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

“Will you hurry the hell up? We need to get to the video game store before it closes!” My twin brother pounds on the bathroom door for the tenth time in five minutes—and when I say “pounding on the door,” I mean it sounds like he’s trying to drive his fist through it.

He didn’t even knock that hard the day he went through an entire cheesecake at my cousin’s wedding, only to find out he’d become lactose intolerant overnight.

Yes, that can happen.

“Calm down, I’m almost ready.” I set my hair straightener down, unplug it, and give myself a once-over in the mirror.

I really shouldn’t have gone for a swim right before the party—my hair was already frizzy from the humidity, so once I got it wet, my straightener didn’t stand a chance.

We need to go to the store to pick up a few last-minute items for tonight. I’m only tagging along because Mom promised we’d stop by the art store afterward.

I wasn’t able to bring all of my painting supplies to the beach house, so Mom promised to get me a few things to get me through the summer.

Gray pounds on the door again. “What are you doing in there? Naming your pubes? Get out, you dildo.”

I roll my eyes at my brother’s request.

Gray might be the oldest since he was born a few minutes before me, but that doesn’t make him the mature twin. We’re thirteen, soon to be fourteen, but I swear sometimes he acts like he’s ten.

We’re about to start high school, for God’s sake.

I know he’s only nagging me because Evie, Mom’s best friend in the entire world, agreed to stop by the video game store on our way back. She even promised to buy Gray a new game for no reason other than to make him happy.

That’s Evelyn Wilder for you.

She’s the best godmother my brother and I could’ve ever asked for. Although, looking at the time, I doubt we’ll be able to stop by the art store and the video game store before they close.

“Grayson, no dildo talk!” Mom scolds from the kitchen. That’s been his go-to insult since he learned what the word meant. “We’ll be waiting in the car, okay, honey?”

“Okay,” I shout.

My brother lets out an irritated growl before walking away. It isn’t long before I hear the front door close in the distance.

I run my hand through my wavy red hair with a sigh. This is the first time Mom’s ever let my hair get this long. She said I’m old enough to take care of it now. It stops inches above my belly button, although I barely ever wear it down.

I always put my hair up, leave two strands out to frame my face, and call it a day.

My heart swells with joy when I stroll out of the bathroom and scan the beach house.

God, I love this place.

I’ve always loved it here.

Nothing sets my heart on fire quite like vacationing in Golden Cove.

Whenever the end of the summer rolls around, I catch myself wishing time would slow down. I know summer can’t last forever, but I sure hope this tradition will.

We’ve been spending the summer at the Wilders’ beach house for as long as I can remember. It gives our families an excuse to meet up at least once a year seeing as Evie, her husband, and their son live in New York the rest of the time.

It’s the only vacation Mom has all year. She’s been running the convenience store my grandparents left her since Gray and I were born, and the only way she can afford to come with us during the summer is to work nights, weekends, and holidays.

She says it’s all worth it, though.

Not only is the beach house gorgeous, it’s located in a gated community with a tennis court, access to a private beach, and a bunch of other cool amenities.

Like Evie’s husband, most of the people who own houses around here are millionaires who spend the year traveling and only come back for the summer.

I’ll never understand how anyone could willingly leave this place ten months out of the year.

If it were up to me, I’d stay forever.

Saying goodbye to the beach house means saying goodbye to the ocean, colorful sunsets and sunrises, marshmallows by the fire, but most of all… saying goodbye to Golden Cove means saying goodbye to him.

Kane Wilder.

Evie’s son and the real reason why I just spent half an hour fixing my hair. I’ve had a big fat, embarrassing crush on Kane since, well, forever.

There’s just something about this boy that turns my brain into mush.

Maybe it’s his emerald-green eyes, his tousled brown hair, or the fact that he’s always been nice to me—well, nicer than Gray and his dumb-ass friends. Or maybe it has to do with him calling me Hads for as long as I can remember.

The worst part is this crush is the definition of unrequited. Kane is fifteen, two years older than us, and I’m pretty sure he only sees me as Gray’s annoying twin sister.

How could he not? I only recently stopped following them around like a lost puppy.

This summer is going to be different, though. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m supposed to be starting high school in September, which means I need to get over my silly crush stat.

You hear that, me?

Your days of swooning over a boy you’ll never have are over.

I should have no problem moving on now that Kane’s hit puberty. He’s not the same person anymore. He’s different. And not just because he’s gotten taller and his voice is deeper.

He’s moody, for one.

Quiet, too.

He’s barely left his room since we got to the beach house five days ago. It’s gotten to the point where Evie has to bring him food to make sure he’s eating, and on the rare occasion that he does leave his room, it’s only to use the bathroom or shower.

Oh, and his smiles seem forced.

Like he’s dead inside.

Note to self: look up ‘Does puberty make you dead inside?’

He didn’t want to go shopping with us today. He said he had a headache and he was going to take a nap. Evie didn’t question it, but I could tell she was worried.

I’m halfway to the front door when I realize I left my phone in the bathroom. I retrace my steps, grab my phone off the counter, and shove it into my pocket. Just as I’m about to walk out of the house, I hear something.

Singing.

The sound is distant, faint, and I spin, wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. A familiar melody reaches my ears, and I set out to follow the music.

I find myself at the bottom of the staircase before I know it.

It’s coming from upstairs.

Maybe Kane is playing music on his phone?

They’re waiting for you, a voice in my head reminds me, but my body refuses to cooperate.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

I tiptoe up the stairs against my better judgment, seeking answers like I’m compelled to uncover who the voice belongs to. I track the music all the way to a room I’ve only ever been in once before.

The sunroom.

The door is ajar, allowing me to see the grand piano sitting in the center of the space and the two-person bench placed next to it.

The walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, but the curtains are drawn, blocking out the light. The closer I get, the clearer the voice becomes.

It’s raspy.

Warm.

Captivating.

I inch toward the gap in the door, and my heart somersaults in my chest.

I was wrong.

Kane isn’t playing music on his phone…

Kane is the music.

He’s sitting on the white couch in the corner of the room with his head hanging low and his brown hair dangling in front of his eyes. There’s a guitar on his lap.

Only then do I recognize the melody floating around the room.

The song is “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls.

I’ve heard this song before.

Plenty of times.

But it has never sounded like this.

God, his voice…

I glance down to see my forearms covered in goose bumps. I didn’t even know Kane could sing. Or play the guitar—if you can even call the piece of crap on his lap a guitar.

The paint is chipped, and two of the strings are broken. Anyone would sound bad with a guitar like that, but not Kane.

Somehow, he pulls it off.

I can’t move a muscle, eyes glued to his lips as they create magic. Every note is a breathy gift from the universe, and I fight the urge to close my eyes to soak it all up.

He seems new at playing the guitar. I know because there’s a slight pause every time he alternates between chords, but it doesn’t take away from his talent in the slightest.

I must stand there, watching him raise the bar for any of my future crushes way too high, for over two minutes. He hasn’t once looked up from his guitar, pouring all of his energy into getting the chords right.

Something in my chest aches when the song comes to an end. I should leave, but I’m rooted in place.

That’s when my phone chimes with a text.

Kane’s head snaps up, and he immediately spots me staring at him through the gap in the door. His eyes grow, but I don’t wait for him to call me out on my stalker behavior, turning to leave.

“Hads,” I hear him say.

But I’m already charging down the stairs.

I was really excited about the party.

Of course, that was before I found out I wasn’t allowed to invite Jamie, my friend from Hillford. Apparently, the cocktail party is “exclusive to Golden Cove residents.”

In other words, no normal people allowed.

I thought maybe Vince would show up and I’d have at least one person to talk to, but he ditched the party to hang out with Jamie’s brother, Callum.

Vince is Gray’s friend and the only person our age in the gated community. His parents bought a vacation house in Golden Cove when we were seven.

You best believe Gray, Kane, and I spotted him from miles away. We went up to him his first day here, excited to have a new friend to play with.

Vince introduced us to Callum and his sister, Jamie, the following week—his parents are friends with their dad—and we’ve all been inseparable ever since. Although I must say I’m much closer to Jamie than the guys.

I scan the backyard and fancy people drinking champagne. Evie said her husband wanted to throw the party to network and talk business, which makes no sense, considering Mr. Wilder doesn’t even work.

Kane’s dad was born into wealth, and Wilder Enterprises, the family company, has been passed on from generation to generation.

The business is currently run by Kane’s uncle, while Mr. Wilder does whatever the hell he wants, eating at the finest restaurants and living off the fortune his ancestors worked their entire lives for.

Like it wasn’t bad enough that he let his wife organize the entire party on her own, the staff he hired is useless.

Evie’s been killing herself, making sure that nobody runs out of champagne or appetizers since the party started. I spend the next hour waiting for dinner to be served and call it a night as soon as I’m done eating.

Maybe if Kane was here, I’d have a reason to stay, but he hasn’t come down once since the party started.

I wonder if he’s mad at me.

I didn’t mean to spy on him. It just happened. And if I’m being honest, I don’t regret it. I’d spy on him a thousand times if it meant I got to hear him sing again.

I reach the top of the stairs a few minutes later and make a beeline for my bedroom. I can’t help eyeing Kane’s closed door as I make my way down the hall.

I’m seconds away from opening my bedroom door when a deep voice cuts through the air.

“You worthless piece of shit. Get up!”

My body goes rigid.

“I knew I’d find you in here playing your little tunes.”

It’s coming from down the hall.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

I recognize his voice instantly.

Kane.

The man with him lets out a cruel laugh. “You’re not sorry.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“But you will be.”

Maybe I should pretend nothing’s wrong, mind my business for once, but the noise that follows seals the deal. What sounds like a hard slap makes my blood run cold.

Then I hear a loud thud.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

I have no control over my body as I creep down the hall, my pulse wilding out in my neck. I realize I’m holding my breath when the scene comes into view.

Kane.

On the ground in the middle of the sunroom.

Holding his jaw.

His dad is towering over him. I can only see Mr. Wilder’s back from where I am, but I have no doubt his face reflects the hatred in his voice.

“I said fucking look at me!” Mr. Wilder seethes, picking his son off the floor so violently he rips the fabric of Kane’s collar in the process.

I can feel my heart disintegrating in my chest, the broken pieces turning to dust when I see Kane’s busted lip, the absence of emotions in his eyes, and the small cut on his cheek.

He looks so empty.

He seems determined not to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him break.

Is that why he’s been acting so different lately?

Oh my God.

The reason why he seems dead inside is because… he is.

Mr. Wilder uses the grip he has on his son’s clothes to jerk him closer. “Do you seriously think this family got to where it is today by singing? Take a fucking look around, kid. We wouldn’t have this life if we’d wasted our time on nonsense. I won’t have my son humiliate me like this.”

Kane doesn’t make a sound, glassy eyes pointed at his father. It’s clear he’s been here before. He’s used to it by now.

Do I intervene?

Do I go get someone?

Maybe Mr. Wilder will stop if he sees he has a witness.

The monster’s grip is so tight Kane’s feet rise off the ground. “Music won’t get you anywhere in life. And your ancestors didn’t bust their fucking asses so you could become a starving artist.”

My heart racing, I move closer, stepping from the shadows. My body weight causes the floor beneath me to creak, and thankfully, Mr. Wilder doesn’t notice.

Kane, however…

The air stalls in my lungs the moment his gaze captures mine.

He’s still a prisoner of his father’s rage, but life spills back into his gaze when he spots me standing in the doorway. He goes from emotionless to scared in a single second.

“Do you?” Mr. Wilder insists when Kane doesn’t answer right away. “Answer me, you little shit.”

I’m about to get involved, but Kane seems to know exactly what I’m thinking because he gives me a frightened, pleading look.

Don’t, his eyes scream.

Mr. Wilder releases him with a push, his gaze landing on the old guitar Kane was playing earlier.

“Where’d you even get this?” He quickly grabs Kane’s guitar off the couch.

“I… I found it in the attic,” Kane stammers.

His dad pauses, glaring at him like he’s not convinced.

“You’re lying. Did you waste my money on this piece of shit?”

“No, Dad, I—”

But Mr. Wilder’s already smashing the guitar to prove a point. The instrument shatters into a thousand fragments, pieces flying in every direction as he pummels the floor with what’s left of it.

“Dad, stop!” Kane’s words fall on deaf ears.

Mr. Wilder only stops once the guitar is ruined and Kane’s eyes are bloodshot.

“Don’t give me that fucking look. You made me do it. You gave me no choice,” Mr. Wilder accuses.

He starts charging at Kane again. He’s just grabbed hold of Kane’s shirt when I gather every drop of courage in my body and shout, “Leave him alone!”

Mr. Wilder spins, dark eyes growing in size when he sees me standing there.

Maybe I’m delusional, but I pray for him to be embarrassed. I pray that he’ll back down out of shame. Today must be my lucky day because he releases Kane immediately.

“Everything’s okay, sweetie. We were just having a little chat. Run along now.” Mr. Wilder forces a nervous smile, smoothing down his son’s wrinkled shirt.

“Hadley, do what he says,” Kane orders, but it sounds like he’s begging me.

I fold my arms over my chest. “I think I might stay.”

Mr. Wilder’s patience runs out. “I said go back to the party. Now, Amy.”

“My name is Hadley,” I correct, shaking on the inside. “And like I said, I’m good here. Why don’t you go back to the party?”

Kane’s mouth drops open at my response. Something tells me he’s never stood up to his father in his entire life.

I can’t believe I did.

It isn’t long before Mr. Wilder understands he’s not going to win this one and pins me with a look so vile it makes my skin crawl. Without a word, he glares at his son one last time, his fists rolling into tight balls.

“We’ll finish this later, boy.” His promise to Kane twists my stomach into a knot.

Air returns to my lungs as soon as he walks out of the room. Kane and I make eye contact when we hear his footsteps rumbling down the stairs.

No one speaks for at least five seconds.

I scan Kane’s beautiful face, focusing on his busted lip and the purplish wound on his cheek. I almost think I’m imagining things when he exhales a deep breath and moves closer.

He’s taller than me, so I have to stretch my neck to look at him. He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him a chance to speak, throwing myself at him before my brain can object.

I wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his chest and holding him close. My eyes well with tears when I think about all the times no one was there to stop his dad.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Kane breathes, and call me crazy, but it sounds like he’s saying thank you.

I expect him to reject my embrace. Any second now. But he never does. He rests his chin on top of my head and circles my waist with his arms, his tall build swallowing me whole.

I’m hugging Kane.

Kane is hugging me.

Either I’m dreaming, or the fruit punch they were serving at the party wasn’t punch at all.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out.

“It’s okay, Hads.”

Images of his dad being violent toward him, mocking him for wanting to play music, burn before my eyes, and I wish for something so awful I’m pretty sure it goes against all the rules for making wishes.

For a fleeting moment, I wish Mr. Wilder would disappear.

I wish for a world where Kane’s father doesn’t exist.

Little did I know…

My wish would soon be granted.