Page 18 of P.S. I'm Still Yours
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.”