Page 186 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Her back is facing me when I come to a stop behind her. I can see her body shaking from repressed tears, her arms folded over her chest as she hugs herself, as though she needs all the courage she can get.

“Hads…” My voice trembles.

She spins at the sound of her name, her body racking with a silent sob, and my fists clench.

I’ve never hated myself more.

“Let me tell you how this is going to work,” she chokes out, rubbing her palms up and down her arms.

I move closer, itching to hug her.

“You’re going to tell me everything. Every single detail. Who did it, how you found out about it, when you found out…”

My throat aches, a sign that I’m on the verge of falling apart.

Fucking get it together.

“And then?” I breathe.

“And then…” She stops, closing her eyes for a moment. “You’re never going to see me again.”

My heart caves in on itself.

She sits down on the gazebo’s built-in benches, gesturing for me to join her for the last time.

I sit down next to her, take a deep breath, and tell her a story there is no going back from.

* * *

THEN

KANE, 17

“The first break you’ve had in years, and this is how you want to spend it?” Scar raises a brow, staring at me from the passenger seat of my rental car.

I shrug, slouching in the driver’s seat. “No one forced you to come, dipshit.”

My drummer snorts, opening a bag of Sour Patch Kids. “No, but your hot mom asked me to watch you, and I take my job as your chaperone very seriously.”

I cringe. “Call my mom hot one more time and I’ll shove that bag somewhere you won’t be able to get it back.”

He lets out a laugh, popping a Sour Patch Kid into his mouth. As annoying as he is, I’m glad he’s the one joining me on this trip instead of my mom. She wasn’t sold on the idea of letting me go on a vacation by myself.

You’re not even eighteen yet, she said when I told her I wanted some time on my own.

She’s been following me on tour for two years now. She says she’ll be damned if she leaves her underage kid without adult supervision.

She eventually caved, but not before I told her that Scar would be with me at all times. Scar might only be two years older than me, but he’s considered an adult—pretty damn ironic that he’s the least mature person I know.

I check the time on my phone for the tenth time in under two minutes and drop it into the center console of the car.

School will be out at four.

Just fifteen more minutes until I see her again.

“I’m just saying—” Scar props his feet up on the dashboard. “—you could be anywhere in the world right now, and you chose fucking Silver Springs.”

The bastard has a point.

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