Page 122 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

“All right, then.” Kane pushes to his feet, pinning me with a look so raw and unapologetic it makes my blood boil. “Let’s get it over with.”

Let’s get it over with?

He must notice my confusion because he adds, “You clearly have some shit you need to say to me. So, go ahead. Say them.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” I admit.

He doesn’t answer, raising a brow like he’s calling bullshit.

“But I do want something from you.”

“And what might that be?” he asks.

I swallow hard, collecting every drop of courage in my system to say, “An apology.”

The cocky smile slips off his face.

Why is he looking at me like I just suggested that he do coke on Instagram live?

I’m not backing down. “You heard me. I want you to look me in the eyes and apologize.”

He says nothing.

“Look, I’m not asking for a lot here. I just want you to show me a crumb of decency and admit that you fucked up. You kissed me on my birthday, and then you left, never to be heard from again. It was a dick move. You know it, I know it—now, apologize.”

He seems conflicted at first, a million thoughts swirling around his gaze until he severs the eye contact and turns away from me, staring at the ocean in the distance.

“It wouldn’t change anything.” It comes out as a rasp, barely there, but also so poignant it cuts me a little.

“You don’t know that.”

“I can’t give you what you want, Hadley.”

“Why not?” I snap. I’m literally begging him to apologize to me so that little Hadley can stop hating herself and wondering why she wasn’t good enough for five seconds.

“Because I fucking can’t.” He matches my tone, on the brink of losing his temper.

“No, you know what? I changed my mind. I do have something to say to you.” I stomp over to him.

He turns to face me, and his cold exterior destroys the walls I put up around myself.

“I’ve been holding on to this anger for five years. Meanwhile, you forgot all about me the second you got on that plane. You made me feel like I was worthless. When Gray died, I was stupid enough to think you’d come back. Maybe ask me how I’m doing or check on me. But you never did. And now I’m asking you for the bare fucking minimum, and you can’t even give it to me.”

His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t speak.

I just poured my heart out to him, and he still can’t make an effort to acknowledge what he did.

Why am I wasting my breath?

“Fine.” I turn to walk away.

I’ve barely taken a step before he erupts.

“You want an apology?” His voice is rough and laced with disdain. “I’ll give you a fucking apology.”

I keep my back turned to him at first, but he doesn’t seem to like it because he grips my wrist and spins me around in one move.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

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