Here's to Yesterday

by Teagan Hunter

  I ignore him and reach for the radio. Turning it to the local college station, I crank the radio up as a Transit song fills the confined space. I swear I hear him mutter something about Rae and me, but I ignore that too.

  We ride with the stereo blasting the entire way to Mic’s, a local open-mic type place where Tucker frequently plays. It’s a hole in the wall of sorts, but it’s filled with so many awesome things from the many performers who have played there. It’s one of my favorite places to visit now, and not because it was where I went for my first date with Tanner. Tucker’s the one who made it that way.

  Much to my surprise, he motions for me to wait as he opens my door for me when we park—something Tanner’s never done.

  Which is not important at all, Maura. I want to slap myself because I’m comparing these two brothers when I definitely shouldn’t be.

  He holds his hand out for me, and I automatically place mine in it. It fits.

  Tucker pulls me out of the car, eyeing me carefully. He glances down at my outfit, and I watch as the corners of his mouth tip up.

  “You clean up nicely, Maura,” he says shyly.

  I—for some unknown reason—blush at his compliment.

  “Thanks. You do too.” And he does. All he’s wearing are jeans and a grey t-shirt—apparently leaving the flannel at home tonight—but he’s still handsome as hell.

  He closes my door, and we begin making our way toward the entrance. Bumping into me so I peer over at him, Tucker tilts his head toward the club. “You ready for this?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ve seen you play before, Tucker. This is nothing new for me.”

  “I didn’t mean about that. I meant going out to any place other than Clyde’s for the first time in months.”

  Not too long ago, I was a bit of a shut-in. I never went anywhere other than class, the library, Rae’s house, or work. That was it. Nowhere else. Even though I was away from them and living with my aunt Kassi in her spacious three bedroom ranch house, my parents made sure that I was full of nothing but paranoia all the time. I was so scared of their words and how they burned that I would rather spend my time in “safe spaces” so I wouldn’t do anything to upset them.

  I may have already been to Mic’s about a dozen or so times, but this is huge. I’m nervous because I’m still not used to large crowds yet—something that’s become worse over the last few months—and there’s always a big one when Tuck plays.

  “Oh,” I say. “Um, yeah, I guess. I mean, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Right?”

  “No, it definitely shouldn’t be. You bring that mask of yours, just in case?”

  Realistically, I should be pissed that Tucker talks to me the way he does, that he acts like he knows everything about me. I’ll admit that he does know me fairly well, and I’d go as far as to say we’re friends. But we’re not good friends. We’re nowhere near the level of friendship that allows for how deeply he looks at me. Nowhere near the level for it to be okay for him to make the statements and assumptions he’s been making—no matter how right he is. Our lack of closeness is somewhat my fault since I’ve always tried avoiding him. Why would I want to actively avoid hanging out with a super-hot dude? Because he sees me like he shouldn’t, and I’m not ready for that with anyone.

  But for now I’m ready to let it slide because it’s nice to be accepted for me, for the person I am without the mask. Tucker has always done it, but I’m only now learning to appreciate it.

  “I don’t need it here,” I tell him steadily.

  He smirks at me.

  We’ve almost reached the door when out of the corner of my eye I catch him glance down between us. My eyes follow his.

  We’re still holding hands.

  A sense of shame washes over me, and I drop his hand instantly as my cheeks heat up again.

  Breaking up with his brother or not, that shouldn’t have happened for so many reasons. It shouldn’t have felt so natural.

  “I’m so fucking glad you came tonight. I could kiss Tucker for forcing you here,” Rae says next to me.

  “Hey! No you can’t,” Hudson, Rae’s incredible boyfriend, practically growls.

  The whole thing is hilarious because Hudson is the least jealous person I know. The way he loves Rae is beautiful, but the way he stepped up and became a dad in high school—only to become a single one later—is even better.

  Rae laughs at him and places a gentle kiss on his cheek.

  See? Sickeningly sweet.

  But if there’s one thing in life I’m sure of, it’s Rae and Hudson lasting a lifetime together. They’re the epitome of the ideal couple. I’ve only ever seen them fight one time, and that was something worth fighting over. Their courtship was nothing but hearts and freakin’ rainbows.

  But sometimes love is that easy, and I’m so happy Rae found it.

  “If it makes you feel any better, Hudson, I’d probably kiss him too. I’ve missed my girls,” Perry speaks up, the black eye he had yesterday already healing up nicely.

  “I hate you all, so no kissing will come from me,” Gaige, best friend to Hudson and Tucker, grumbles.

  I laugh because on the outside, Gaige—who is probably the most handsome man I have ever seen in real life—appears absolutely miserable, but I know there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

  Like me.

  “Ya know, I’ve been a total flake lately but I’m glad I came, too.”

  Rae bumps her shoulder into mine and gives me a small smile.

  “Oh, check it out. Fucker, I mean Tucker, is on,” Gaige says with obvious admiration in his voice.

  I look up toward the stage in time to see Tucker walking up the stairs. He takes a seat on the single stool and adjusts the mic to his height. He sits, placing his guitar on his knee. It’s barely audible, but you can hear him clear his throat, making the performance that much more raw.

  I’m captivated by how at ease he is in front of a crowd. Tucker is normally a super laid-back guy. He’s always calm and collected, never getting riled up over things—not that I’ve ever witnessed.

  But this Tucker, the one up on stage, he’s different. It’s like he was born to be on it. He demands the attention of the room by doing nothing but sitting there. That’s how comfortable he is up there. That’s how perfectly he fits.

  He clears his throat again and leans into the mic. “Hey, I’m Tucker Bentley, and I’m gonna attempt to play a few songs for you guys.”

  Attempt. Ha. Attempt is such a light word for what he does.

  Magic or absolute real artistry are better-suited ways to describe it.

  “Well, I’m gonna start it off with a little different, more broken-down version of Wonderwall by Oasis. That cool?” A few “whoops” erupt from the crowd because Tucker is well loved around here. “I was hoping for that. All right, here goes.”

  So he begins. He strums the first chord, and the place goes absolutely silent. Everyone—and I mean everyone—is entranced, including me. And this is all from his guitar playing. He’s that good.

  But then he opens his mouth, and all the air in the room is sucked out instantly. Or maybe it’s just me, because I know I’m only taking in enough oxygen to stay afloat.

  I watch as he pours his heart and soul into every single word he’s singing, every single chord he’s playing. His fingers move over the neck of the guitar with love. His feet tap lightly to keep his pace. The shadows cast by the mood lighting make him so beautiful, drawing attention to his hands and tattoos. Everything about him on that stage is sheer perfection.

  He closes his soul-searing golden eyes and belts out the bridge, his face contorting along with the words, like he feels them deep down in his heart, like he lives them each day.

  When he finally reopens them, he’s watching me. And I feel this…shift. I feel something happen in my heart.

  The moment is brief because he closes them almost as quickly as he made eye contact.

  My heart stops, and my body freezes, because I saw it.


  The look that was in his gaze just now—those stupid, perfect golden eyes—said, “Set me free.”

  And I have no clue what he’s trying to escape.

  The song comes to an end, and Tucker opens his eyes again. They meet mine briefly, and then he’s sweeping them around the crowd, smiling softly because the place is going wild.

  Rae—who I forgot was here—is suddenly pulling on my arm, trying to get me to stand up to clap. I glance around and notice that the club is on their feet and clapping like mad for this talented man.

  Tucker dips his head in a “thank you” gesture and immediately goes into the next song, which is an acoustic rendition of Uptown Funk by Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars. The place goes nuts, probably because it’s the best version of the song any of us has ever heard.

  And only Tucker could take that song and make it better.

  “Holy fuck! That was phenomenal!” Rae exclaims. “Your boy is talented!”

  I almost—almost—turn to her to tell her he’s not my boy when I realize she’s talking to Hudson.

  I snap my mouth shut quickly and peek around our small group of friends to make sure no one saw it. Perry is staring off at the stage, so no worries there. Rae and Hudson have their heads bent closely together, whispering and laughing with one another.

  But, alas, it would happen that I don’t have much luck, since Gaige is staring directly at me. He tilts his head, watching me. I dart my eyes away immediately, afraid he’ll say something.

  I feel a foot tap my shin, and I know it’s him. I glance up to meet his dark brown eyes. He nods at me. Once. That’s all. I guess that’s his way of acknowledging what he saw and promising not to say anything about it.

  That’s what I’m going with, anyway.

  I look away again and begin folding and refolding my napkin, wishing like crazy I were anywhere but here. I think I’ve had enough entertainment for one night.

  Tucker goes through two more songs before he declares he’s done. This little announcement is met with boos from each corner of the club.

  “Sorry, everyone. I’ve got friends who need me. I’m sure I’ll be back in a few weeks.” He points toward the bar. “I know I’m Gary’s favorite, so he’ll be begging for me to come back.” Tucker winks, and I swear five girls swoon.

  The instant he walks off stage, he’s greeted by talent executives. Each time he plays here, it happens. He’s on a semi-regular slot, playing here every third Saturday of the month since Mic’s opened. And you can guarantee that each time he plays, there will be no less than five record label bigwigs here begging for Tucker to sign with them.

  He always tells them no. Always.

  “So, thoughts?” Tucker asks as he walks through the crowd of suits and sits next to me.

  “It was okay,” I say, giving him a small grin.

  He chuckles. “Just okay, huh? Good thing I told those scouts no, then. That would have been so embarrassing.”

  I can’t help my smile, because Tucker knows he was remarkable. He had the club eating out of his hands.

  Putty. We were all putty.

  The best thing about his sets is that he only plays covers. But they aren’t simply covers. No, they’re completely rearranged pieces. From the melodies to the vocals, one hundred percent remastered. What Tucker does is art. And people have noticed that, especially after a video of one of his performances was leaked on YouTube. His unique take on songs is what brings in the hordes of label executives. Plus, his following on social media has grown to insane numbers, something that’s caught their eyes as well. And considering he only ever performs in Wakefield, that’s impressive. All his fame doesn’t change him though. He doesn’t let it go to his head, and he remains as laid back as ever.

  “You want a drink, Tuck? I’m buying,” Hudson announces.

  “Sure, man. The usual.”

  “I’ll let you buy me a drink, Hudson. And I’ll even carry it back to the table for you,” Gaige says, standing up.

  “Wow. How fucking sweet of you, dude.”

  “You know me. Sweet as sugar,” Gaige replies with a dead voice.

  We all laugh at that.

  Rae and Perry start arguing over what Wonderwall truly means, leaving Tucker and me to sit in silence.

  I watch him watch the stage where a tall, slender woman is reading an excerpt from her latest novel.

  “You love it up there, huh?” I say.

  “Yep.”

  “More than anything?”

  His gaze snaps to mine. “More than anything,” he admits quietly.

  “Then why do you always tell them—” I nod my head toward the suits “—no? If you love it so much, why don’t you do it all the time?”

  He reaches over and picks up my water, taking a large drink from it and keeping eye contact with me. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he answers, and I notice the calluses building up on his fingers. I don’t know if it’s from playing the guitar or working on cars all day at Jacked Up, the shop he helps run with Hudson.

  “It’s not that easy,” he finally says, setting my glass back down.

  My eyebrows pinch together. “Why not?”

  He shrugs and turns back toward the stage. “I’m…needed here for now.”

  I take his answer for what it is because I’m obviously not going to get anything else from him tonight.

  Hudson and Gaige each return with their hands full of drinks. After passing them out, we all turn our attention to the poetry being read from the stage. Rae giddily screeches a few indecipherable words about her beloved Will Cooper, and Hudson lets out a loud sigh.

  I would love to tell you what the poem is about, but I have no clue because my mind won’t stop spinning. I don’t understand at all what Tucker could have here that’s holding him back. He’s not in a relationship. He has no children. He’s not attending school for anything. He works and plays here at Mic’s once a month. And, newly added to his routine, bugs the crap out of me at Clyde’s, but that’s beside the point.

  I don’t get how any one of those things would hold him back here. I want to question him more, get him to open up and tell me, but I know he won’t. Not here, not yet.

  “Why do you keep staring at me?” he suddenly asks, causing me to jump, which is ridiculous since I was staring at him.

  He looks over at me, piercing me with his gaze. I meet his stare.

  “You find it?” Tucker asks. I know he’s referring to his mask he wears when it comes to talking about his future as a musician.

  “Almost,” I say softly, turning back to the stage and leaving him to stare at me this time.

  An hour or so later, Tucker leans over and asks if I’m ready to go yet—the first words he’s spoken to me since the poet was on stage.

  I nod and turn toward Rae. “I’m gonna head home. Tucker’s my ride.”

  “We’re getting ready to bounce too. You want me and Hudson to take you? You live closer to us than Tuck,” she says.

  I start to answer, but Tucker interrupts me with, “I’ve got her.”

  Rae gives me an odd look, so I shrug, letting her know I have no idea why he’s insisting either.

  “Catch you Monday, assholes,” Gaige says, throwing down ten bucks for a tip. He fist bumps Tucker, Hudson, and Perry, and gives Rae a hug.

  Then he comes over to me, wrapping me up in his arms. “Secret’s safe, love,” he says in my ear, so low I almost think I make it up for a moment.

  I give him a firm head shake and quickly pull away from his embrace.

  “I see you, asshole,” Hudson says to Tucker, patting his back as he walks past us with Rae under his arm, air-typing to let me know she’ll text me later.

  “I see you too,” Tucker replies, smiling after his friend.

  That whole exchange is this odd thing they’ve apparently always said to one another. At first I didn’t get it, but over time I’ve come to understand it’s their way of either saying, “Hey, I see through you” or “I get you” or “I
love you” or a combo of all three. It’s neat to witness them interact in the way they do. Their bond runs deep. It’s refreshing to see two guys who aren’t afraid to show they give a shit about one another.

  “You heading out too, Perry?” I shout to him. He’s currently talking with a waitress about three tables over and not paying attention. I walk over to the table and give him a kiss on the cheek. “We’re heading out. Let me know when you make it home safely,” I tell him in a low voice.

  He nods at me, so I walk away.

  “Maura?” he says when I’m about two tables away. I turn back to him. “It was good to see you out and about. We’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you more, Per Bear.”

  “Liar,” he shoots back with a grin.

  I laugh as I walk back to the table to find Tucker talking to one of the suits. He’s shaking his head steadily. The suit tries to hand him a business card, but Tucker keeps refusing him.

  It’s frustrating to see him stand there and basically tell his future to suck it. So what do I do? I march my ass up to the suit and introduce myself.

  “Hi,” I say, stepping between them and sticking my hand out. “Maura Doughers, Mr. Bentley’s manager. And you are?”

  The suit peers down at me like I’ve lost my mind—because let’s face it, I have.

  “Daren Darren from Hot House Records,” he replies, giving me a heavy, professional handshake as I fight the urge to laugh over his double name. “We’ve been trying to get your client here to sign with us for months now, Ms. Doughers. Maybe you could talk some sense into him?”

  If only he knew how desperately I wanted to.

  “We’d be more than happy to take your business card and get back in touch with you if we find you to be a suitable fit,” I tell him confidently.

  “Perfect. I’m glad one of you thinks working with us is a good idea.” I take the business card he offers. “Ms. Doughers, Mr. Bentley. I hope to hear from you both,” the record label executive says, giving us one more polite handshake and walking away smiling like he hit the damn lottery.

  Because that’s how it would be if you had Tucker as a client—money, money, money since he’s that good.