Page 209 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Kane.

I blocked his number the day I found out the truth, which means he either got a new one, or he’s using one of those apps that generate fake numbers for you.

His jealous comment elicits a scoff from me.

If he thinks he has any say in who I fuck after what he did, he’s in for one hell of an awakening.

I will never forgive him for what he did, but what Maggie said got me thinking.

Why didn’t he just tell the police?

I get that he had a fucking gun to his head and there was nothing he could do to stop Gray’s murder, but that doesn’t explain the years of silence that followed.

I know for a fact that Kane loved Gray like a brother—the fact that these two remained close even after Kane got famous makes that clear. The Kane I knew would’ve chosen endless torture over letting his best friend’s murderer run free.

Maybe that’s just it.

Maybe I never really knew him at all.

I block Kane’s new number and drag myself out of bed with a groan. I need to get dressed and chug a gallon of water before class.

I’ve just finished changing clothes when a loud knock echoes through my dorm.

Doubt burdens me.

The last time there was a knock on my door, police officers were standing on the other side.

What is it now?

“Coming!” I call, trying to tame my morning hair with my hands.

The last thing I expected was to find a delivery guy carrying a large package.

“Morning, miss. I have a delivery for—” He double-checks the name on the label. “—Hadley Queen.”

“That’s me,” I say.

He asks me to sign off on the delivery before handing me the heavy box. “There you go.”

I rack my brain for a moment but can’t recall ordering anything.

I take a look at the label and the sender’s name.

Yours. Always.

That’s all it says.

The return address is a PO box in California.

At first, I think a mistake was made and the package was sent to the wrong address, but the box is addressed to my name and my dorm, so the wrong-person scenario is a bit of a stretch.

I don’t waste a second carrying the box to the kitchen counter and opening it.

Inside the box are what seem to be hundreds of postcards and…

Souvenirs?

There are key chains, refrigerator magnets, shot glasses, mugs, bracelets—any souvenir you could think of.

---