Page 104 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

I’m taken aback until I realize he didn’t laugh because he thinks it’s funny.

It’s a self-deprecating laugh, full of guilt, hatred, and shame. “Want to know the worst part? I don’t regret it. Not for a fucking second. I’m glad the motherfucker’s never going to walk again. And I’m glad I got to be the one to stop him from…” He halts himself before he can say too much.

“From what?” I press.

“Doesn’t matter. Out of all the things that could’ve ended my career, I’m glad it was this one. That way, at least, it was worth it.”

I shouldn’t encourage him. What he’s saying is awful, but I can’t help thinking that whatever this Josh guy did, it had to be twice as bad.

“Are you ever going to tell your fans what he did? I’m sure if they knew, they’d be on your side.”

Disbelief fills his green eyes. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “You’re just going to assume I had a good reason? Just like that? You don’t even know what he did.”

I shrug. “I don’t need to.”

I’m guessing I’m one of the first people to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I might’ve just lashed out for nothing, you ever think about that?”

I shake my head. “You didn’t. I know you didn’t.”

He’s silent for a while.

“Fuck me. Five years later and you still have faith in me.”

It is laughable.

I should demand his side of the story, but I feel like I know him. Even if he didn’t care, even if he left Gray and me behind for years, I know his heart. Regardless of the fact that he didn’t want mine.

“You’re too fucking nice to me, Hads.”

I chuckle. “Do you want me to be mean? ’Cause I can be mean.”

“Hate to break it to you, Queen, but you don’t have a cruel bone in your body.”

I hate that he’s right.

He hurt me, but I still wish him well.

I don’t want him in my life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want him to be happy either. It was easy to paint him as a monster when all I saw was this reckless famous guy on the other side of a screen, but now that he’s here? In front of me?

I realize he’s still a person.

“You never told me what you really want?” I issue a question I’m scared I might regret.

My breath stalls when his gaze locks onto my mouth.

He leans in just a tad. “Like in general or… right now?”

I was talking about his dream life, asking him the same thing he asked me, but it’s like he punched me in the throat with a single look, and I suddenly can’t form a sentence.

It makes no sense.

We’re not friends.

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