Page 59 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

She was sixteen the last time I saw her, but I was so fucked-up the room was spinning, and all of my energy had to go into not projectile vomiting in the middle of the church.

Then the paps crashed Gray’s funeral like the worthless pieces of shit that they are, and I had to bolt out of there. I didn’t have time to truly drink her in that day, but last night…

Last night only reinforced what I’ve known for a while but refused to admit.

Every fantasy I’ve had for the past five years has been about this girl.

I couldn’t have her when I was a hormonal, fifteen-year-old little shit because of the age difference and the fact that she was Gray’s sister, but my cock never forgot that she was the first girl I ever craved.

Just another reason why I need her out of this house, this town, and my fucking life as soon as possible.

I don’t want to find out what I’m going to do if she stays.

“Of course you’d be going through the minibar at the crack of dawn.” My drummer’s voice makes me cringe.

I usually like this guy, but right now? I can’t stand him.

Not only is Scar one of my best friends, he’s also the first member the label ever hired for my band.

We’ve been touring together for five years, but that doesn’t mean I want him breathing down my neck for the rest of my sentence—sorry, the rest of the summer.

My mom insisted that I need to be surrounded by loved ones and friends right now, which is also why she invited Drea, my longtime publicist, to tag along.

She says Drea’s coming so we can figure out a game plan to save what’s left of my career, but I know the reason she wants Scar and Drea around is because she needs backup.

She probably thought it’d be easier to keep an eye on me with a whole damn village reporting back to her.

She’s convinced herself that forcing me to spend some time away from the spotlight is going to fix everything. Little does she know, I’ve only made it this far because of the spotlight.

Without the interviews, recording sessions, and back-to-back shows, there’s nothing to keep my mind from wandering. I’m scared that without my hectic schedule, I won’t be able to run from my demons anymore.

I realize I still have a mini Bacardi bottle from the plane a moment later and sprint to the foyer with Scar on my tail—I dumped my jacket on the one-seater by the door when we got here this morning.

I shove my hand into the pocket of my leather jacket and pull out the liquor I saved for later. “Score.”

I uncap the bottle, but just as I’m about to down it, Scar swipes it from me, earning himself a murderous glare.

He scoffs. “I don’t know how much they’re paying this Tori girl, but she better start cutting me in if I’m going to be babysitting your ass all fucking summer.”

He’s halfway to the kitchen sink before I can take back what’s mine.

“Don’t—” I start, but he’s already pouring the liquor down the drain with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Fucker.

“Where’s your sober companion, anyway?” He snorts, setting his forearms flat on the kitchen island.

A bitter laugh rips from my throat. “Fuck if I know. I sent her packing hours ago.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yup. She’s gone. Got in a cab early this morning.”

Conflicted, Scar rounds the island and tosses the bottle into the trash. “Does your mom know about this?”

His reaction is not what I expected. “That’s it? I thought you’d be throwing me a fucking parade.”

It’s no secret that Scar can’t stand Tori.

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