Page 4 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

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.