sheets of guitar tabs that I missed at first glance.

  “How much do your parents hate you living with her?”

  “A lot,” I tell him. “My mother bugs me about it. My father doesn’t pay any attention, but that’s nothing new.”

  “He really ignores you? How is that possible?”

  Hearing that he’s honestly perplexed by this, I throw a shy grin his way and pick up a pile of what are obviously song lyrics. Tucker doesn’t object so I flip through them, barely scanning their pages as I continue our conversation.

  “He’s always ignored me. But it makes me feel somewhat better that he ignores my mother too. In fact, he ignores anything that isn’t his young secretary or his job. It’s always been the norm for me.”

  Tucker frowns at that. “That’s so…sad.”

  I nod. “And you? How’s your relationship with your parents?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I glance up at him. He’s watching his feet, appearing uncomfortable and unsure. Just as I’m about to tell him he doesn’t have to answer, he does.

  “It’s not.”

  Now it’s my turn to be confused. “That’s not what Tanner says. He says you’re the golden child. That your parents talk about you all the time. He’s always been jealous of you for that.”

  Tucker snorts loudly. “Figures he would say that. Why’d you ask if Tanner already told you all that?”

  “I always had a feeling that something was off about his assessment.”

  Pushing off the wall, he walks over and grabs the set of the notes out of my hands, tucking them back into the manila folder they were resting on and hiding them from my prying eyes.

  “Hey! I was looking at those,” I argue.

  “You were getting dangerously close to my secret masterpiece,” he says teasingly. Maybe.

  “How come you don’t sing originals at Mic’s?”

  After placing the folder on the lone bookcase in the room, Tucker turns to me. “Because I’m not ready to share them with the world yet.”

  I don’t push him for more, although I want to. I could tell by flipping through the pages that I was holding a couple significant songs in my hands.

  “Wanna watch TV?” I ask. “Is Gaige home?”

  “He’s working his pizza delivery job tonight, so we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Tucker says heading into the kitchen. “You pick something out, and I’ll grab the snacks.”

  Before I can start over-analyzing his words and what they could mean (because if we’ve got the place to ourselves doesn’t make you sweat, nothing will), I settle onto the couch and flip on the guide, attempting to find a good movie to watch. When I come up short, I get up to check inside the small entertainment center.

  I gasp as I open up the cabinet, quickly slamming it shut. He watches this junk?

  “Don’t be slamming my cabinets!” Tucker calls with a laugh.

  Getting up, I follow his voice into the tiny kitchen, leveling him with a glare. “You watch that shit?”

  He quirks his eyebrow at me. “What shit?”

  I walk over and grab my plastic cup—because the dude probably doesn’t have actual glasses—of wine, a bag of chips, and head toward the living room, expecting him to follow me. He does.

  Setting my goodies down, I point to the offending cabinets and say, “That.”

  Tucker opens up the cabinet and starts laughing at me. “That?” I nod. “You’re seriously upset over it?” I nod again. “I take it you’re not a fan?”

  “You are?”

  He nods sheepishly. “Guilty. Hudson got me hooked.”

  I throw myself down onto the couch dramatically and let out a heavy sigh. “I cannot believe you’re a freakin’ Winchester fan! You’re suddenly way less hot.”

  “Let’s forget about my love and your disdain for Supernatural briefly and focus on how hot I am.”

  “Oh, shut it,” I tell him, reaching for my wine and chips and then attempting to make myself comfortable.

  Tucker watches me with an amused grin. “You want to change? I was gonna go get out of my fancy wear before we settle down.”

  I nod. “A t-shirt and shorts, maybe?”

  “Be right back.”

  Pulling out my phone while Tuck goes to find clothes for me, I wince at all the missed calls I have from my mother. Six. I wince again at how many I have from Tanner. Zero.

  Me: Throwback to that one time a few hours ago when my boyfriend accused me of cheating, punched his brother, and then stormed out of my life.

  My phone buzzes in my hand immediately.

  Bestie: SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!

  Before I can reply, it vibrates again.

  Bestie: You need us to come get you?

  Bestie: Wait. Where are you? Your mom’s party?

  Me: I’m at Tucker’s. We decided to chill for the night.

  Bestie: BROWN CHICKEN, BROWN COW! (Hudson told me to send that last part, and I don’t think that’s how it goes)

  I laugh out loud at that.

  Me: Liar.

  Bestie: True. You sure you’re okay?

  Me: I’m good. Promise.

  Bestie: Mmkay. Love you, hooker.

  Me: <3

  I set my phone on the table as Tucker comes walking back into the room, causing my mouth to drop open. I quickly snap it shut and avert my eyes before he notices.

  But I can’t help it when my gaze slides back to him. He’s shirtless with his nicely toned body on display, and all he’s wearing is a pair of low-slung black sweats and socks. It’s fucking hot as hell.

  Tucker with a shirt on is a sight to see, no matter how geeky he is in his flannels. Tucker without a shirt? Now that’s a damn masterpiece. I never paid much attention to how he looks compared to his parents, but they both must have the best genes in the whole pool to make offspring like him.

  What’s really keeping my attention are his tattoos. They connect. I always assumed they went up both arms and that was it. I never imagined they’d meet over his heart to form a black hole of sorts. The only ounce of color on his body lies within the black. It’s a heart that matches his arms; one side is alive and the other decaying.

  “It’s incredible.”

  My eyes must be playing tricks on me, because I swear the heart starts beating faster and faster and faster. It’s not until two fingers gently press into my chin, angling my face upward, that I remember it’s Tucker I’ve been staring at for the last several moments.

  I pull my face from his touch and clear my throat. “Did you design it?”

  “I wish I could say yes. I told the artist a general idea of what I wanted, and he sort of went for it.” He gestures to his body. “This was the end result.”

  “Who’s the artist? If I ever get the courage to get a tattoo, I’m using th
em.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He smirks, sitting down next to me.

  “Try me,” I challenge him.

  Something flashes in his gaze at my words, but it quickly vanishes. “It was Gaige.”

  I gasp. “No way!”

  “Way. Phenomenal, huh? Can’t believe the asshat is wasting all his potential at Jacked Up.”

  “That’s sad. He’s hiding serious talent. Did that tattoo dude have to modify it at all?”

  Tucker smirks again and leans in close, and I know he’s about to divulge a huge secret. “Gaige is the tattoo artist.” I reel back, my mouth hanging open in complete shock. “You didn’t hear this from me, but he very rarely works at a shop in downtown Boston. It’s this whole secret you-gotta-know-somebody-who-knows-somebody type thing to get an appointment with him.”

  I know my eyes are about as big as saucers, but I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. “How did you find out, then?”

  He chuckles and relaxes back on the couch, placing his dress sock clad feet up on the coffee table. “He’s my best friend, other than Hudson. He told me.” Well, duh, Maura. Dumb question. “Now go get comfy. I’m gonna make you learn to love the Winchesters.” Tucker points to the hallway. “Second door on the right. Move it, woman.”

  I groan and grab the clothes he set on the table and get up to go change. The first thing I notice when I walk into the bathroom is how clean it is. Sure, there’s a dirty towel on the floor and dried toothpaste in the sink and a couple questionable stray hairs here and there, but it’s practically spotless for a bachelor’s place.

  Grabbing a washcloth, I begin washing away what’s left of my make-up, careful not to spend too much time gawking at my reflection. I have a feeling that I won’t care too much for what I see looking back at me. It’s supposed to be a heartbroken girl, but I know that’s not what I’ll see. Chances are the girl staring back will appear lighter, almost happy. She’ll also look ashamed and frightened, maybe unsure. But I know she won’t be sad anymore, and that’s a huge accomplishment for me. And also something I don’t know that I can face in this moment.