Was I wrong? Should I have not . . .
Her hand rises in a gesture I remember all too well. Her fingers, including the one still slick with her juices, run down my lips. My eyes close, savoring her touch. But when her hand starts to lower, I catch her wrist in my hand, pulling it back up. My lips tip on their own accord as my eyes flutter open.
“May I?” Without words, she bobs her head, granting me permission.
Pulling her wrist to my mouth, I close my lips around her middle finger. Her eyes dilate as sweetness coats my tongue, spreading a static-like sensation around my scalp as tingles flow over my shoulders and down my spine.
I don’t want to release her, but I do, pulling her finger from my lips.
“So beautiful.” Her cheeks turn pink again. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I thought that when I was a kid. I thought that when I made love to you the first time. I think that now.”
Tears pool in her eyes. She breathes in deep, schooling her emotions that threaten to spill down her cheeks.
Stepping back, she lowers her eyes, and then a sexy smirk forms on her lips as her eyes flick up to mine. “Your . . . scrubs are a little wet.”
Fucking thin pants and pre-cum. Nice.
I look down, surprised I didn’t blow my full load from what I just watched if truth be told. “Thank you, Love, for letting—”
“Momma,” Em’s voice came through the door, cutting me off. “I peed the bed. I’m sorry.”
Whitney’s palm meets her forehead as laughter pours out of me. Luckily my hard-on dies down and the interruption helps break up what just happened between us without any awkwardness or tension.
I shake my head.
“Go clean up, babe. I got her.” And then I slip out of the bedroom door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Whitney Lane
Holy bejesus.
I take a deep breath, running the events from moments ago back through my mind. Seeing him watching me. Jesus Christ. Just picturing those hungry eyes is making me hot all over again.
I tip my head back against the door, inhaling air into my dry lungs.
I’ve never come that hard in my life. My body is still scorching, and my jumbled mind is a mess, but one thing is certainly clear . . . That was the best damn orgasm of my life. If he’s that skilled without laying a finger on me, what the hell is he capable of?
Shane’s voice filters in through the door. “Well, hello naked.” His voice beams and I laugh, covering my mouth, so they don’t hear me. Shane must be in the hall. Emersyn must be as well.
“I not stay in no pee clothes. That’s just gross, Shaney.” I can just picture her scrunched up little nose. “And pee was everywhere!” I snort, not able to hold it in any longer.
Shit, I hope she is exaggerating.
“Come on, let’s get you in the tub, monkey.”
His use of a pet name washes over me, caressing my insides. It’s the first time I’ve heard him use one with the exception of his brother’s girlfriend. It’s sweet. And fitting.
Pushing off, I walk to the side of Shane’s bed where my clothes are and quickly dress.
Lord, I hope the mess isn’t too bad. I hope she didn’t ruin his mattress.
When I walk out of Shane’s bedroom, the door to the bathroom is halfway closed, obstructing my view, but I hear splashing, telling me Shane is giving her a bath. My hand pauses on the door to the room the girls and I have been staying in. The strangest sensation hits me. This feels right. Being here, Shane cleaning my child, him watching me minutes ago when my body shattered at his assistance. I feel calm. My chest doesn’t ache. I’m not walking on eggshells around someone. Is this what peace feels like?
Emersyn’s giggles pull me out of my thoughts—my revelations.
“Thanks, monk.” Shane breathes out a short laugh. “I needed that.”
“You wet.”
Oh, dear Jesus, what has she done?
Instead of going to find out, I leave Shane to handle it and enter the second bedroom, turning on the light.
Ah, hell. Did I give her a gallon of juice before she went down? Fuck. That’s a lot of piss in the center of the bed, spreading out and covering over two feet.
I shake my head, knowing there is no mattress cover under those soiled sheets. How am I going to get urine out of a bed?
“Momma. Momma.” Emersyn barrels into the room where I am. Looking down, I have a naked toddler hanging on my leg with long, wet hair.
“Sorry,” Shane says from behind me. “She escaped the towel.”
“Go put some clothes on, little lady,” I tell her. Turning toward Shane I say, “Thank you for cleaning her, but I think she ruined the bed. She has a protector on her toddler bed at . . .” I almost say home, but stop, knowing that isn’t a word I can stomach coming out of my mouth. And from the look on Shane’s face he knows that’s what I was about to say too. “At Blake’s.”
Shane just nods, lowering his head.
“I’ll get the bedding into the washer, then I’ll Google how to clean this up. I’m sorry.”
His eyes snap to mine. I watch as they darken, as if I somehow pissed him off. Eventually, he shakes his head, and then tells me, “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Love.” Tingles wash over me every time he calls me by my middle name. “Kids piss beds. It happens. It’s life. It’s not a big deal. So what if the bed is ruined? Another can be bought. Don’t tell me you’re sorry again for anything you don’t have control over.”
“Yeah, well—” He cuts me off.
“No, Whitney.” He says my name in a tone that ignites a furnace in my gut. Not in a bad way, though. In a challenging way, making me cock my head to look at him. “It’s just a bed. Beds are replaceable. People aren’t.” He steps backward, and out of the room, then turns, leaving me alone with Emersyn.
I can’t help but think he has a double meaning by what he’s just said. People aren’t. People meaning me I’m guessing.
Blake would have never reacted the way Shane did. He would have blown up. He would have blamed me. They’re both so different. And only one is breaking through to that muscle in my chest.
“Okay, you.” I turn, looking down at Emersyn as she pulls leggings up her legs. She chose a The Little Mermaid T-shirt she owns to go with her pants. Ever since Eve and Chance left a few weeks ago, she’s worn that shirt at least three times a week. I can’t wash it fast enough before she’s asking for it. She says it reminds her of the pretty girl with all the colorful drawings on her arms. “You’re gonna help me take all these covers off the bed and then we are going to clean up all this mess.”
“Ewww, Momma. Gross. Do I have to?”
“Yes, ma’am, you do.”
“Is it time to go get Evlee, yet?” she asks, ignoring what I’ve just told her.
“Nope.” I squat down to her level. “We have plenty of time to clean this up before we go get your sister from school.”
When she stomps off toward the bed, I smile even more. She’s going to be trouble when she gets older.
“Hey, Whit.” I stand, looking at Shane in the doorway holding a box. “Taralynn said she mentioned to you your old journals.” He raises the box a few inches in his arms as he steps closer to me. “This is them if you want them.” He sighs, as if not wanting to give the box to me.
“I would,” I say, honestly. I’ve been wondering if I should ask him since she mentioned it. I’m too curious not to want to look at them.
I take a step toward him, taking the box from his hands. He doesn’t say anything else. He just blows out a tired breath of air, then steps back out of the room.
Sitting on the floor, Indian style, I bring the cardboard box onto my lap. It’s not taped up, but the flaps are all tucked around each other so nothing spills out. Flipping them open, I stare inside the box, seeing numerous journals. There has to be more than ten, maybe closer to fifteen inside the box. All are different in color and size. Some have words on t
hem; some don’t.
“Momma!” I glance up. Emersyn has her hands on her hips looking at me. “I not do all this by myself.” I just raise my eyebrow, having had enough of her sass for one day. When I don’t lower it, she eventually raises her little hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. I do it. But I not happy ’bout it.”
She goes back to the bed, her small hands pulling the sheets off and huffing out her exaggerated frustrations with each jerk and pull.
I giggle. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s wrong. But it’s funny.
Looking back inside the box, I reach in, pulling a teal journal out. Fanning the pages, I can see all of the pages are written on.
I stop on a page and read.
I push you away
But you just won’t leave
No matter how hard I shove
I don’t deserve you
You’re a saint
I’m a sinner
It’ll never work
I don’t read the rest. That shit is sad and makes my chest ache. And supposedly I wrote that?
Yeah, there is no supposedly. This is my handwriting. I wrote it. Deep down I feel these words, and I don’t like them. This girl, this me, she sounds broken and sad like she doesn’t believe she’s worthy of love. Shane. I wonder if that’s who she—no, I—am referring to. Probably. He did say we dated off and on for years.
Why would I ever push him away? That’s crazy. Just in the few weeks I’ve been here, I know he’s perfect. As I sit here, looking at these words, I wonder how my parents could have ever disliked him.
I haven’t spoken to my mom since that first call. I know I need to man-up everything I have in me and talk to her. But I’m so mad. And I don’t understand why. Shane is amazing. He’s a doctor for Christ’s sake, as is his parents, and I know my parents are all about appearances and money. Two things I’ve never cared about.
He’s not flashy and the little I’ve seen of his family, I don’t think they are either. So I guess . . . I suppose I see it. My parents, Blake’s parents, are all about what someone else can do for them. They hold money to the highest regard.
I jump when something touches my leg. Looking down, it’s a photo. It must have fallen out of the journal. I pick it up and my breath hitches. It’s a picture of Shane and . . . me. He’s behind me with his arms around me. I’m looking at the camera. He’s looking down at me. If there were any questions before, there aren’t anymore. He loves me. Or he loves this me, anyway.
“Momma! Momma!” I look up to see Emersyn barreling toward me. “Get it off, Momma!”
“What?” I question, shoving the box and the photo to the side so I can jump to my feet.
“Pee-pee! I got pee-pee on me!”
Oh, Lord. Is she for real?
“Come on.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Shane Braden
“You got this?” I look up from the computer I’m standing in front of to see my boss leaning against the wall opposite of me. He’s changed out of his scrubs and white coat into jeans and a Polo. “I’m about to cut out.”
“Yes,” I confirm as I finish typing out the sentence I was writing before he interrupted me.
Interruptions are all I’ve gotten today. Between the nurses and an intern that’s steadily grating on my nerves, I’ll be good to make it home before Whitney gets in bed.
“You book our flight, hotel rooms, and rental car for the conference next month in Orlando?”
Before three weeks ago, I had been looking to get away—to spend time with Kylie, just the two of us. I’m presenting at the hospital she works at, but other than a few hours plus a dinner the night before, I had two full days to hang out and catch up with her. And two days to convince her to move if I’m not able to do it before going down there. And since I haven’t yet, I tabled the discussion because of everything that’s happened, but I haven’t forgotten. She’ll be moving from that apartment one way or another. I’m damn sure of it.
“It was done two months ago.” As soon as he asked me to accompany him and told me the details, I scheduled everything the next day with the exception of a hotel room for me. I’d planned on staying with Kylie.
He bobs his head, acknowledging what I’ve confirmed.
“I swear, I should have booked this trip to coincide with the conference next month but Marie . . .” He shakes his head. “She wanted to take the kids to Disney World for Thanksgiving. Start a family tradition she said.”
Even though he rolls his eyes at the thought, I know there is nothing he enjoys more than time with his wife and two kids. I’m beginning to understand why. I’ve always known time with family is the most important thing in life. It was taught to me early on. But until Whitney and the girls . . . I had never felt it. Now, there is not one thing I wouldn’t give up or not do to make sure they remain with me, safe and happy.
“Yeah, okay.” I exaggerate my belief in his statement. “Get out of here, would ya? I got this today and tomorrow. Roderick is on-call until I return Saturday.”
“Roger that.” He pushes off the wall. “Wife’s out front waiting. Flight’s in”—he flicks his wrist up to peer down at his watch—“less than two hours.”
“Later.”
He turns, walking toward the doors that lead out into the waiting room of the ER. My cell phone chimes with an incoming text, so I save everything I’m documenting and then sign off the computer.
I don’t like taking calls or answering messages anywhere close to patient rooms. It sets bad examples for the interns as well as nurses and other staff. I only do it in emergencies, and even then, if I can do it away from everyone else, I do.
Pulling my cell from the back pocket of my scrubs, I take a seat on the stool in front of another computer in the dictation room. It’s a message from my brother. I see it before I unlock my phone to reply.
Shawn: Are we really not going to GA?
I type a reply back to him, then sign onto this computer so I can finish up what I started before Gavin left.
Me: I’m not. You can do what you want.
Another message comes through, but I’m almost finished, so I take a minute to wrap-up my documentation inside the patient’s chart. When I’m done, I sign back off and pick up my phone from where it’s lying next to the keyboard.
Shawn: Asshole
I shake my head. I get it, I do. Shawn has always loved going to Georgia, to our parent’s vacation home, for Thanksgiving. It’s been a tradition since I was in High School and I’ve only not gone once, the first year I interned at the Medical Center in Jackson, Mississippi.
My parents used to take us on trips a couple of times a year to ride ATV’s at an off-road park. I loved it from that first trip we took when I was a teenager. There is nothing glamorous about it. It’s dirt, dust, and mud inside your nose and mouth. Exertion and sore muscles for days. But it’s fun. Shawn loves it more than I do. Our friends even started coming years ago too. Thursdays used to be reserved for just family, but my parents quickly welcomed all our friends, making most of them part of our small family.
I type another response that quickly turns into a full conversation, back and forth between us.
Me: Emersyn has to go to her dad’s Friday.
Shawn: Why?
Me: Shared custody
Shawn: That’s BS
Me: I agree, but it is what it is.
Shawn: That fuck shouldn’t be allowed around them.
Me: Don’t I know it.
Shawn: What’s Jacob doing to make it where he doesn’t see them anymore?
Me: We’ll talk Thursday if you’re at Mom and Dad’s.
Shawn: I’ll be there.
I’m not surprised. Shawn is a momma’s boy through and through. He’s not going to miss a holiday with our family. He comes off hard and dickish, and he is, but he values family the same way I do.
Until this moment, I never thought about it, but I see now he’ll make a great dad one day. He’s a lot like our dad.
�
��Hey, Shane?”
Standing, I place my cell phone back into my pocket as Roxanne steps into the narrow space with me.
“Yeah?”
“I was wondering if I could catch a ride home with you.” She smiles, hopeful. It makes my gut tighten.
“I guess.” I cock my head to the side, looking at her. “Something going on with your car?” She has a relatively new Honda Accord. Or so I think it’s fairly new, maybe a few years old.
“I dropped it off at the dealership for a service, but apparently, they couldn’t get to it today, so it’ll be tomorrow before I can pick it up.”
“Sure,” I tell her. “It’s no problem at all. Will you be ready to leave in about an hour and a half?”
I need to round on all the patients, make sure everything has been done that needs to be done since the next shift is about to come on.
“Yes.” She’s a little too eager, making me raise an eyebrow. “I just have one patient right now. Once I bring Dr. Monroe up to speed on her, I’ll be done.”
“Okay.” She bounces around, leaving me.
I don’t know why I have such a reservation. It’s not like we aren’t going to the same place.
“You okay, Shane?” Her soft, almost whisper of a voice penetrates my thoughts, making me cut my eyes off the road for a split second to glance over.
I haven’t said more than two words to Roxanne since we got into my SUV and left the hospital. My night went to shit, and the thing is, before Whitney came back it wouldn’t have fazed me. But here I sit, pissed off because it’s fifteen minutes till eleven at night and I haven’t seen Love or the girls in over twenty-four hours.
I’m torn. I’m torn in two.
I love my job. It wears on my heart, but I enjoy helping children. Making them well. It’s all I can imagine doing. But it’s going to keep me away from them longer than I want. Longer than I may be able to handle.
“I’m all right,” I finally tell her, pulling into the apartment complex. “You know how it is. You have plans, and like what happened tonight, they get squashed because you can’t leave.”
More Than Memories: A Second Chance Standalone Romance Page 18