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

“Kids, can you come down here for a second?” Mom’s request carries across the house like the walls are made of paper—I wish I was exaggerating.

Mom is watching the news downstairs, and I can hear every word the reporter is saying all the way from my bedroom on the second floor, even with the door closed. But hey, what else can you expect from a seventy-year-old house?

“Coming!” I push off my bed.

I stop at the door, glancing around a bedroom I barely recognize.

I can’t recall the last time my room was this clean. It took days, but we finally managed to make the house presentable for our guests.

Mom made us go through every nook and cranny of the house—seriously, we cleaned spots I didn’t even know existed—in expectation of their arrival today.

It’s like she thinks Evie and Kane are going to walk through the door and immediately start combing the place for dust.

I jog down the stairs, the past two months looping through my mind like a movie. Suffice to say, nothing about our stay in Golden Cove went according to plan.

We were having lunch on the patio, just two days after the cocktail party from hell, when Evie got the call telling her that her husband had died.

They said he was on his way back to New York when a suspected “mechanical failure” claimed his life.

We later found out that the pilot flying his private jet had a major drinking problem and was going through a particularly nasty divorce. Throw especially strong winds and thick fog into the mix, and you’ve got all the makings of a tragedy.

Mom said Mr. Wilder’s death was what the police call an “open-and-shut case.” A perfect example of pilot negligence. The investigation was over before we knew it.

But Evie and Kane’s nightmare was just beginning…

I can still see Evie’s face when she heard. There were no tears, no screaming, not even a sliver of pain in her voice as she spoke to the man on the phone.

Just shock.

I figured she needed a moment to wrap her head around it. I thought surely, once the initial shock wore off, she’d show sadness, but she never did.

I get that her husband wasn’t the nicest guy and all—okay, he was a total dickwad—but her reaction made me wonder why she married him to begin with.

Kane’s reaction to his dad’s death was a completely different story. He skipped right over the denial stage and went straight to worrying about his mom.

He refused to leave Evie’s side afterward. He seemed to think she’d break down at any given moment, and I got the sense he was focusing on her so that he wouldn’t have to face his own feelings.

And it worked.

He didn’t cry once.

At least not while I was there.

And if he did cry at some point, we didn’t stick around long enough to see it.

Mom, Gray, and I were gone by 7:00 a.m. the next morning.

Mom refused to fill us in on the details. She just said Evie and Kane needed time to process, and we were going home earlier. Just like that, we left the beach house and a decade of memories behind.

Gray and I tried to pry more information out of her, but she keeps saying we’re too young to be exposed to such heavy matters. I know she’s just trying to protect us, but being kept in the dark is slowly driving me crazy.

In the beginning, I’d stay up all night wondering what Mr. Wilder’s death meant for Evie and Kane’s future. I even tried to text Kane once.

When he didn’t reply, I tried calling him, but his number seems to have been disconnected.

Then I heard Mom on the phone with Evie.

It was late at night. Mom was sitting on the couch after closing up the store, and I snuck downstairs to eavesdrop.

At one point, she said something about Mr. Wilder’s will, and it kept coming up in the conversation. I’d heard that word before, but I wasn’t sure what it meant.

That sick bastard. He can’t do this to you, Evie. We won’t let him, Mom argued.

It sounded like Evie was sobbing on the other end. Mom followed up with a promise to get Evie in touch with a friend of hers who takes “pro bono cases.”

More words I didn’t understand.

I went back up to my room, grabbed my phone, and looked up every detail I could remember from their conversation.

A little while later, I figured it out.

Evie needs a lawyer.

For what? I don’t know.

It wasn’t until two weeks ago, when Mom sat us down and told us Evie and Kane would be moving into our house, that I understood just how bad the situation really was.

Evie and Kane are broke.

It makes no sense, but they are.

And I’m guessing that’s why Evie needs a lawyer.

Mom is sitting at the table when I enter the kitchen. She gestures for me to take a seat, her hands joined together in front of her.

A pit forms in my throat. “Is everything okay?”

She gives a small nod. “Of course, honey. We just need to have a quick chat before Evie and Kane get here.”

A few seconds elapse before Mom’s patience runs out and she calls for my brother. “Grayson, any day now!”

A low groan erupts on the second floor, and Gray’s bedroom door creaks open.

Heavy footsteps thunder down the stairs just seconds later. Gray barely ever leaves his room since he put a TV in there. All he does is play video games these days.

I can’t believe we’ve only got two weeks of summer left before we’re officially freshmen at Easton High, the local high school, and this is how he chooses to spend his time.

I intend to spend my last days of freedom painting in the shed Mom and I turned into my art studio.

My grandparents had this old shed installed in their backyard a few years before they left the convenience store they owned to my mom.

Well, technically, they left her the store and the family home. Both are located in the same two-story building, and the store takes up part of the first floor while the rest is all habitable space.

We’ve only ever used that shed for storage. Until Mom decided that I needed a place to focus on my art—which isn’t easy to do with my brother constantly blasting music and blowing up zombie brains.

We emptied out the shed, cleaned it from top to bottom, and filled it with my canvases and the few supplies I’m able to afford because of my babysitting on the weekends.

Mom even called a guy she knows to wire the shed to the electrical panel.

She might not be in a position to pay for all of my painting supplies, but she was determined to support my interests in any way that she could, and for that, I’m grateful.

She’s a single parent, and it’s not like she can turn to my dad for help.

That would require us having a dad.

Mom says she knew what she was signing up for the day she turned to a sperm bank to have a family, but sometimes I wonder if she would’ve done things differently if she’d known she was going to have twins.

Gray breezes into the kitchen moments later, wearing black sweats and one of his signature quote T-shirts. This one reads, “Can’t spell awesome without me. Coincidence? I think not.”

I snort at his appearance. “Nice hair.”

Every strand of my brother’s red hair is pointing in a different direction, some falling in front of his blue eyes, some aimed toward the ceiling.

He also looks like he hasn’t showered in a while, and I’m pretty sure he’s been wearing that T-shirt for two days straight.

“Aw, thanks, baby sis.” He gives me a wet willy right before sitting down.

“Grayyy!” I bleat, guiding one hand to my ear and punching him in the shoulder with the other. “You’re disgusting.”

“Love you, too, brat.”

Oh, and remember when I said he looked like he hadn’t showered in a while?

He also smells like it.

I crinkle my nose. “When’s the last time you showered?”

“What was that? You want a hug?” He has me in a headlock before I know it.

Our proximity makes the smell ten times worse, and my gag reflex kicks in. He starts ruffling my hair, and I just know he’s enjoying every second of my misery. My ponytail is a mess by the time I manage to slip out of his hold.

“Kids, please,” Mom calls us to order, and we quiet down, although I’m mentally plotting my revenge. I just might have to reconsider the Nair cream in his shampoo idea.

Mom clears her throat. “Evie and Kane have been through a lot these past few months. Their lives changed overnight, and I’ve tried to keep you out of it for as long as I could, but there are things you should know before they get here.”

It feels like the air just got sucked out of the room.

“Do you know what a will is?” Mom’s question causes my anxiety to spike.

Gray shrugs. “Isn’t that the thing people write before they die?”

Mom nods. “And do you know what happens if someone leaves you out of their will?”

My mouth falls open.

“Not really,” Gray admits.

Mom exhales a deep breath. “If someone doesn’t put you in their will, you get nothing when they pass.”

Wait…

Mr. Wilder left Evie nothing?

I figured he’d left them a small amount at the very least, but not a dime?

This has to be why they’re moving in with us.

Evie didn’t work in the fifteen years she was married to him. Mr. Wilder wouldn’t allow it. He claimed Evie getting a job would make it seem like he couldn’t provide for his family, and women shouldn’t want to work, anyway.

“That’s what happened to Evie,” Mom explains. “Mr. Wilder gave most of the money in his trust fund to his brother and donated the rest to charity, which means Evie has to figure out how to feed and care for Kane.”

Charity?

I’m supposed to believe the man who beat up his own son gave his money to charity?

Anger soars in my chest. “He can’t do that!”

Mom’s eyes tell a different story. “Unfortunately, he can.”

My mind is racing. “And Evie can’t do anything to fight back?”

“There are things you can do to contest a will, especially when minors are involved. None of which you need to concern yourself with, but I promise you Evie has been doing everything she can to challenge it.”

“How long are they going to be living with us?” Gray asks.

“Evie needs to get a job so she can get back on her feet. Once she’s in a better situation, she and Kane will get their own place. But I’m not going to lie to you, it could take a while.”

Realization hits me. “What about school? Does that mean Kane will go to Easton High with us?”

“No, he’ll be doing online schooling. His old school agreed to let him finish the year since it was already paid for.” Mom turns to Gray. “Grayson, you’ll be sharing your room with Kane like we talked about. I found a bunk bed at a clearance sale last week. It should be getting delivered soon, but in the meantime, he’s going to have to sleep on a blow-up mattress.”

“All right,” Gray grumbles, and it’s obvious he doesn’t like the idea of sharing his space, but he also knows he can’t let Mom down on this.

Mom’s focus darts to me. “Hadley, Evie will be staying in the guest room, so I moved a few boxes we put in there to your closet.”

I give a small nod, and Mom rises to her feet. “Evie and Kane need us now more than ever, and we’re not going to bombard them with questions or do anything that could add to their burden, understood?”

“Yes,” Gray and I agree.

“Good. Now, let’s all try our best to make them feel at home.”

Gray heads back up to his room after telling Mom to call him once they get here, but me? I’m cemented into place, counting down the seconds until I see him again.

A knock rattles the front door a half hour later.

Mom hurries down the hall, calling for Gray as I follow her, my stomach churning at the possibility of seeing two strangers on the other side.

There’s no way they’re the same people they were at the beginning of the summer. No way that their world getting turned upside down didn’t leave them in shambles.

Mom opens the door, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

A much skinnier version of Evie stands on our porch, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and faded jeans. Her blonde hair is damp, as though she just stepped out of the shower, and her face is bare.

I analyze her thoroughly.

No makeup.

No jewelry.

Not a trace of the woman I call my godmother.

Whoever this is, she’s nothing like Evie. For starters, Evie has never looked so… normal. I barely recognize her without her fancy dresses and high heels.

“Oh, Eve, come here.” Mom opens her arms as soon as her best friend comes into view. Evie doesn’t waste a second, marching into my mom’s embrace.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough, Lil,” Evie whispers.

That’s when my eyes land on him.

The boy who stole my heart before his father broke his.

Kane stands a few steps behind Evie, the strap of a gym bag thrown over his shoulder—is that all he brought?

He’s lost weight, like his mom, his cheeks hollower than I remember and his jawline sharper than a knife. His green eyes are rimmed with dark circles, and his short brown hair is uneven, which tells me Evie probably had to cut it herself.

Even then… he looks incredible.

“Hey, Hads,” he says in a low voice, and it takes every drop of restraint in my body to stop myself from hugging him.

“Hey,” I say right back.

I missed you, a voice in the back of my head whispers.

“Dude, get in here.” Gray’s voice startles me, and I spin to see my twin brother walking toward us. “Dude, what the fuck? When’d you get so tall? Got me looking like a fucking Oompa Loompa over here.”

Mom scolds my brother for his colorful language, and Gray cracks a smile.

I step aside to let Kane in. He gives Gray a quick handshake paired with a bro hug. Evie separates from Mom soon after and wraps her arms around my brother and me, the air thick with questions we’re not allowed to ask.

Everything about her is different.

She even smells different—probably because she can’t afford whatever expensive perfume she used to wear before.

“Welcome home,” Mom tells Kane as she squeezes him into a tight embrace, and call me crazy, but I think I see him wince in pain. He doesn’t say anything, though, slapping his poker face back into place in no time.

Gray gestures to the stairs with his chin. “Come on, I’ll show you your room. Well, our room.”

Kane’s gaze catches mine before he takes off with my brother, and the vessel in my chest tightens. Two months ago, I thought he was broken because he was faking smiles.

But now?

He doesn’t smile at all.

The spark in his eyes is gone.

And there’s one thing I know for sure…

I’m going to get it back.

MOM

Had to drive Evie to her job interview. There’s pizza in the fridge.

My eyes skim over my mom’s text as I pad toward my house with my keys in one hand. My best friend, Lacey, and her stepdad just dropped me off a few minutes ago.

I should’ve known when Lacey suggested that we have a slumber party this weekend that there wouldn’t be much sleeping involved.

We stayed up all night, stuffing our faces and talking about how nervous we are for our first day of high school, which is less than a week away now.

I text Mom a simple “Okay” as I trail to the front door and unlock it. Gray’s blaring music grates on my ears from the second I enter the house.

I don’t know how Kane puts up with it. He’s been sharing a room with my brother for a whole week now. If it were me sharing a room with Gray, I’d become deaf and murderous.

Kane doesn’t seem to mind the loud music. But then again, we haven’t said a word to each other since he moved in, so what do I know?

Kane spends most of his time in Gray’s bedroom, playing video games and bickering with my brother. I guess I was stupid to think that living with him would give us an excuse to spend more time together.

I cringe when the bass of the techno song makes the walls of the house shake. I was hoping for a quiet Sunday afternoon.

I could always go pound on Gray’s door and demand that he turn his music off, but knowing my brother, he’d turn it up just to spite me.

I decide to save my breath and head straight for my art studio in the backyard.

My mouth curls into a smile when I spot the white shed in a corner of the yard. Mom and I gave it a new coat of paint last week, and it looks so much better like this.

I’m a few feet away from the shed when a low, melodious voice stops me in my tracks. I think it’s coming from the inside.

There are no instruments playing.

No guitar or piano.

Just Kane.

Singing a cappella.

What is he doing in my shed?

I move closer to the door. I can’t hear the lyrics he’s singing, the words blurring together. I don’t recognize the tune either.

I press my ear to the door without a sliver of shame. It doesn’t do much, but I’d be an idiot not to jump at the opportunity to hear him sing again.

I notice he stops himself every once in a while, pausing for a moment and then starting again. He replaces a few words in each sentence like he’s testing them out, trying to decide if he likes the way they taste in his mouth.

I think he’s writing a song.

Why else would he stop constantly, switch up melodies, and alternate between lyrics?

This goes on for a few more minutes, and I eat it up, listening to him drum up lyrics with a fluttering heart. Then his singing halts abruptly.

“Whoever you are, you’re not slick.”

My breath catches in my throat.

How did he know?

“I can see your shadow under the door,” he elaborates.

I consider running away.

Whatever.

He’s already busted me.

I push the door to the shed open, owning up to my lack of manners. First thing I see is Kane sitting on the old couch Mom let me borrow with a notebook and a pen on his lap.

There are crumpled balls of paper scattered all over the floor, which tells me he’s been at it for quite some time.

The only light in the shed originates from the small window above the door and the old Christmas lights I hung on the wall.

Three of the green ones are burnt out, though, and it’s barely bright enough for me to spot the voice recorder resting next to his notebook.

This is probably what he’s been using to remember the melodies he comes up with. Most fifteen-year-old boys would use their phone, except that Kane doesn’t have one anymore.

Mom wanted to add him to our family plan, but Evie refused. She insisted that she’d get a job and pay for the phone herself.

Kane pins me with a look of shock when he sees me, and I need a second to gather my thoughts before I can apologize for spying on him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who shouldn’t be here.” He closes his notebook and pushes to his feet. “I just needed to get away from all the noise.”

I know he means Gray’s music.

The words spill from my mouth so fast I startle myself. “Please don’t stop.”

Kane’s green eyes lift to mine.

I clear my throat. “I just mean… you can finish what you were doing. I’ll leave.”

I’m about to walk away when Kane shrugs. “It’s fine. Not sure it’s worth finishing, anyway.”

He picks up the crumpled balls of paper on the floor and tosses them into the trash can by the couch. I’m hit by the urge to tell him how much I disagree. His song might be in its early stages, but it’s definitely worth finishing.

“For what it’s worth, I think it sounds amazing.”

He doesn’t accept the praise, his features twitching with irritation.

“I don’t need your pity compliments.” He continues to throw his lyrics into the trash.

Does he think I’m just saying that to be nice?

He really thinks I’m complimenting him because I feel obligated to and not because people all over the world would pay a lot of money to listen to him sing.

I step inside the shed. “They’re not pity compliments. I mean it.”

He scoffs out a laugh that makes it clear he’s not buying it. God, his dad’s bullying runs deeper than I thought. It’s like he has no confidence in his talent.

His dad shattered his self-esteem and managed to convince him that his music was something to be embarrassed about.

“Your dad was wrong. You know that, right?”

He pins me with a look so cold it feels like my body temperature just dropped by a thousand degrees. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t go there.”

I don’t heed his warning. “He was wrong when he said your music was a waste of time. Wanting to sing is nothing to be ashamed of.”

He clenches his jaw. “I didn’t ask for a pep talk.”

“You didn’t ask for a shitty father either, but hey, you still got one.”

I think I see a small grin stretch his mouth.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re stubborn?” he asks.

“Only about the things that are important to me.”

Like you.

You’re important to me.

Of course, I keep that last part to myself.

“Look, all I’m trying to say is you’re talented. Like, super talented. And you need to believe in yourself. Also, your dad was a freaking twatwaffle.”

I make myself cringe.

I have no idea what twatwaffle means. I’m not even sure where I heard that word, but I know it’s not a good thing, which is weird since it has the word “waffle” in it, and waffles are delicious.

Kane doesn’t say a word, and I worry that I’ve offended him, but then he lets out a laugh.

It was a small laugh, and it was quiet, but I got him to laugh.

He’s smiling now, and I wish I could snap a picture in case it doesn’t happen again.

“Noted.”

Kane throws the last of the paper into the trash and grabs the notebook he left on the couch. I wonder how many songs are in there.

I surrender to curiosity. “How long have you been writing songs?”

He shrugs. “About two years. Give or take.”

If he’s been writing songs for two years, it means he’s also been singing for two years—if not longer. How come I didn’t know about this until this summer?

Might have to do with the fact that he waited for everyone to leave before playing his guitar when we were at the beach house. He must’ve been careful to hide it from people since he knew his dad didn’t approve.

That would also explain why Evie doesn’t know her own son is a prodigy. Her knowing could’ve led to Mr. Wilder finding out Kane was still playing music, and he didn’t want to risk his dad leaving a fist print on his face.

“Can I hear?” I push my luck.

I pick up the voice recorder on the couch, seconds away from pressing Play when Kane stops me by swiping the recorder out of my hand.

“Not happening.”

I try to steal it back. “Come on, I just want to hear one.”

He uses our height difference to his advantage, stretching his arm to keep the recorder out of reach. “Forget it, Hads.”

“What’s the big deal?” I push off with all my strength, trying to steal the recorder.

He shoves it into his pocket. “I’ve never shown my songs to anyone. Just drop it.”

“What if I show you something I’ve never shown anyone?”

He raises a brow. “Like what?”

“Paintings, sketches I didn’t finish, stuff like that. I’ll show you my work if you show me yours.”

He doesn’t seem sold, so I throw in a little something to sweeten the deal. “If you want, we could share the shed, too. You would get it the first half of the week, and I’d use it the other half. Think about it. You could work on your songs. Get some quiet when it’s too noisy in the house.”

My pulse speeds up when he stops to think.

He’s actually considering it.

“We could even meet up here once a week and show each other the progress we’ve made. Getting an outside perspective never hurts.”

I’m aware that I probably sound desperate, but this is the longest conversation we’ve had since he moved in, and I’d like it very much if we could keep having conversations.

“Once a week, huh?” he asks.

I give a small nod.

“And I’d get the shed to myself the rest of the time?”

“Yes. Well, except for when I’m using it.”

“And all I have to do is show you what I’m working on?”

“That’s the idea. We can meet whenever you want. As long as it’s after school.”

“My mom’s going to be wondering where I am. I can’t have her looking for me. I don’t want her to know about this.”

It makes no sense to me. Why doesn’t he want her to know he loves music? I have to bite my tongue not to ask him about it.

“I heard my mom say Evie would only be working afternoons and evenings if she gets the job at the bank. That way, we can meet, and she doesn’t have to know. So, what do you say?”

He pauses for a moment.

“Okay. But I’m not singing my songs for you. You can read the lyrics. That’s it.”

Did he just agree?

Be cool, Hadley.

Be. Cool.

I gesture to the paper in the trash. “You want to tell me what that was about? Maybe I can help.”

He hesitates.

“Come on, what’s the point of meeting every week if we’re not going to help each other?”

He drops onto the couch with a sigh. “I don’t know what to do with the bridge of this song. I’ve been stuck for days. Everything I come up with sounds like shit.”

I sit cross-legged on the couch and gesture to hand over his notebook. “Let me see.”

Kane chews on the inside of his cheek, his reluctance a wall I’m determined to knock down.

“You’ve probably been staring at it for too long. Even the best can use a pair of fresh eyes sometimes, you know?”

He caves a moment later. “One condition.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t ask questions.”

Weird request, but I’ll agree to anything at this point. The wait is killing me.

“I promise. Now, gimme.”

Satisfaction swells in my chest when Kane hands me the notebook. It’s like I’m holding a part of his soul in my hand. Like he’s letting me into a corner of his brain no one’s ever explored before.

My gaze shoots to the title of his song.

Golden Cage.

I can’t explain the painful lump forming in my throat.

Protector of my life

Saved me from the cold

Protector of my smile

Shackled and controlled

Might as well suffer with style

For me, you sold your soul

Pretty house you built on lies

But it was never yours

Money over happiness

Hurt yourself so I’d be safe

Count the bruises on your face

A golden cage is still a cage

Money over happiness

Lived in fear so I’d be brave

Count the wounds and scars he left

A golden cage is still a cage

I thought I was ready for his words. I thought he’d be writing about heartbreak or love. I expected many things, but not this.

Not for a second.

I devour his lyrics, finishing the second verse of his song in no time and swallowing my emotions like a pill that refuses to go down. This is what’s going on inside his head.

Count the wounds and scars he left.

This song has to be about his dad. I knew his dad was abusive to him, but was he also abusive to his mom? Unless they’re metaphorical wounds?

Might as well suffer with style.

Kind of sounds like he’s a bit resentful toward Evie.

Like she knew what was going on and she was being abused, too. I want to ask him about it so bad. But then I remember what he said.

Don’t ask questions.

I shove my curiosity to the back of my mind, pretending like his song didn’t just rip my bleeding heart out of my chest.

“It’s beautiful.”

I swear his shoulders release pressure when the words leave my mouth.

He seemed scared for a minute there. I get it. This is the first time he’s ever shared his songs with anyone.

“So… you don’t think it’s shit?”

I almost laugh.

“Are you kidding? This is the best song I’ve ever… read?”

His mouth twitches, his dimples deepening.

His smile is warm and big and perfect, and how am I supposed to function after this?

“Thank you.” His voice is tinged with joy.

We stare at each other for a moment, and it should probably feel uncomfortable, but I’m too busy counting the specks of gold in his eyes to notice.

He breaks the silence. “Any ideas?”

“Mm?”

“For the bridge?”

I snap out of it. “Oh, right. Yeah, I think I might.”

We spend the next forty minutes brainstorming lyrics and moving lines around. I’m surprised at how natural it feels. We work surprisingly well together, bouncing ideas off each other like we’ve done it our whole lives.

I’m fascinated by how Kane glows when he’s writing. You can tell he’s in his element by the sparks in his eyes, the soft crinkle on his forehead as he puts every ounce of his focus into it.

We finish the song an hour later, and I get to see this whole other side of Kane. The one that’s actually excited about his music rather than ashamed of it.

“This is great,” he rejoices once we reach the end of the song. “God, you’re fucking amazing.”

I only realize how flustered I am when Kane releases a dark chuckle. “Are you blushing?”

“No,” I blurt out, and his laughter grows in volume. I respond by angling my head away from him so he can’t see my scarlet cheeks. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t stop, but I don’t let him mock me for long, driving my elbow into his stomach.

And it works.

He stops laughing.

Only, he also stops breathing, wincing in pain at the contact. He reacted like I just shoved a knife into his ribs.

“Did I hurt you?”

His jaw flexes as he twists and shifts on the couch, looking for a position that’ll make the pain bearable. “I’m fine.”

“What is it?”

He gives me the same reply, but his voice is colder. “I’m fine.”

I’m gripping the hem of his shirt and lifting it up before I know it.

That’s when I see them.

The dark bruises on his ribs.

A gasp spills from my mouth, my gaze drifting from his oblique muscles to his chest.

“What the hell?” Kane screeches and pushes off the couch in a single bound, smoothing his shirt back down.

I follow his lead, rising to my feet. “What are those? What happened to you?”

Color drains from his face as I amble closer to him.

Pain is noticeable on his face, and I’m reminded of the way he reacted when my mom hugged him the first day he got here. He had those bruises before he moved in.

“It’s nothing,” he lies through his teeth.

“Screw that. Either you tell me what happened to you right now, or you can forget about sharing the shed.” I’m hoping that’ll scare him into confessing.

He doesn’t answer right away.

I can’t wait any longer. “I said, what happened?”

He blows out a breath and says, “Our landlord. That’s what.”

I need a few seconds to take it in.

“We had to move into this shitty studio apartment after my dad died,” he adds.

“Wait, so you got into a fight with your landlord?”

He seems reluctant to tell me more.

“Kane.” It comes out as a warning.

“Yeah,” he admits, his voice thick with shame.

The worst-case scenarios multiplying in my head are giving me a migraine. “But… why would he attack you?”

“He didn’t attack me. I attacked him.”

“What? Why?”

He curses beneath his breath and drops back down onto the couch, propping his elbows on his parted knees and burying his face in his hands. “It doesn’t fucking matter. It’s over.”

I sit down next to him. “It matters to me.”

“Look…” His eyes find mine. “All you need to know is, he was an asshole with wandering hands.”

“I don’t understand.”

My confusion makes him snap. “He wanted my mom to fuck him. Understand now?”

My heart cracks.

“Oh.” I bite down on my lip so hard I hurt myself.

“She couldn’t pay the rent and…” He can barely bring himself to say it. “He told her to pay him a different way.”

I’m going to puke.

“It’s why my mom moved us out here.” He runs a hand through his brown hair, shoving it out of his face. “That’s what I get for thinking I could take on a dude built like a tank.”

My entire being aches at the thought of him throwing himself at a grown man to protect Evie.

“To make shit worse, we don’t have insurance. My mom’s so deep into debt from my hospital stay, there was no way we could have kept the apartment. If it weren’t for your mom, we’d be on the street right now.”

I scoot closer to him, needing to comfort him in any way that I can. I barely realize what I’m doing when I rest my fingers on top of his, and he glances down at our hands.

Embarrassment slams into me, and I withdraw.

“Back to ponytails, huh?” he asks.

The topic change surprises me. “Oh, um, yeah.”

I didn’t put my hair in a ponytail once in the last week. I just thought I’d try something different before school started.

“What happened to letting your hair down?”

Truth be told, I couldn’t stand it. My hair kept getting in my face, and I’d end up putting it back up, anyway.

“It just didn’t look good on me.”

I catch his smile as he reaches for one of the strands of red hair framing my face and twirls it around his finger.

Holy crap on a cracker.

“Bullshit,” he disagrees. “Everything looks good on you.”

I must look like an idiot, with my lips parted and widened eyes, but I’m not in control right now. My lifelong crush just told me everything looks good on me. It’s not like I’m about to die swooning or anything.

Then, like he just realized what he was saying, he pushes off the couch. “Anyway, thanks for helping me finish my song.”

A part of me is desperate to keep him here, but the other doesn’t want to seem clingy. He’s at the door now, seconds away from walking out of the shed.

He stops and shoulder-checks me a few seconds later.

“I’ll text you so we can pick a date for our next meeting.”

I barely manage an answer. “O-Okay.”