Page 228 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of damage later, I fell to my knees, forced to face the truth.

She’s never coming back.

Inhaling a breath, I drag myself out of the car and grab my luggage out of the trunk. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing here. The trial is just three days away, but I felt the need to get out of LA.

I knock on my mom’s door, praying for her to be home. I didn’t see her car in the driveway on my way in, but I’m hoping she parked in the garage.

Minutes elapse.

I hear what sounds like hurried footsteps on the other side of the door.

The door opens, and my mom’s face comes into view, her shock blending with the joy in her eyes.

Her face lights up. “Kane? What are you doing here?”

I open my mouth to speak, but my voice fails me, the words on the tip of my tongue trailing off.

Her smile disappears the second she takes a good look at my face. “Oh, baby, are you okay?”

The next thing I know, I’m walking inside and damn near collapsing into her arms.

* * *

I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve played out this exact moment in my head…

The moment where my mom finds out what really happened the day Gray died.

Most of the scenarios I came up with ended in the same way: with her furious and disappointed in me.

Never did it occur to me that she would be sad.

A tear rolled down her face as soon as I finished confessing my biggest sin to her.

She hasn’t said anything in a few seconds, her gaze fixated on the coffee in her hand as she struggles to come to terms with the truth.

I don’t know what I was thinking coming here. Did I really expect my mom not to ask me what was wrong? From the second I fell apart in her arms, the “fixer” in her took over, and she took it upon herself to get to the bottom of it.

After she held me for several minutes, she made me some coffee, sat me down, and asked me to be honest with her.

A request I granted.

But judging by the look on her face, I might’ve been a little too honest.

“You…” She pauses, the shock gleaming in her eyes making me cringe. “You’ve known who killed Gray all along.”

I reply with a small nod, too ashamed to speak.

“And Josh used me to talk you into keeping quiet?” She sounds as though she can’t make sense of what she’s saying.

Again, I nod.

Against all expectations, she clears her throat, rests her mug on the coffee table in front of her, and says, “Thank you.”

Wait, what?

I frown. “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because you put my needs before your own. And I could yell at you, tell you how badly you messed up, but I think you know that already.”

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