Page 69 of Not Another Yesterday
There’s a moment of stunned silence before Tori squeals. “What? Yes! I can flip a U-ey. Be there in ten. But I gotta warn you, you better have a strong constitution because you’re going to want to take one or seven kittens and puppies home with you. It’s serious cuteness overload in there. Tell me now if you don’t think you can handle it,” she says laughing.
I try to smile, but the corners of my mouth barely lift. They feel too heavy. Everything does lately.
But if there’s any medicine to soothe an aching soul, it’s animals. And Tori. And doing something that has nothing to do with grief.
“Bring on the kittens,” I say quietly, and go to find my shoes.
***
I was right—going to the animal shelter with Tori gave me the mood boost I didn’t know how badly I needed. While she flitted from pen to pen, snapping photos of the newest arrivals, I found myself curled up with a litter of purring kittens. Then came Mad Max, a squat-legged, wide-eyed pug with the energy of a caffeinated toddler and the snort of a grumpy old man. I couldn’t stop laughing.
By the time we left, my hoodie was covered in fur, my cheeks ached from smiling, and I’d somehow committed to volunteering once a week to socialize the animals. I might not have Tori’s eye for lighting or angles, but I’m an expert-level cuddler—and apparently, that’s a skill in high demand.
It’s exactly seven o’clock when Tori and Vada pull up in front of my house that evening. Vada launches herself out of the car and wraps me in a bone-deep hug, the kind that feels like it’s trying to squeeze all the sadness out of you. I close my eyes and let her.
It’s the first time we’ve seen each other in person since the breakup, and the look on her face tells me she’s taken it nearly as hard as I have.
“I just can’t wrap my head around this whole thing,” Vada says once we’re driving, twisting in the front seat to look at me. “You two aremadefor each other. And IknowRan loves you more than life itself. What the hell happened?”
She said the same thing over the phone, just after it all fell apart. But hearing it again now stirs something sharp in my chest.
“I fucked up, Vada,” I say softly. “So badly.”
She shakes her head, brows drawn together. “Okay, sure, yeah, you made a mistake—but it’s not like yousleptwith the guy, right?”
Her eyes dart to Tori for backup.
Tori doesn’t miss a beat. “You know, the more I talk to Shane about it, the more I think it was just the perfect storm. Ran was alreadyin a weird place, right? With Frank and Penny having twins, and then you two”—she looks at me through the rearview mirror—“had that fight about Ran not wanting kids …”
My stomach twists. I told them about the fight, how I lost it, how I yelled and he yelled back. I told them how I said things I didn’t mean. How I turned every word into a weapon. The more I think about it, the more horrified I am. I sharpened my words on purpose, made them into knives I knew would cut deep. And then I used them. I watched him bleed andkept going.
My throat tightens, a hard knot forming behind my sternum. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard,” I whisper. “I don’t even know why I did. I saw how much it was upsetting him, but I just… pushed. And then I said he just needed to get over what his mom did to him.”
That part is the worst—the way I said it, the cruelty in it. I don’t regret finally telling him how much Miranda bothered me, or how much it hurt that he kept shutting me out. But I do regret going for the jugular. Tearing open a wound Iknewwas barely healing, then digging my hands into it and twisting like I wanted him to hurt as much as I did.
That’s the part I wish I could undo. The part that keeps me up at night, whispering,You went too far.
Maybe one day I’ll get the chance to say that to him. Maybe not.
***
I wonder if there’s ever a moment—day or night—when Murphy’s isn’t packed. Saturday nights, though? A different beast entirely. The place is chaos masquerading as community, a pulsing, overstimulated organism of clinking glass, shouted orders, and bodies squeezed too close together.
It’s not just loud—it’sloud. Voices ricochet off the walls, tangled up in the bassline of whatever indie band is playing overhead. Waitersdodge and weave through narrow spaces with the grace of ballerinas and the stress levels of air traffic controllers. There’s barely an empty chair in sight.
No wonder Ronan and Shane always look like they’ve gone twelve rounds with a hurricane by the end of a shift. Even the most extroverted person would be drowning in this much noise, motion, heat.
“Well, shit, do you see an open table?” Tori asks, elevating her voice above the noise as she looks around. Her face breaks into a smile with Shane’s approach. He, on the other hand, looks anything but pleased to see her; he hurries toward us like he’s trying to intercept a car crash.
“Babe, what are you doing here?” Shane says through gritted teeth, low and urgent.
Tori blinks at the cool reception. “The three of us thought we’d grab some dinner, and I wanted to see you. I’m sorry if my presence is off-putting to you.”
Shane shakes his head as if to clear it. “No. Shit, no, of course I’m not—”
But I’m not listening anymore.
My heart plummets into my stomach, like my stupid, traitorous body is programmed to know he’s close. My gaze rolls past Shane and I spot him mid-stride. Ronan. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off his forearms—those delicious veins—muscles flexed as he carries a case of glass bottles to the bar. He looks so good.Toogood.
