No. I had to do it this way.
Somewhere deep inside I know he’s going to eventually find out. Whether it’s Everly slipping up and mentioning it or when he notices the credit card statement. He’s a banker after all. It’s bound to happen, and I’ll have to deal with it when it does.
But am I prepared for his blow up? I guess I’ll find out when it happens . . .
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Momma,” she chants as we pull into the parking lot of the Memphis, Tennessee studio I found online that offers lessons, in the afternoons, during the weekdays.
When I spoke to the teacher, he had an opening thirty minutes after she gets out of school. It’s an hour-long session three days a week. It’s perfect. I have just enough time to pick her up and get there on time. How could I not sign her up? The location of the studio and the private school she attends happen to be on the same route to and from our house.
This’ll be good. No, great, I tell myself as a smile forms on my face at the sight of my daughter’s happiness.
“You’re welcome, sweet girl. Let me get Em out of her booster seat, and then we’ll go in.”
She bolts from the back seat, opposite her sister, as I exit the driver’s seat of my red metallic Mercedes SUV.
Excitement blooms where guilt should be festering, but I don’t allow my mind to think too hard. Instead, I grab Emersyn and then catch up to where Everly is standing at the glass entrance.
I just hope this doesn’t catch up to me sooner rather than later.
CHAPTER FIVE
Shane Braden
I slide my hand over, reaching for hers. Glancing over, she smiles at me when I intertwine our fingers.
A flash goes off from the backseat of my Jeep Wrangler, courtesy of Trent’s girlfriend.
“Knock it off, Kylie. You’re screwing with my vision by snapping pictures every two-seconds.”
Jesus Christ. I’m starting to see dots, and we’re late. Dinner with my folks ran long tonight, so Whit and I didn’t pick up Trent and Kylie until after nine. We were supposed to be at Chance’s uncles by eight thirty.
“Lighten up for once, Shane. We’re graduates now. And in less than two months we’ll all be away at college and out of sight from our parents. This calls for a celebration tonight. Right, Whit?” Kylie eggs on.
“You know it,” my girlfriend agrees, earning her a scowl from me. It only takes her giggle for me to falter. Her laughs are my undoing.
“Some of us don’t have perfect parents like you, Shaney.”
“Hey! Don’t call him that.” Whitney quickly chimes in as she swings her head toward the backseat, giving her best friend a scowl of her own. Kylie thinks she’s being cute when she calls me that, but it irritates the hell out of me, and I wish Trent would get her to stop.
“What. Ever.”
“Whit and Trent may have a leg to stand on,” I say. “But what issues do you have with your parents, Ky?”
“Oh my God! Have you met my overbearing mother?”
“Yep. Several times. She’s pretty normal in comparison.”
“In comparison to what?” Kylie demands. “Your parents are awesomesauce on top of awesomesauce with sprinkles on top.”
“I know, right?” I laugh. My parents are far from perfect, but they are great. I don’t have one complaint. I might have a moody little brother that’s a jerk at times, but I wouldn’t trade my family for another.
“I hate you.” Looking in the rearview mirror, I see Kylie glaring at me with her arms crossed over her chest.
“She may hate you, babe, but I don’t.” I glance to my right. If there is one thing that is perfect in this world, it’s the girl sitting next to me right now.
“Hand me your camera,” Whitney tells Ky as the sound of her seatbelt releasing registers in my ear.
“Love, what are you doing?” I ask without looking at her. It’s starting to drizzle, so I flick the handle to make the windshield wipers come on.
“I’m capturing moments,” she calls out, trying to appease me. From the rearview mirror, I see Whitney take the camera from Kylie’s hand. “You two cuddle up and smile,” she tells Trent and Kylie.
“Whitney,” I call out. “Put your seatbelt back on.”
“Hush.” Click.
From my peripheral vision, I see her turn back around to face forward, but then the flash goes off again momentarily blinding me.
“Whitney,” I force out, blinking several times.
Just as I’m reopening my eyes headlights round the corner . . .
A sharp, inhale of air not only forces my eyes to pop open but also causes me to spring up. Air. I need air.
When I let the same nightmare that’s on constant replay fade, I find myself alone in my bed . . . as always. The comforter is missing, but I know it ended up somewhere on the floor during the night. The dark blue sheets have been kicked to the end of the bed, almost falling off. There’s sweat sliding down my forehead.
I draw in a deep breath, trying to shake the rest of the dream away.
But it’s never far.
And it always returns.
A sigh escapes my mouth as I climb out of bed.
I know there’s only one way to push it to the back of my mind . . . for now at least.
Going to my chest of drawers, against the wall, I pull out a pair of sweat pants and put them on, pulling them over my boxer briefs followed by my socks and sneakers. Grabbing my earbuds from where they are lying on top of the chest of drawers, I head for the door.
Running away from my past is what I’ve done for what feels like a lifetime now. The only problem is I can never get far enough away. Doesn’t stop me from trying.
Ten miles later, I make it back up the stairs to my third-floor apartment just as daylight breaks through the dark sky.
I have roughly two hours before I’m due at the children’s hospital for a full day in the ER, but I have no plans for any more shuteye. A long, hot shower though, is just what I do need.
I pull the ear buds of my headphones from both of my ears just as Torn to Pieces by Pop Evil winds down.
As I get closer to my door, I see Roxanne’s door swinging open before she walks out.
Her sharp, intake of air isn’t lost on me, but I act like I don’t catch it.
“Hey. Where are you headed so early?” I ask, stopping by my door. Our apartments are directly across from each other. Rox is one of the first-year interns I’m training in the Children’s Emergency Department. As a third-year resident, I have to work in the ER for three months out of this fiscal year. This month through the end of December is where I’ll be—some days, some nights. My schedule rotates every quarter. Nights are the worst. Working 7 p.m. through 7 a.m. will wear on a person’s body—at least mine it does. I prefer day shift hours.
“Morning, Shane,” she greets. “I promised my sister I’d take her kids to school this morning. She has to take her husband to the airport for an early flight for a business trip. What are you doing up already?”
I glance down at the sweat pouring down my chest.
“I’m usually up at this time every day unless I’m working. I like to run before the day officially starts.”
I do like to run. I’ve always enjoyed it. Whitney and I used to run together every evening before dinner. Now, I don’t know; maybe it makes me feel connected to her somehow. I often wonder if she still runs, too. I shouldn’t, but I do. Letting my mind wonder those types of things makes it harder to breathe. Makes life harder.
“Well . . .” She pauses, allowing her eyes to run down my body. “Looks like it pays off.” She gives me a coy smile once her eyes sweep back up.
It’s not that she isn’t an attractive woman, she is, very much so, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested. For starters, I’m practically her teacher and somewhat her supervisor, in a way. All third-year residents are assigned first-year interns to help mold them into the doctors they need to become. It would be wrong—unethical—to pursue any form
of a relationship. Casual or not.
“I’m going to hit the shower. See you at work.” I nod in her direction.
Without another word, I go inside my apartment.
CHAPTER SIX
Whitney Lane
“Whitney.” His voice vibrates through the strands of my hair, and into my ear like a caress drawing out a moan from my lips. His free hand, the one not laced around my waist that’s keeping me against his body, moves into my hair. His fingers comb the damp strands away from my ear, pushing my hair to my right shoulder. “God. I love you, Love.”
“Harder.” I fight the words out as he pounds into me. Sweat—his sweat from where his forehead presses against my temple, drops onto the apple of my cheek. Another moan, this time louder, escapes. I can’t control it. I know I’m supposed to be quiet, but it’s impossible.
“Mmmm.”
My voice jars me from the dream I was having.
“Mmmm.”
Wait. That isn’t my voice.
“Blake.” Ughhh. Not this again. He usually doesn’t try this hard, which suits me just fine.
“You were the one rubbing against my dick.” He paws my breasts.
Always the boobs and I don’t get it. They’re small. Not what I would consider my best feature either. I don’t see what his interest in them is. His hands on them certainly aren’t turning me on.
Then again, do they ever?
I’m still hot from my dream. The dream. The same recurring one I’ve had for a couple of years now. Little by little I’ll get more of it. I had hoped when they started occurring it meant my memories were coming back to me, but so far, no such luck.
“It’s too early. You know I’m not a morning sex person.”
I leave out that I’m not a sex person no matter the time of day; although, he’d have to be dumb not to have figured that out by now with our lack thereof. And one thing I’m certain of: Blake Lane isn’t dumb.
“Tonight. I promise.” I push on his chest. “The girls are staying at my parents, remember? We’ll have plenty of alone time then, okay?”
“And we’re going to my friend’s house after dinner at your parents, remember?” he stresses.
“Of course, Honey,” I confirm. “But after we take the girls trick-or-treating through my parents’ neighborhood,” I remind him.
He releases me, then rolls away. I sigh, thanking the Heavens above.
Sitting up in bed, I pull the sheet to my chest.
“I don’t see what the big deal is. They certainly don’t need the candy.” He walks around the foot of the bed with a disgusted look marring his pale face. He never agreed to my plan, but I’m taking them whether he joins or not.
“Because it’s fun.” I throw the sheet off then slide out of bed. I need to jump in the shower quickly before Emersyn wakes, so without continuing this conversation that’ll only lead to an argument, I jet into the bathroom.
I’ve learned with Blake, you pick your battles. And this is one I’ll deal with if needed, but usually when I’m adamant about something and walk off—leaving him no room to worm his way out—I stand a better chance of getting what I want.
“What’s bugging you?” I ask Blake as I eye him from the passenger seat of his black, Lexus SUV. His head briefly swings toward me, flashing his irritated brown eyes at me.
He’s pissed. That’s easy to tell and not uncommon these days.
“You went behind my back, Whitney.” Air rushes out through his clenched teeth. It’s dark inside his car except for the glow of the LED lights coming from the navigation system in the center of the dashboard. I can’t see his expression clearly, but I can hear the swoosh of air he makes when it exits his mouth. “You allowed her to take music lessons when you knew I specifically said no.”
“Guitar lessons,” I correct, which makes my husband inhale a deep breath of air. And before he can lash out at me, I continue. “She earned them, Blake. She made straight A’s, and it’s all she has asked for. She has wanted them for two years now. She deserves this.”
“She deserves what I say she deserves.” I gasp involuntarily at his response. My blood boils. “We’re going to table this discussion until we’re at home. I’ve had a long day at the office, and I still have to work tonight. This get-together, as you know, is at The Forsythe’s home. If I can gain Dr. Forsythe’s trust, then I can gain him as a client. Tonight is very important, Whitney. I’m asking you not to give me any more grief.”
The comeback is on the tip of my tongue itching to burst out. I want to tell him to go fuck himself more than I want to take my next breath. But I can’t do that. I have my girls to think about; as my mother loves to remind me when I bitch about my husband and our crap-ass marriage.
So instead, I close my eyes for a moment as Blake pulls up behind a black, Chevy Tahoe. When the car is in park, I open my lids, forcing a smile on my face.
When we reach the Forsythe’s front door, Blake knocks. Seconds later, it opens to reveal a man that appears to be in his mid to late thirties with sandy blond hair and light green eyes encased in dark lashes. His eyes crinkle, welcoming us into his home.
“Mr. Lane, you decided to come. I’m so glad.” The man’s smile is genuine.
“Call me Blake, please, Dr. Forsythe.”
“Okay then,” he laughs lightly before turning his gaze down to me. “You must be Blake’s beautiful, other-half. I’m Gavin.” He presents his hand in front of me, which I accept and shake.
“I’m Whitney. Thank you for inviting us.” I release his warm hand, bringing my own up to my face, tucking a strand of my dark hair back behind my ear.
“It’s a pleasure, Whitney.” He takes a step backward. “Please, come in. There are wines and appetizers in the kitchen and several coolers of beer on the back patio. Help yourselves to anything you like.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Blake chimes.
“Gavin,” The man corrects as we enter his house.
Entering the foyer, I take in the warm decor. The walls are a navy blue with a soft, eggshell trim in an off-white shade. Hung on the walls are scattered black and white portraits of people. It doesn’t take a genius to see it’s his family. From the look of it, he has two small kids—a girl and a boy. Twins I think. And his wife is stunning. They all have similar fair features.
Moving along, following the guys, we walk through the living room where Blake and Gavin stop.
“The kitchen is through there.” He points across the room to a wide opening. I take that as my cue to leave them.
The kitchen is large, with a formal dining room to one side and kitchen nook off to the other side. The walls are the same navy color from the entrance, and the trim and cabinetry match the other room as well.
I swipe a small slice of cheese from the platter on the island, placing it into my mouth as I glance around. I see several bottles of wine across from me with clear, plastic drinking cups close by. I don’t think I’m in the mood for wine, though. I enjoy a glass sometimes, but beer sounds more appealing. But I know if I decide on anything other than water or wine Blake is going to have a conniption. Ladies don’t drink beer. I can hear him now. It’s unladylike.
He and my mother are like broken records.
Fuck it.
Blake is already angry with me. What’s one more thing? The thought is almost welcoming.
Pivoting, I head for the back door that looks like it leads out to the patio. I remember Gavin telling us that’s where the beer is.
Just as I’m opening the door, I’m hit with a beautiful, soft melody. It makes me halt before stepping outside. Familiarity hits me, but I’m not sure why.
At the same time, I’m compelled to sing like I often do when it’s just Emersyn and me at home, alone.
Words I’ve never spoken fall from my lips as easily as if I’ve sung them not long ago. My eyes close involuntarily, eating up the peace and serenity I feel.
Believe me when I tell you
You are my forever
B
ecause baby, no one can break through the way you do.
You’re an ache I can’t shake.
You’re the one I can’t shake.
You are the one.
When I open my eyes when the music stops seeing everyone is staring at me. Unease creeps up my arms. I don’t like being the center of attention. In fact, I hate it.
“I’m so sorry.” I laugh. Giggle actually as my embarrassment wanes. “I have no idea where that came from?”
Where the hell did that come from?
“Love?”
My head snaps in the direction of that voice—that voice. I know that voice. It’s . . .
Our eyes meet, causing me to stumble out the door. My breath pulls in on a quick inhale. He’s beautiful, but that’s not what made me have such a reaction. I’m not even sure why I did, but my heart starts beating faster. Too fast.
I can’t stop looking at him either. It can’t be. Can it? My eyes squint, scrutinizing him.
“Oh my God!”
The shock in her voice pulls my eyes over. A few feet from the guy my eyes were locked on, stands a young woman with golden-blonde hair looking at me as though she’s just seen a ghost. She has one hand covering her mouth and the other grasping onto another man’s forearm. He’s tall. He’s big, and the arm she’s digging her nails into is covered in ink. The art is beautiful—stunning even. I’ve always admired tattoos. Maybe even wanted one, but that’s not a battle I’m willing to start.
When I look back over to the guy that called me by my middle name butterflies erupt in my belly. There is something about him, something that makes me . . . want him? It doesn’t take long for me to realize I’m attracted to the man standing in front of me. I don’t feel this way about Blake. I don’t think I ever did. Something about this stranger draws me in and it’s scaring me but exciting me all the same.
“Um—” I’m about to ask him if he knew me before the accident that erased my memory when meat-hooks grip my bicep yanking me backward.
More Than Memories: A Second Chance Standalone Romance Page 4