Page 98 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

I grab a grape off my plate and throw it at her.

That’s what I get for telling her about my history with Kane. She confided in me about Scar, and I figured the least I could do was tell her about the embarrassing crush I used to have on him. I might’ve also told her that I threw up all over his shoes.

It took her a while to manage to stop laughing, but once she did, she told me she’s never known Kane to be the caring type. “But then again, he’s been doing all sorts of things he’s never done before when it comes to you,” she added.

It sounds good on paper, and I might even feel special if it weren’t for the fact that I know him coming to my rescue probably had nothing to do with me.

He told me my brother would’ve wanted him to keep an eye on me, which is just another way of saying that he feels guilty for losing touch with Gray and treating him like a stranger for years before he died.

My best guess is he didn’t help me because he cares. He helped me because he knows my brother would’ve cared, and he thought the good deed would help ease his conscience.

My cheeks flare. “Nice try changing the subject. I’m not the one we’re talking about here.”

She gives me a smile that says two can play at this game. “I’m just saying, that was awfully nice of him. Does he do that often? Do nice things for you? Like in a horizontal position, maybe?”

I stick my hands up. “Okay. Message received. No more questions.”

We leave it at that, discussing everything but the guys as I finish my meal. It isn’t until Drea checks her phone and color drains from her face that I know my intuition was right.

I thought something might be wrong when I saw the look on Kane’s face earlier. He was staring at his phone, too.

“No, no, no. Fuck.” Drea scrolls through what seems to be an article.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, but she’s already out the door.

I hear her say, “I need to find Kane,” before booking it up the stairs.

Curiosity overtakes me, and I pull my phone out of my pocket. I type Kane’s name into the search engine, and the first headline that pops up reads:

Kane Wilder’s girlfriend Tate Zimmer lets us in on their tumultuous relationship.

I read the title a few times.

Tate Zimmer.

I’ve heard that name before.

No, I’ve read that name before.

In the countless articles speculating about why Kane lost it that night at the club.

She’s an Instagram model. Redhead, tall, slim. The girl is known for her bikini pics and owning a makeup brand. She’s not nearly as big as Kane, though. I’d say she has around two million followers, a far cry from Kane’s two hundred and eighty-seven million dedicated fans.

She and Kane were rumored to be dating after they were spotted together in New York two months ago. Although, as far as I can tell, it was mostly speculation.

I couldn’t find a single picture of them kissing. One of the articles said she and Kane had broken up just minutes before Kane attacked Josh, and he lashed out at the first person he saw.

I don’t believe that for a second, but it doesn’t matter what I think. All that matters is whether or not the world believes it.

I tap the link, my eyes skimming over the article.

Let’s see what this Tate girl has been saying.

My jaw drops when I reach the third paragraph.

Oh, this is bad.

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