Here's to Yesterday

by Teagan Hunter

  To my husband.

  Thanks for letting me ask you weird questions and giving me equally weird answers.

  Always and forever.

  Table of contents

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE: HER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  chapter 5

  chapter 6

  chapter 7

  chapter 8

  chapter 9

  chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  PART TWO: HIM

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  PART THREE: THEM

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  “We accept the love we think we deserve.”

  —Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

  “Why do guys wake up with boners all the time?” I’m still half asleep—and maybe still drunk—but my question is legit because there is currently a rock-hard penis poking me in my lower back.

  “Because sleep is so good our dicks say, ‘I wanna fuck this bed.’ That’s why,” a gruff, muffled voice says.

  I laugh and wiggle my butt back on him.

  “Woman,” the voice says. He must have his face buried in his pillow, because I can barely hear him. “Stop it. You’re making this a lot more embarrassing than it already is.”

  He slips an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

  “What time is it?” I ask through a yawn.

  “Too early.”

  I smile. He’s probably right, but I need to know.

  Cracking open an eye, I peek around the room. Huh. Nice. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but a nice, clean room wasn’t it. Then again, I don’t have my glasses on, so my eyes could easily be lying to me.

  I try to stretch and grab my phone, but I don’t make it far. He’s got a tight grip, and the pressure on my alcohol-ridden stomach isn’t helping anything.

  Sighing, I close my eyes again because it’s starting to hurt to keep them open. “Come on. Let me up. I gotta see what time it is.”

  “Nope. You’re gonna have to pry me off you.”

  So I try. I grab hold of his arm, pushing and pulling. It’s not working. Suddenly, he relents, letting me lift his arm. It’s heavy as hell. A lot heavier than I remember.

  I open one eye again, everything still a bit blurry. Even through the half-drunk haze I’m in, I know that this arm—the one that was just holding me tightly and carefully all at once—doesn’t belong to whom it should. And that makes me feel like shit.

  I push hard at his body, wanting to be free from all this guilt I’m suddenly feeling, causing him to almost roll off the too-small bed.

  “What the fuck, Maura!” he shouts, catching himself and rolling over me. I can hear his voice clearly now.

  Oh, shit. The entire night comes rushing back to me. Everything that happened—the heartache, the promises, the kisses, who I’m with. All of it.

  Pushing at him, I scramble to climb out of bed, my feet turning to ice as I step onto the cold hardwood floor of his apartment. I snatch my glasses off the nightstand, shoving them onto my face.

  No, no, no. I am so not where I’m supposed to be. I rush around the unfamiliar bedroom, grabbing my—or rather his—clothes and shoving them on haphazardly.

  What in the hell have I done? It’s all too soon. I’m supposed to wait. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. I can’t be in bed with him.

  He sighs. “Maura.”

  I pause, hearing the hurt in his voice. My heart begins to crack at the pain I’m causing him. “We…we can’t,” I whisper. “You know we can’t.”

  I continue pulling the shirt over my head, refusing to glance back at the bed because I know I’ll give in if I look at him. I know I’ll stay, and I can’t.

  “Maura,” he says again softly. “Please.”

  I shake my head, slipping my feet into my flats. “No.”

  “Is it because of him?” he asks, heartache clouding his every word.

  I swallow thickly and nod once. “I’m sorry. This…this was a mistake. A big mistake. I—I’m just sorry,” I tell him, turning the doorknob and quickly making my way out of his apartment.

  The moment my feet hit the hallway, I collapse.

  I’m not sure what hits the ground first—my knees or my tears.

  Months Earlier

  I’m a liar.

  Or at least a truth-bender. Calling myself a flat-out liar would be a lie.

  So maybe I am a liar.

  Either way, I’ve been lying. Kind of. I have a boyfriend. A semi-decent boyfriend. Each time he says, “I love you,” I say it back.

  But the truth is, I don’t love him in the way I should. So every time I say it, I lie a tiny bit.

  I do love him, in more of a friendly way.

  Tapping the voicemail icon on my screen, I listen to the latest message from said boyfriend. “Hey, babe. Sorry I missed your call. We’ve been doing test flights all day. Gonna head out with the guys for a bit, maybe do a flight. I’ll try back later. I love you.”

  I try calling Tanner back but get sent directly to voicemail. Guess he’s still out.

  Throwing myself down onto my bed, I sigh loudly. We’ve been playing phone tag for the last two days, only exchanging texts a few times. This being disconnected thing is grueling. Dating a soldier is harder than I assumed. It’s been eight months since Tanner and I first got together and two weeks since we’ve seen one another. And since he left seven months ago, we’ve only been face-to-face a total of four times. I mean, sure, we FaceTime, Skype, text and try to talk daily, but it’s not the same.

  It’s so not the same.

  There’s part of me—the one that wants to love him in that way—that misses him. I miss touching him. I miss his presence. I miss his smile. But mostly, the part of me that loves him as a friend misses our friendship, which has significantly changed over the past few months.

  He’s been asking like crazy, but the last thing I’ll do is pick my life up and move out to North Carolina where he’s stationed. I have a life here in Wakefield, Massachusetts. Hell, I grew up here. My entire world—except Tanner—is here.

  I grab the closest pillow I can find, place it over my mouth, and scream long and hard because I’m frustrated by all this. I’m frustrated over missing him, I’m frustrated over him pressuring me, and I’m frustrated because I know that I don’t miss him enough.

  “Knock, knock!” my aunt Kassi hollers, tapping on my bedroom door and walking in.

  I remove the pillow and huff out another breath.

  “What’s going on, kiddo?” she asks, concern lacing her voice. Kiddo. Usually, I’d give her crap for calling me that, since she’s only five years older than me, but I’m too upset to do so now.

  See, my aunt Kassi is the best aunt ever. Actually, she feels more like a sister than an aunt since we’re close in age. She’s my mother’s half-sister and came into play long after my mom was out of the house. My mother would never say so out loud, but she’s envious of my relationship with Kassi and just as equally jealous of her young age. To say it’s entertaining to witness those two in a room together is putting it mildly. Whenever they come within fifty feet of one another, the air shifts and threatens to boil over from Norah Doughers’ horrible distaste of Kassi Garrett.

  “Life. It kinda sucks recently,” I finally tell her.

  “Buck up, Mau
ra. It can only get worse from here,” she jests, sitting down next to me and lying back, mirroring my pose.

  “Yeah, yeah, but I’m all about the now. I haven’t talked to Tanner since yesterday morning, and I was half asleep the entire time. All I remember is him pestering me more to move. I know I shouldn’t complain, because there are plenty of people out there who don’t get to talk with their soldiers, but I can’t help it. I miss him and want to strangle him all at the same time.”

  She sighs for me this time. “Ya know, at this point, I miss him because you’re so much happier when he’s around. Not sure what you would do if he were to dep—”

  “Don’t you dare say the ‘D’ word!” I interrupt.

  As much as I love my aunt Kassi, I will probably hit her if she finishes that word. I know deployment is almost inevitable in the military, but it’s still not something I like to dwell on, even if not all deployments equal dangerous situations. Whether we’re together or not, I don’t ever want Tanner deploying—stateside is safest. I couldn’t handle it on top of everything else.

  “Fine, fine,” she says on a small laugh. “But just because I can’t say the word doesn’t make it any less possible.”

  I groan and slant my eyes her way. “Why are you in here again?”

  “Grocery run. You want anything special or your usual?”

  “Ice cream. My two favorite men, please,” I tell her. “I have a feeling I’m going to need them.”

  She laughs lightly. “You sound like such a hussy.”

  “You still love me and my slutty ways,” I tease half-heartedly.

  “Only because I’m obligated by blood,” she tosses back.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I respond as she walks out of the room with a huge smile.

  I’m alone again. I don’t want to be alone again. I don’t need to be alone again. I’m moody and irritable, but I still don’t think sitting alone in my room will help any of that.

  My fingers itch to call Rae. I need my best friend, but she’s currently wrapped up in her incredible boyfriend, Hudson, and his kid, Joey. Can’t say I blame her for that, because it’s exactly where I would be if I had the two of them in my life.

  I could call my other best friend and Rae’s cousin, Perry, but I’m not sure if I’m up to hearing about his latest sexcapade or guzzling down booze at Clyde’s. I love him to death, but that’s not what I need.

  I need…comfort. I need Ben and Jerry and an extra-cheesy romantic comedy.

  Maybe I’ll head down to Jane’s on Main—the best local boutique in all of Wakefield and possibly Boston—to do a little retail therapy. Atta girl, Maura. Go shop!

  I drag myself off the bed and head to my closet, pulling out a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans and a blue floral-print blouse with pink flowers on it. Pair it with my light pink flats and I’m good to go.

  My sudden decision to shop has me giddy until I glance in the mirror. Ugh. My platinum blonde hair is a mess. It can’t decide if it wants to be short or shoulder-length, straight or curly. It’s annoying the crap out of me. Maybe I need a new hair-do too.

  I smile to myself. That sounds like a damn good idea to me.

  “You want me to do what!”

  “Pink tips all the way around. I think you need ‘em,” Becca, my hairdresser, says from behind me.

  “Are you for real? My mother would kill me!” I hiss.

  I watch in the mirror as Becca rolls her eyes. “Maura, you’re way too old to do what you mother tells you to do all the damn time. Live a little, girlie. Get the pink.”

  She’s right. I’m twenty-two. There’s no reason I should still be afraid of my mother. But I have plenty of reason to be.

  Taking a chapter out of my best friend Rae’s book and being as blunt as possible: my mom is a bitch. Yeah, I said it. She’s mean. Norah Doughers doesn’t smile. At all. In fact, I highly doubt she smiled when I was born. I’m sure she handed me off to a nurse and then a nanny. She’s cold.

  Why am I sitting here debating whether or not I want to put artificial color in my perfectly shaded natural blonde hair to spite her? Because I’m angry. Because I’m a grownup. Because I desperately want to say “suck it” to my parents.

  And I do. Albeit metaphorically, but it still counts.

  “Fine,” I concede, closing my eyes and refusing to watch. “Let’s do it.”

  She squeals and gets to work.

  Becca is quiet at first, concentrating strictly on my hair. It doesn’t take long for her to start jabbering.

  “So, Maura,” she says, moving a few items around on her rented counter space. “How’s the dating life going? How are things with your hunky soldier?”

  I want to sigh at this. I want to tell Becca that things are great, but they’re not. However, being the liar I am, I tell her so anyway. Because why shatter that carefully crafted image I’ve constructed over the years?

  “Oh, fantastic! We’re great! Tanner is the perfect boyfriend,” I tell her, making sure to put extra emphasis on perfect.

  She squeals again, and I’m starting to realize why Rae hates it when I do it. “You’re so lucky! I’ve never seen him, but the last time you were in here you wouldn’t stop gushing over him! I bet he’s a total stud!”

  Becca’s right—Tanner is a stud. He’s damn near flawless in the appearances department, but relationships aren’t built on beauty. Okay, some are, but not the type relationship I want.

  I need…real…tangible. And as head over heels as I was for Tanner in the beginning, that’s faded. A lot. If a person were to ask, could I say I love Tanner? Sure. Would I mean it? Probably not. Dead giveaway for how much longer this “relationship” needs to last.

  “How’s the long-distance thing working out?” Becca asks, twisting my hair up into a clip a little too hard.

  “Ouch.”

  “Shit. Sorry, Maura.”

  “It’s fine. I kinda expect your abuse by now,” I tease. I have a rather sensitive head, and Becca always ends up pulling my hair a little too hard.

  “You should.” She winks at me in the mirror. “But don’t dodge my question. How is it?”

  I hold back my sigh and respond with, “Awesome.”

  But that’s a lie. Again.

  The first month we were together was wonderful. Everything moved fast, and it was so storybook perfect that I let myself get lost in it. I didn’t pay attention to how genuine my feelings were. Or weren’t. It didn’t prepare me for the long-distance part of the relationship at all. I didn’t know how hard it would be. I didn’t know that when I saw him again, it would be different. I assumed it would all be the same, and that I would not feel cheap when we met up for weekend visits.

  “Babe,” Tanner says, grabbing at me as I close the door to the mediocre hotel room we got for the weekend.

  His mouth is on mine before anything else can be said or I can even set my purse down. I kiss him back with equal fervor, hoping for a spark of something.

  Tanner tugs at my cardigan, pulling it from my shoulders haphazardly. Annoyed by his lack of grace, I push him off and pull the garment down my arms. He rips it from my hands, tosses it to the bed, and reaches for the button on my jeans. They’re on the floor before I know it, and he’s pressed against me again.

  “I need to fuck you.”

  And I let him. Right there on the back of a motel door, I let him.

  Because that’s how desperately I want to feel with him.

  In the end, I don’t.

  I assumed wrong because that’s exactly what they felt like after our last encounter—cheap. It wasn’t until then that I realized that it had been about the same all the times before that.

  Not at all what I was hoping for when we first started all this.

  We met unexpectedly when he came into Clyde’s, the sports bar where I work, with his younger brother and friends last year. It was a lust-at-first-sight type of thing, and after hitting it off so well, we plunged head first into a relationship and never looked back.

&
nbsp; Or ahead, apparently.

  I’m not saying Tanner is an awful boyfriend. He’s not the best, but he’s far from the worst. He may come off as this tough guy, asshole type to the world, but he’s not like that with me…most of the time. It’s like I hung the moon for him and him alone, and I don’t doubt for a second that when Tanner says he loves me, he means it in his special way. And when we’re together, we work.

  Or at least we used to.

  “I couldn’t imagine having a long-distance relationship myself,” Becca comments. “It all seems so difficult to keep up with. Easy to get separated from who you are.”

  Bingo!

  When we’re together, I tend to let Tanner take the wheel and drive my emotions instead of kicking it over into manual and driving myself. Without him, I’m on guard and always watching over my shoulder, expecting to find my parents there correcting me since that’s what they’ve done all my life.

  I need to be one or the other. And so far, the version where I’m not checking over my shoulder constantly—the one where I feel as though I’m more capable of taking control of my own life like I was starting to do before—is the one I like the most.

  I understand that finding a balance between the two different people we project is hard, but lingering in the middle like we have been isn’t working. It’s making everything much more difficult.

  We started off as these different people and created a beautiful friendship in the short time we had together. Thinking that was who we truly were, it bloomed into this whirlwind affair. Shortly after he left, we reverted to who we were before. Because of this, we’ve stayed in this never-ending push and pull of pretending. I think we enjoy those impeccable versions of each other too much to break it off, but it’s becoming exhausting to keep up the charade.

  “It’s hard, but someone has to do it, right?”

  “Right,” Becca agrees distractedly. “Almost done. You’re gonna look so hot!”

  “Can I turn around yet?” I ask Becca, who has me flipped around so I can’t see in the mirror.

  “Almost…,” she starts. She walks around and stands in front of me. I watch as she reaches out and moves a few pieces of hair. Smiling, she proclaims, “Done!”