Page 235 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Fuck, I’m never going to get over this girl, am I?

Mom races over to the floor-to-ceiling windows across the room and draws the curtains open, the sun blinding me and making me hiss.

“Jesus, Mom.” I stick my hand up in front of my eyes, blocking out the light.

She sets out toward the door. “I want you downstairs in thirty minutes. Are we clear?”

I blow out a sigh. “What for?”

She stops in the doorway, glances at me over her shoulder, and says, “Call it an intervention.”

* * *

I drag myself down the stairs a half hour later, my energy levels dropping at an alarming pace.

I showered and brushed my teeth, which is the bare fucking minimum, but it felt like trying to move a mountain.

I’m just drained.

Physically.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

My hair is still dripping from the shower, but I couldn’t care less, counting down the seconds until I can collapse into bed again.

“Mom?” I call when I reach the first floor.

“In here,” she replies.

I track her voice to the parlor, half expecting her to sit me down and remind me of all the reasons why my life sucks balls.

But then I turn the corner…

And I see her.

She’s just sitting there, chatting with my mom, with her red hair in a high ponytail.

She’s. Just. Sitting. There.

As though she’s not knocking my entire world off its axis by being here.

In front of me.

Hadley’s head snaps up when I come in, her blue eyes locking with mine and pummeling the dead vessel in my chest.

“Hi.” She offers me a timid smile.

Be cool.

“Hi.” My voice cracks like I’m a prepubescent teenager.

She rises off the couch. “I’m so sorry to drop in announced. My mom told me you were on house arrest, and I sort of booked a flight on a whim.”

She’s sorry?

She’s fucking sorry?

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