Authors: Jessica Mastorakos
Back To You
Back To You
By Jessica
Mastorakos
Copyright © 2013 by
Jessica Mastorakos
All rights reserved.
Produced by Jessica Mastorakos.
Back To You
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book
may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of
copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only
authorized editions.
Find Jessica
Mastorakos on Facebook
Edited by A.
Wrighton
, Little Green Eyed Press, California
Cover design &
interior design by Jessica Mastorakos
Cover models: Emily
and Justin Mullins
Table of Contents
This book is dedicated to the brave men and women
who serve, and the families who support them every step of the way.
Chapter One
Ellie
I deserved a
medal. The lights pulsed and the music blared as I wormed my way through the
crowded party. This was my going away gift for my very best friend. Spencer was
on the dance floor, surrounded by girls in their best summer party clothes. He
was easy to spot, with his tall frame and shaved head. He caught my eye over
the heads of the other dancers. I beamed and lifted my plastic cup in salute. He
seemed to be having a blast, a large grin plastered on his face as a hot
– but fake-looking – blonde leaned in close to speak over the
music.
The room was
stuffy and smelled like sweat, so I headed to the front porch for some fresh
air. Wading through the mob to the door, I received several nods and hugs from
the friends I passed along the way. I thanked them for coming with a smile that
I knew didn’t quite reach my eyes. While I was grateful for such a good
turnout, I couldn’t help but be sad that we were all there to say goodbye to
Spencer.
The party was his
last hurrah. It was Saturday night, and come Monday morning he’d be boarding a
bus for Marine Corps boot camp. I wouldn’t be able to see or talk to him for
three months. It was going to be awful, considering we hadn’t ever gone more than
a few days without talking. No one knew me like he did. When he was gone, there
would be a Spencer-sized hole in my life.
I pushed open the
screen door leading to the porch. Eyes closed, I took a deep breath of the hot,
July air. San Diego was humid this time of year, and the air felt heavy as a
layer of moisture settled on my skin. I glanced around, looking for my
boyfriend, Tim. I hadn’t seen him inside the house, though admittedly I wasn’t
looking very hard. I could tell that he didn’t get my relationship with
Spencer, and if he picked up on my sadness over my best friend leaving he would
probably take it the wrong way. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with whatever
jealous remarks he might come up with about our “history” or “lack of
boundaries.” Tim’s parents were psychologists, so he used all kinds of
technical terms in casual conversation. It really got on my nerves from time to
time.
Taking a few steps
around the large wrap-around deck, I could see the shadowy forms of a couple
making-out in a dark corner. Retching noises came from the lawn. A boy from my
senior class was losing his dinner under a tree. His girlfriend stood by, hands
on her hips and toes tapping. I shook my head and made my way to the porch
swing, giving up. I’d find Tim eventually, or he’d find me.
As I lowered
myself onto the swing, I squeezed an eye shut and tilted my head. The fuzziness
around the edge of my vision told me that I was teetering between merely buzzed
and slightly drunk. I took a swig of my beer, aiming to tip the scales before
long. I wanted to let loose and have fun. I wanted to enjoy my last night with
Spencer, even though I hadn’t seen him much. He was on a mission to get laid
one last time before boot camp.
Big surprise there.
I smirked into my cup,
thinking about how he wouldn’t have to work hard to accomplish that goal. There
were many girls at the party ready to go upstairs with him at the first
opportunity. He’d always been good-looking, but it was also his happy-go-lucky
nature and sense of humor that made him appealing. The fact that he was about
to become a U.S. Marine didn’t hurt either.
I
was sure that he loved all of the attention. He never got tired of it, unlike
me. The spotlight wasn’t my favorite place to be. I took another swig and
grimaced as the bubbles tickled the back of my throat, making it hard to
swallow.
Our summer had
been crazy, filled with lots of parties and beach trips. I was glad we’d taken
so many pictures, since I wasn’t sure when my life would be as easy and
carefree as the summer after high school. After graduation, my dad had offered
me a job at his law firm as a receptionist, starting in the fall. It would be
my first “grown-up job,” complete with the nine-to-five schedule and a brand
new wardrobe.
I loved my dad, but
I felt a tiny bit of dread when I thought about his high expectations when it
came to following in his footsteps. He was so successful and self-assured, and
I was kind of a late bloomer. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life. I
got good grades in high school because I knew I wanted to do
something
worthwhile. I was just taking
my time deciding what that something was. I had always expected that I would
have a passion for something and then follow my dreams. Nothing has given me
that feeling yet.
So, I decided to
take some classes at the local community college. Unfortunately, my dad wanted
me to attend a university and eventually go to law school, like he did. It
didn’t have to be
his
law school, but
I’d bet my life he’d be disappointed if it wasn’t. Honestly, what was the point
in investing so much into a field that I might not even like? We’d eventually compromised
on the receptionist job. Dad was sure that the environment would make me fall
in love with law. I wasn’t as convinced.
I took a long pull
of my beer and stared out into the night. I felt dumb for being so negative
about the receptionist job when Spencer would be trading his freedom for drill instructors
and combat boots. Was he getting nervous? He hadn’t said anything about any
fears he might be having. Then again, he wasn’t the type to just pour his heart
out about his emotions. Still, it must be freaking him out at least a little. I
couldn’t imagine how I would feel if I were in his shoes. Tonight, at least, I
hoped he wasn’t thinking about it at all.
The screen door
swung open and hit the wall with a loud crash. I jumped, steadying my beer as
the frothy liquid sloshed over the sides of the red plastic cup. I was pissed
at first, but snickered when I saw Spencer stumble outside with a sheepish
grin. He was trying not to spill the two fresh cups of beer on his new dark
jeans and black V-Neck tee. I watched him as he regained his balance and came
over to the swing. His new buzz cut made the angles of his jaw look even
stronger and sexier than usual. If I was being honest with myself, I understood
now why girls fawned over him all the time. He had that swagger that came with
his tall and lean frame, and his deep blue eyes made him look like an
Abercrombie model. Well, actually, it was his abs that made him similar to
those guys. I cleared my throat and looked away from him. I wasn’t used to
thinking those thoughts about my best friend. Blushing, I realized that I must
be drunker than I’d thought.
“My bad,” Spencer said
as he closed the door with exaggerated, drunken care. “What are you doing out
here alone,
blondie
?”
I shrugged. “It
was getting kind of hot in there.”
“You’re telling
me! I barely escaped with my shirt,” Spencer said, with mock seriousness.
“These bitches are crazy.”
“Oh, please,” I laughed,
draining what was left of my beer and dropping the empty cup on the ground next
to the swing. I took the fresh one that Spencer held out to me and we touched
our cups together in toast. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it. You’ll have at
least two of them in your room later.”
Spencer made a
smug face and took a long pull of his beer. I watched him, marveling at how he
was able to be so casual about sex. I wasn’t a virgin, but I had only allowed
Tim to move past third base after we’d been dating for over six months and I
felt close enough to him. I took sex pretty seriously, and I wanted to make
sure that Tim wasn’t only with me for that one reason.
Spencer’s behavior
didn’t surprise me, by any means. It rarely did. After all, I had known him
since middle school. As soon as he was old enough, he began making rounds
through most of the good-looking girls in school. He never had “girlfriends,”
only girls that he was “hanging out” with. It actually kind of amused me
sometimes, since he was somehow able to stay friends with every girl he’d been
with. If he had been running around stomping on hearts, I wouldn’t be as close
to him as I was. Spencer wasn’t the typical bad boy with a heart of gold. You
didn’t have to dig too deep to find his best qualities; they were right on the
surface and within reach to all he encountered. So, he’s a great guy, who also
just happens to be a bit of a slut.
“You look great tonight,”
Spencer said with a smile. “What’d Timmy say when he saw that hot little
dress?”
I raised my chin
haughtily. “He doesn’t like it when you call him that. But anyway, he was just
as impressed as you thought he’d be.”
“You always act so
surprised when I’m right! Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” He wagged
a finger at me with a lopsided grin.
I swatted his hand
out of the air with a laugh. Spencer had gone shopping with me earlier in the
day to find an outfit for the party. He had decided to go with the basic black
and jeans, but he wouldn’t stop pestering me until I agreed to buy the short
red sundress. He’d insisted that the color went great with my long, blonde
hair, and on a hot summer night the cut of the dress would be perfect. It was
strapless, with a sweetheart neckline and an empire waist that gave way to a
flowing bottom. The fabric was light and airy, and the hem came mid-thigh. I
had to admit he was right. I felt amazing.
“Have you seen
him, by the way?”
Spencer frowned.
“Who?”
“Tim.”
“Oh. No, I haven’t
seen him for a while actually. You haven’t either?”
I shook my head.
“He’ll turn up.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“I just hate how he does that, you know? Disappears for most of the party and
then magically reappears when it’s time to leave.”
Spencer patted my
knee. “Well, that’s what you have me for! I’m much better company than Tiny
Tim.”
“He hates that
too, you know.”
“I bet he does. So,
listen, there’s something that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Spencer
began, looking at me somberly.
I nodded in
encouragement for him to continue.
“My recruiter was
telling me about the phone call that we’re supposed to make when we get to the
Depot. It’s not a big deal; it’s just this script we have to read to let our
families know that we made it there alive or something.”
“Okay…”
“Well, my dad sucks,
obviously,” he gestured to the roaring house and underage drinking party, as if
in explanation for his dad’s lack of parenting skills. A lot of our friends
thought that Mike Hawkins was “cool” for allowing stuff like that to go on
under his roof, but I knew Spencer resented it now and then. It would be nice
for him to actually have a parent, as opposed to Mike, who was content just
staying out of his son’s way. “So, I’d like to call
you
, instead of him.”
I nodded again.
“Of course.”
“Cool, thanks. I don’t
want you to get freaked out though. I heard we basically just pick up the phone
and yell this couple-sentence thing and hang up. It’s not like we’ll get to
chat or anything.”
“That’s fine, I
don’t mind. I’ll let your dad know you got there safe.” I put my hand on
Spencer’s knee, knowing how much he wished his mom were still alive so he could
call her instead.
“Thanks,” Spencer
said, leaning back on the swing and putting his arm around me. I rested my head
on his shoulder and closed my eyes. He swung us back and forth in companionable
silence for a few minutes. When I stayed uncharacteristically quiet, he
squeezed my arm. “You’re moping. I told you, this is a night for fun, not being
sad! Be sad all day tomorrow for all I care, since I’ll be busy packing and I
won’t have to see it.”
I opened my eyes
and took a breath, smiling at his teasing words.
“I wasn’t moping.”
“You absolutely
were. There was a distinct lack of chatter happening just then.”
Spencer didn’t do
well with serious emotions anymore. It was like his entire capacity for pain or
sorrow was used up when he lost his mom to cancer. It was like he refused to be
sad about anything after that. I couldn’t blame him. In fact, part of me
actually envied him for the ability.
“Alright,
alright,” I conceded. “I’m just going to miss you, that’s all.”
“I’m going to miss
you too, but you need to cheer up or you’re going to ruin my night.” One side
of his mouth twitched upwards as he squeezed my shoulder again before getting
up from the swing. He leaned against the porch rail across from me. Cup in his
teeth, he hoisted himself up. Once comfortably seated on the railing, he took a
long gulp of beer. “Besides, we’re about to be pen pals! You’ll need to
entertain me with stories about your adventures on the outside.”
“On the outside?
It’s not prison, Spence.”
“Might as well
be!”
“Well, either way,
I wouldn’t get too excited about letters from me. Who would I have adventures
with if not you?”
“That’s true. Your
life is pretty boring. But that’s what you want isn’t it? A white picket fence,
a boring husband, and a couple of messy but well-mannered kids?”
I laughed and
rolled my eyes. “My future husband doesn’t need to be boring. Just stable… like
my dad.”
“Your dad is
boring,” Spencer countered, before sticking his hand out to pacify my move from
the swing. “Easy, easy, I was kidding! Your dad’s not boring. He’s predictable.
Your parents remind me of a fifties sitcom… you know… ‘Leave it to Beaver’
style.”
“Whatever, it’s
not wrong for me to want some stability and saneness for my life. I love my ‘Leave
it to Beaver’ parents.”
Spencer nodded
solemnly and looked out at the lawn behind him. “I love your parents, too. I
don’t know what I would have done these last few years without Carol and Tom.
And you.”
I met his eyes
then, seeing more emotion swimming in them than I had expected. I swallowed past
the lump that had formed in my throat, unsure of what to say. If I said
anything too deep he would just brush it off.
