Page 207 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Already bored with her speech, I unlock my phone, doing the exact same thing I’ve been doing every single morning for a month now.

I stalk Hadley’s socials.

Did I mention Hadley’s a fucking ghost on social media?

She only has three posts on Instagram. Three! One of them is a selfie of her with her roommate, the other is a picture of a sunset she took in Golden Cove, and the last one is a picture of her and Gray devouring ice cream cones when they were little.

My stomach twists at the caption. She used a quote from one of Anaya’s songs. Hads wasn’t lying when she said she loved her music.

Love doesn’t go away.

Even though you did.

Jesus.

Drea goes on and on in the background. “You’re lucky Scar took you home when he did. First, you go and do all these interviews preaching sobriety, and then… Hey, asshole! Are you even listening to me?”

I click on Hadley’s Instagram, my heart doing a whole-ass backflip when I see that she’s posted something for the first time in forever.

She just posted to her story, but I’ll take anything. I’m about to click to view her story when my phone is ripped out of my hands.

“Hey!” The desperation in my voice makes me cringe.

“What are you looking at—” Drea shuts herself up the second she recognizes Hadley’s profile. “Oh.”

“Give me my phone,” I snap.

That phone is the last thing connecting me to my girl.

I need it.

Pity floods Drea’s gaze. “You’re never going to tell me what happened between you two, are you?”

“Give it.” I ignore her question, holding out my hand in her direction.

She pauses, probably wondering if she should push for answers, but she seems to decide against it because she sighs. “Piece of advice. You might want to skip her story.”

What?

She gives me my phone back and spins, heading for the door. Seconds before she walks out of my room, she says, “Get dressed. We need to fix your mess.”

I wait for her to close the door before doing exactly what she told me not to do.

I click Hadley’s story, aching to see her beautiful face. Problem is, Hadley isn’t the one recording the video. Some girl I don’t know is.

I connect the dots in seconds.

I think that’s her roommate.

The brunette seems drunk as hell, holding a red cup and blowing kisses to the camera. Loud music blares through my phone speaker, making it clear she’s at a party. You can see colorful flashing lights rotating in the background, along with drunk college students dancing and grinding on each other.

The girl flips the camera over and quickly films her surroundings before ending the recording.

I only see her on the third watch.

Hadley.

Talking and cuddling with some douchebag on the couch pushed up against the wall.

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