Thursday, October 20, 2016

REVIEW: Back To Yesterday by Whitney Barbetti

Title: Back to Yesterday
Series: Bleeding Hearts #2
Author: Whitney Barbetti
Release Date: Oct 20, 2016
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Y'all, I was so torn at the end of Into The Tomorrows. I hated that Trista had to walk away from Jude and yet I felt like she needed to. She needed to take some time for herself. Clear her head. Begin to figure out what made her tick and what she needed and wanted from her life. I knew, just knew, that when I'd see Trista again, in Back To Yesterday, that I'd see her working through some things and yet be strong and independent and triumphant in her return to Jude. I had this optimism, this hope, this romantic idea of how she'd make her comeback. And it's this deluded mindset that shows you exactly why I'm not an author. Trista wasn't ready for the comeback I'd dreamed up for her and in Whitney Barbetti's words, I can see that now.

Barbetti wrote a Trista that was grieving and searching and unsatisfied and sad. She wrote a Trista that was unnervingly real and hard to read and yet so faithful to the path that she'd started in Into The Tomorrows. This Trista was not the one I thought I'd read but the one that needed to exist. Her experiences in this book were ones that I know many readers will sympathize for but not truly understand while just as many readers will understand and identify with immediately.

I cannot imagine the emotional toll writing this book could have taken. I have no idea how Whitney Barbetti wrote this and walk away unscathed? It was so emotional--so hard to read that I can't imagine how hard it was to write. My hope, though, is that writing about Trista's life in the years that she left Jude was cathartic and freeing. My hope is that people see the hope and light that comes through at the end.

Back To Yesterday isn't this huge, splashy angst fest. It's quiet and real. It's taking steps backwards even while trying so hard to slog forward until something happens or the day comes when you don't want to go back to yesterday, you're living in the today, and feeling hope in the tomorrows.

Thank you for this book, Whitney Barbetti. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
The distance from Colorado to Maine is not far enough to escape the memories.
The time I've been away is not long enough to heal the pain.
I left Colorado, determined to discover who I am outside of my grief, but I fell apart along the way.
I'm lost again.

When Jude follows me, I can't turn him away. But I can't let him in, either.
Not all the way.
I know when he finds out my secret, the one I keep hidden in the darkest part of my heart, he’ll leave me.
Like I was before.
“Are you okay?”
He laughed, but it was without humor. He dropped his head and stared at his plate as I had minutes earlier. “Am I okay?” Shaking his head, he said, “No, I’m not fucking okay.” He pushed away from the table hard enough that the screech of the chair across the wooden floor startled me. Jude was always so steady, and while he wasn’t necessarily predictable, he wasn’t prone to outbursts of anger like this. He picked up his plate and walked to the sink and I stared at his back, willing him to talk to me. But I couldn’t ask that of him.
Picking up my plate, I debated what to do. It was surreal almost, being in Jude’s apartment but not touching him the way I wanted to. Finally, I joined him at the sink as he worked a sponge into a lather and swiped it across his plate. “Let me do it,” I said softly, reaching a hand in to take the sponge from him.
He let go of the plate and clasped my forearm as I reached into the sink. His touch was gentle as he turned my wrist over and rubbed a thumb slowly across the length of my vein, visible through my translucent skin. I could only hold my breath as he touched me like this, like he was memorizing the blue lines that ran the length of my forearm. His hands were warm, searching, and I realized that I’d been yearning for this, for the simple act of him touching my skin like it was delicate. His fingers moved down, and my closed fist opened to give him access to my palm, where he traced the lines in my hands. It was so intimate, even in its simplicity, that all I could do was watch him as he examined my hands. “I’ve missed you,” he said in a voice that was just short of a whisper. My heart turned over as he bent my fingers gently back into my fist and rubbed his soapy fingers over the knuckles.
When he let go of my hand and turned away from me, I felt goose bumps ignite across my skin. All I wanted was for him to keep touching me, but I’d hurt him. And he’d hurt me.
We had miles of pain between the two of us, and even though we were no longer miles apart, that pain existed between us like another person, holding both of us back.
“I missed you too,” I said too late, when I’d caught my breath again.
“Please,” he pleaded as he rinsed the plate in his hands. “I can’t hear you say that right now.”
Nodding, I backed away. I understood. This wasn’t the time or place, and we were little more than strangers right now. I was a new Trista, someone he had never known.
Likely, someone he didn’t want to know.
I am a wife to one and a mom to two humans and one cat. I have a deep and abiding love for nachos - especially the kind with the liquid cheese, like from Taco Bell (sorry). I run on less than four hours of sleep thanks to copious amounts of Diet Coke. (Note: this paragraph is not sponsored by anyone except my hungry stomach.) 
As a Navy brat, I grew up all over the country, from California, up the east coast from Florida to New England and Colorado. I currently live in Idaho, where we have lots of potatoes and windmills. 
I write character-driven New Adult novels, heavy on the emotional connection. I LOVE love. I love writing about broken characters who find their soul mates. 

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