Page 234 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I choke out, directing my focus back to the screen.

I hold my breath to the point of suffocating.

Then he says it.

“Three years ago, I was held at gunpoint and forced to be an accessory to my best friend’s murder.”

KANE

You’d think I’d be used to being stuck at home by now.

After all, I spent all of last summer confined to the beach house, unable to leave except to go see my friends every now and then.

This time is different, though.

Because now, I’m not allowed to leave at all.

I’d be stupid to even try considering the ankle monitor the court stuck me with.

That’s right, I’m on house arrest.

Forbidden from leaving my LA house while awaiting trial.

Better than being in jail, if you ask me.

Not that I would’ve been behind bars for long. My mom would’ve accessed my money and bailed me out the second they put me in a cell, anyway.

I have no fucking idea what’s going to happen to me. My lawyers are pushing to get me tried as a minor since I was seventeen when it all went down, but they can’t guarantee that it’ll work.

Scar was older than me at the time of Gray’s death, so he’ll definitely be tried as an adult. I’m hoping the fact that we were held at gunpoint that day will result in us not being held fully responsible for what happened.

But I’m not foolish enough to think our decision to stay silent all these years will go unpunished.

In spite of everything, I don’t regret telling the world. Yes, my career is officially over, but let’s not pretend like I wasn’t unsatisfied and miserable for most of it.

I haven’t been passionate about the songs I’m singing in years.

“Honey? Can I come in?” My mom’s voice travels through my bedroom door.

“Yeah.” I give her the go-ahead, rolling onto my back and rubbing my eyes with a groan.

I’ve slept like shit all week.

Mostly because a part of me was hoping that maybe… just maybe… Hadley would come around once I told everyone the truth.

Wishful thinking on my part. She hasn’t reached out once. I understand if she never says another word to me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t spend the rest of my life in fucking agony over it.

Only bright side is she won the contest I entered her into. I saw her business promoted all over Anaya’s social media. No surprise there. I always knew my girl would go on to do great things.

The door opens, and my mom walks in, crinkling her nose at the mess. Can’t blame her. It looks like a fucking hurricane went through my room. There are clothes all over the floor, old boxes of pizza scattered everywhere, and it smells weird.

She cringes, kicking the clothes at her feet in order to create a path to my bed. “I mean this in the nicest, most loving way possible. It smells like a dead rat in here.”

I snort. “Is that all?”

I pull the duvet over my body, ready to doze off again—who cares that it’s 2:00 p.m.—but my mom rips it out of my hands. “Get up, take a shower, and put some clothes on. Clean clothes,” she specifies, pointing her finger at me like she already knows I’m going to wear whatever clothes I find on the floor.

I have never, and I mean never, felt so hopeless in my entire life. I don’t even have the energy to exist right now, let alone be a productive member of society.

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