P.S. I’m Still Yours: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Silver Springs)
P.S. I’m Still Yours: Chapter 29

I often wonder what my life would look like if Gray were still alive…

Would I still be here, dropping out of college a few weeks into the semester and packing everything I own into the back of my mom’s car?

Would Kane and I still be together if he’d never played a part in my brother’s death?

Doubtful.

I think, in the end, our relationship wouldn’t have survived his fame and the lack of privacy accompanying it.

The past week gave me a sneak peek of what it’s like to be famous, and those few days alone nearly drove me insane.

And it’s all because of a stupid picture…

It was taken on the wraparound balcony of the penthouse, right after Kane and I slept together. I could feel myself coming apart at the seams and stepped outside for some fresh air.

Kane followed me, pulled my body to his from behind, and buried his face into the crook of my neck. I was leaning against the railing and wearing his shirt, the fabric stopping inches above my knees. As for Kane, he was in nothing but sweats.

Basically, the whole thing screamed, “We just fucked.”

The picture surfaced online less than twenty-four hours after I left Kane asleep in the penthouse. I still have no idea how the paparazzi even knew where we were—or how they managed to snap a pic of us on the sixth floor of the building.

It was all anyone talked about for days afterward.

Who is Kane Wilder’s mystery girl?

It wasn’t long before the media uncovered my identity and labeled me Kane’s “childhood sweetheart.” Some articles even pulled old photos of me, Kane, and Gray off my mom’s Facebook page.

Gossip sites have been running with the “superstar falls in love with ordinary girl” narrative, and the public is eating it up.

Like it wasn’t bad enough that my DMs have been flooded with angry messages from groupies, paparazzi also started showing up at my dorm.

They’d ambush me when I’d leave to go to class and be waiting outside my door when I came home. It got so bad that Maggie had to move in with her boyfriend until the dust settled.

Although, not before I sat her down and apologized for keeping her out of the loop for so long.

It would’ve been easy to blame my silence on the NDA Kane made me sign, but I felt she deserved to know the truth.

I didn’t tell her about us because I was scared to admit that I was in love with Kane.

That I am in love with Kane.

She was mad at first, but once I told her the whole story—from us growing up together, to Kane leaving out of the blue, to us living in the same house for an entire summer—she understood and was gracious enough to forgive me.

But you know who wasn’t so understanding?

Kane…

He’s been blowing up my phone since I vanished from his life, begging me to talk to him.

Doesn’t matter how many of his numbers I block. He just keeps on getting new ones.

I know that I caught him off guard, but I refuse to put myself through this again. If I text him back, he’s going to want to see me in person. And if I see him in person… well…

We all know what happened last time.

Bottom line is, we’re doomed.

I understand why he did what he did, but I’m never going to be okay with him protecting my brother’s murderer—even if he had good reasons to do so.

We can’t be together.

Not when Brody Richards is walking free and enjoying his life.

All I know is, I will get justice for Gray. The question is, do I want to throw Kane under the bus in the process?

“I think this is the last one.” Mom brings me back to reality. I look up to see her drop a box of my stuff into the trunk.

I hope I’m doing the right thing by dropping out. I figured I could always come back if I change my mind, but with everything that’s happened, I don’t feel like staying in school studying something I’m not truly passionate about is the right thing to do.

I’m not the same person I was when I chose to major in communications. That girl would’ve never even dreamed of opening her own store and trying to make it as an artist.

I’ve been selling a few paintings here and there—definitely not enough to make a living, but it’s convinced me to take this more seriously. I’m also blessed to have my mom fully supporting me in this endeavor.

She’s agreed to let me move into her condo rent-free while I give my dream career a real shot. I intend to get a job to help out, but most of my time will be spent looking for opportunities to get my work in front of the right people.

Mom shuts the trunk of her car, offering me a warm smile. “You ready?”

I glance at the dorms, torn between feeling sentimental about the past and hopeful for the future.

“I’m ready.”

KANE

The day I took my mother to visit her new house, she cried.

And believe it or not, they weren’t tears of joy.

I remember her going off on me, telling me that she was perfectly fine in that tiny LA apartment she was renting, and she didn’t want me to feel like I had to spend my hard-earned money on her.

“This is your money. Your work. Yours. You don’t owe me anything, honey.”

Her words slapped me across the face.

I was offering her the ranch of her dreams, and she was too fucking selfless to accept it.

When I was growing up, my mom would make it a point to tell me how parents should have no expectations from their kids. They could have hopes, sure, but never expectations.

I later found out that my grandparents were the type to go around making her feel like she was indebted to them for putting a roof over her head.

They’d tell her, “I feed you, I buy you clothes. You have no idea everything I do for you. You should be grateful.”

And of course, she was, but it also made her feel guilty for existing. Almost like they expected her to bow down for simply taking care of the human being they’d chosen to bring into the world.

I showed her around, and I could tell she was in love with the property, but all she said was, “Being a good parent isn’t about what your kids can give you. It’s about what you can give them.”

Her worst fear was becoming like her parents, and so, she refused to move into her dream house, telling me to back out of the sale.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

I bought the house and moved all her furniture into it while she was out of her apartment one day.

It took me a solid week to convince her that I wasn’t doing it because I felt like I had to but because I wanted to. Same thing happened with the beach house.

I passed it off like I was buying it for me but told her she could come and visit whenever she wanted—even though everybody knows the house is really hers.

My chauffeur pulls into my mom’s driveway an hour later than expected. My flight to Colorado was delayed, and then we had to circle around the block a couple dozen times to lose the paps.

I’m honestly surprised my management allowed me to go. Especially since the last time I flew to another state, photos of my trip wound up on every tabloid’s front page.

My stomach twists into a knot when Hadley’s face flashes in front of my eyes.

I see her smile.

Hear her laugh.

See myself driving my fingers through her red hair.

I miss her.

I miss her so fucking much.

A week has gone by since she made me believe there was hope for us and then walked out of my life, taking my goddam sanity with her.

It didn’t make sense at first.

She was right there.

Riding my cock like it was her life’s purpose.

Meeting me thrust for thrust and letting me kiss her until she was gasping for air.

And then…

She was gone.

Just like that, she grabbed her clothes off the floor and snuck out while I was asleep.

Suddenly, breaking the fancy art all over the penthouse seemed like a damn good way to channel my anger.

Two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of damage later, I fell to my knees, forced to face the truth.

She’s never coming back.

Inhaling a breath, I drag myself out of the car and grab my luggage out of the trunk. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing here. The trial is just three days away, but I felt the need to get out of LA.

I knock on my mom’s door, praying for her to be home. I didn’t see her car in the driveway on my way in, but I’m hoping she parked in the garage.

Minutes elapse.

I hear what sounds like hurried footsteps on the other side of the door.

The door opens, and my mom’s face comes into view, her shock blending with the joy in her eyes.

Her face lights up. “Kane? What are you doing here?”

I open my mouth to speak, but my voice fails me, the words on the tip of my tongue trailing off.

Her smile disappears the second she takes a good look at my face. “Oh, baby, are you okay?”

The next thing I know, I’m walking inside and damn near collapsing into her arms.

I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve played out this exact moment in my head…

The moment where my mom replaces out what really happened the day Gray died.

Most of the scenarios I came up with ended in the same way: with her furious and disappointed in me.

Never did it occur to me that she would be sad.

A tear rolled down her face as soon as I finished confessing my biggest sin to her.

She hasn’t said anything in a few seconds, her gaze fixated on the coffee in her hand as she struggles to come to terms with the truth.

I don’t know what I was thinking coming here. Did I really expect my mom not to ask me what was wrong? From the second I fell apart in her arms, the “fixer” in her took over, and she took it upon herself to get to the bottom of it.

After she held me for several minutes, she made me some coffee, sat me down, and asked me to be honest with her.

A request I granted.

But judging by the look on her face, I might’ve been a little too honest.

“You…” She pauses, the shock gleaming in her eyes making me cringe. “You’ve known who killed Gray all along.”

I reply with a small nod, too ashamed to speak.

“And Josh used me to talk you into keeping quiet?” She sounds as though she can’t make sense of what she’s saying.

Again, I nod.

Against all expectations, she clears her throat, rests her mug on the coffee table in front of her, and says, “Thank you.”

Wait, what?

I frown. “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because you put my needs before your own. And I could yell at you, tell you how badly you messed up, but I think you know that already.”

My jaw drops.

“You were nine. The first time you put yourself between your father and I. You were so small, and you still jumped in without hesitation… I still see that day every time I close my eyes.”

More tears escape her eyes.

“Maybe you weren’t brave enough to go to the police after that night. But how can I blame you when I was never brave enough to stand up to your father?”

I never blamed her for tolerating the abuse—okay, maybe I blamed her a little. But to be fair, she never knew that he was violent with me. I never told her.

And I never will.

He’d call me names and boss me around in front of her, but hit me? Nah. That shit was reserved for the privacy of my bedroom. He’d wait until I was completely alone. Vulnerable to his mood swings. Plus, he didn’t want anyone to intervene. It would’ve ruined the fun.

“I should’ve taken you away from him the minute he even looked at you wrong…” She stops, shutting her eyes like the recollection sickens her. “I was a high school dropout who’d gotten knocked up at seventeen and had no one apart from Lillian. As much as it hurts to admit, I was convinced this was the best life I’d ever be able to give you. Your father was an unpleasant prick, but at least you’d never want for anything.

“It was like you knew I’d never leave him. So, you protected me… even though I was supposed to protect you. That’s just what you do, honey. You protect me. God, I’m so sorry I made you feel like you had to take care of me when it was never your job.”

I’m the one tearing up now.

I had no idea that getting an apology I didn’t ask for would feel this liberating.

“Mom—”

“No. It was my job, you hear me? Mine. You were a kid. I failed you the day I allowed you to carry my burdens for me.”

A painful pit forms in my throat.

It’s like a huge weight just slid off my shoulders.

“You were seventeen years old, for God’s sake. You’d just lost your childhood best friend, and your first thought was how is this going to affect my mom?”

“I betrayed him.” My voice breaks on the last word. “He was my friend, and I let his murderer walk free.”

“Hey.” Mom tilts my chin up, aligning my gaze with hers. “You did what you thought was the right thing to do. You might be famous, honey, but you are still a human being. I think you forget that sometimes.”

I release a deep sigh, burying my face in my hands for a brief moment. “Fuck, I… I don’t know what to do. If I come clean, I’ll lose everything.”

She scoots closer to me on the couch, rubbing my back gently. “If you don’t come clean, you’ll lose yourself.”

Hearing her say that flicks a switch inside my brain.

It’s as though I can finally see clearly for the first time in five years.

On autopilot, I grab my phone out of my back pocket, pull up my conversation with Drea, and type out a text I should’ve sent her a long time ago.

KANE

Tell them I changed my mind. I’ll do it.