Page 14 of P.S. I'm Still Yours
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.”