Page 7 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

“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.