More Than Memories: A Second Chance Standalone Romance
Page 19
“Yeah, of course, but that’s what we signed up for.”
She’s got me there. I know one hundred percent she’s right. I chose this. I wanted it. But I also wanted Whitney and a family. I wanted that more than I wanted my next breath.
I thought I’d go to college, then medical school, and then Whitney and I would get married. And by the time I was settled into my career, we’d start a family. That was the plan. One that never saw the light of day. We never had a chance.
And now . . .
I let out a breath as I cut my wheel to turn into a parking spot in front of our building. I look up, seeing the window of my apartment—lights off.
I raise my arm, cutting off the ignition, but before I can pull the keys out, Roxanne places her warm palm on my forearm, running her heat down toward my wrist. I snatch my keys out and my arm out of her grasp. “What are you doing?”
“You’re obviously upset, Shane. I’m your friend. Tell me and let me help.” She closes her fingers into a fist, pulling away from me.
I give her a look that clearly says none of my other friends touch me the way she just did.
I get out of the vehicle without addressing it further. I’m done with today. I did the nice thing and gave her a lift. I didn’t ask for the other shit.
I’ve dealt with enough for one day. Two teenage overdose admits, a child abuse case, and now I got my intern trying to cross a line I want no part of like this is Grey’s Anatomy or some shit.
“Shane, wait,” she calls out, making me reluctantly stop. “Look, I didn’t mean . . .” She trails off, just looking at me with something resembling anger in her eyes. When I’m about to tell her to forget it, she grabs my arm and slams her lips into mine. I’m too shocked to pull away at first, but when I feel her tongue sweep across mine, I jump back, pushing her away in the process.
“What the fuck?” My anger erupts, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. “This stops!” I yell. “This stops now.”
“No!” She argues. “You have someone right in front of you that wants a chance, Shane. I know you. She doesn’t.” She points to my apartment without looking, indicating Whitney, and it only pisses me off more. “She doesn’t remember you. She has a family with another man. She’s married, Shane, or have you conveniently forgotten that?”
“That,” I point in the same direction she did. “Is none of your business. Whatever future she and I have or don’t have doesn’t concern you. But let’s get one thing clear. This”—I point between the two of us—“is not happening.”
“Because of her,” She floors.
“No.” I shake my head, my voice coming down. “Not because of her. Because I don’t feel that way about you. Not to mention it’s morally wrong. I’m your superior at work. It would have never happened, even if Whitney never showed back up.” I tip my head back, trying to pull in air to my lungs.
“What the hell does us working together have shit to do with anything. If anything, we have a lot more in common than you do with her.” She says, disgust evident in her voice.
My calm is weaning.
“Just go.” My head falls forward, and my eyes land on her so she can see how serious I am. “For fuck’s sake, leave this and be done.”
I don’t wait for her. I don’t know if she follows, and frankly, I hope she doesn’t.
Guilt from the memory of her kissing me seeps into me, and I need to get her taste off my tongue. The longer it’s there, the shittier I feel.
By the time I make it up to the third floor, anger is rolling off me. It’s a good thing Whit, and the girls will be asleep. I need a shower and to crash on the couch since they have my bed because Emersyn refuses to sleep in the “pee” bed now. Whitney did everything she could to clean it, and it’s probably clean enough, but even I can’t go in there and sleep, so I’ve been crashing on the couch for the last couple of nights.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Whitney Lane
He’s late. Later than he’s been before. I don’t know why I’m lying here, waiting, and hoping he’s going to message me. Shane sent a text right before I started dinner telling me he would be late, and not to wait for him to get home before I put the girls to bed.
But he didn’t say if he wanted me to stay up. I’m being crazy. I’m being stupid. I’m being a girl and not acting like a twenty-eight-year-old woman.
But what happened last Friday . . . What he watched me do only three days ago? I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t get him out of my head. I’ve never had this want so deep inside, burning, needing something—someone to put it out. I can’t look at him now without my desire shooting through the roof.
If I could just freaking remember!
Ughhh. I have too much pent-up aggression. I tried calling my mother this morning, but she conveniently didn’t answer her phone. When I called my father, his receptionist said he would be unavailable through the holidays. Yeah, okay. My dad has never spent one holiday with his family. It’s always work, work, work, for him.
If I think about it, the man probably has a mistress on the side. There’s never been love between my parents. Not that I’ve seen anyway.
Still, I will have a conversation with them. They will know what they’ve done is wrong. I’m starting to think face-to-face is going to be the way to do it. I want them to see what they’ve done. Though, I doubt it’ll faze either one of them.
Just when I’m about to send Shane another text—since he didn’t answer the first one I sent—I hear keys being inserted into the door, and my heart starts to race. Not in a scared kind of way either, but an excited one.
I overslept this morning, so Shane was gone by the time I woke up. Everly is out of school all week for the Thanksgiving holiday, so there was no need to set the alarm. I regretted that as soon as I woke and realized how late it was.
It’s pitch black in the apartment when Shane enters. The light from the hallway outside the door illuminates him for a split second, showing me there’s something . . . off. He’s incased in darkness once the door is shut and locked, but his body movements are stiff and I hear his hard breaths.
Is he mad? Upset?
What’s happened? He wears his heart on his sleeve. He feels pain for others like no one I’ve ever met.
Instincts kick in telling me to get up and go to him, but before I can, he storms past the couch without noticing I’m lying here. Seconds later, I hear the water from the bathroom running, following by light pouring out of the hallway when I hear a door speak open.
He doesn’t come back to the living room though.
Shane has started keeping some of his clothes in the spare bedroom since the girls and I have taken over his room. I shouldn’t have let Emersyn sass her way out of sleeping in the bed she peed in it. I cleaned it. There isn’t even a stain. Baking soda and hydrogen peroxide. Thank you, Google. So, it’s fine to sleep in. I even checked today—it’s dry. But I’m not going to lie. I wanted to sleep in Shane’s bed more than my daughter didn’t want to sleep in the pee bed. It smells like him.
My phone lights up, making me groan. Another message from him I’m certain. Fuck my life. Fuck my parents.
I open the messages I’ve been putting off all night to read.
Blake: You’re keeping my kids from me, Whitney. I can’t take this anymore. And you think I didn’t love Everly? I raised her for Christ’s sake. She’s mine too. I don’t give a damn what some sheet of paper says.
Blake: Come home.
Blake: Please. We’re still married. You’re my wife. You can stop all of this.
Blake: You know, it’d be nice if you would fucking respond.
Blake: Goddammit.
Blake: Respond.
Blake: Look, babe. You’re killing me. I just want my family back. I want you back.
I’m tired of this. I’m so sick of him sending all these “poor me” text messages. How about poor fucking me for what HE did? How about that? When do I get retribution for all that’s been done?
Or for all that’s been done to Everly and Shane.
I throw the phone to the other end of the couch, away from me. I’m not speaking to him unless it has something to do with Emersyn. Not happening. He can piss the fuck off if he thinks otherwise.
I think it’s time I have a talk with Jacob. Something does need to be done—even if I get nothing out of it. At least Blake will know I’m serious. This has to be some form of harassment, right? But hell, look at everything my husband was a part of and he still got equal rights to our daughter. The only reason I see her as much as I do is because he works and I don’t, so I’m able to keep her during the weeks and he’s been okay with seeing her every other weekend. I’m surprised he hasn’t pushed for more, then again, he’d actually have to take care of a child. I’ve always been the one that has does everything for the girls.
A knock on the door rips me from my thoughts. Another rapid knock, louder this time, bangs on the door.
Jeez. It’s nearly midnight. What the hell is so important someone needs to bang on someone’s door? I swear if they wake up Emersyn, I’ll strangle someone.
I’m about to toss the blanket off me and get up when a shadow crosses over me in the dark. I blink my eyes above me to see Shane headed to the door. I didn’t even hear the water shut off, much less him come out. He’s shirtless but wear scrubs pants, I think. But . . . I look harder. There is something on his back that I can’t quite make out. I squint, trying to see better, but it’s no use. It’s too dark.
He opens the door, instantly shhh’ing the person on the other side with a harsh tone. “Not so loud, would ya? Whitney and the girls are asleep.”
He slips out the door, pulling it closed, but the latch doesn’t catch because a crack of light starts to ease into the room from the hallway.
“Really?” It’s Roxanne. The neighbor, and his co-worker or intern that’s training under him from what he’s told me. “Why is everything about her? You can’t even go out with us anymore—because of her. You can’t hang out with me because of her. Jesus, Shane, what’s next?”
“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but I’ve had it. I told you earlier, this,” he pauses a mere second. “This isn’t happening. Whatever you thought could be between us would never have happened, even if Whitney wasn’t here. Kiss me again, touch me again, or make any advancement again, and I’ll go to HR.”
Kiss. She kissed him?
My hands ball into fists so tight, my nails start digging into the meat of my palms. A flame ignites, brewing a fire in my gut, heating me, making my blood come to a boil. She fucking kissed him?
“Shane. I’m sorry okay. I thought—”
“I don’t care what you thought anymore. I’ve told you. You know and yet you keep pushing. No more! We have a work relationship and work relationship only. No more asking me to do anything for you outside of work. Got it?”
I don’t hear her respond, or if she even if she gives one.
Shane walks back inside, shutting her out by closing the door. He shuts it with more ease than I would’ve expect. I can practically feel his anger vibrating through my own body. He’s pissed.
He told her to back off. What the fuck has she been trying to do? Maybe I should have been paying more attention . . .
He’s walking out of the living room as I’m still battling these thoughts; these questions. He didn’t notice me, yet again. Looking upside down from where I’m lying, I watch as he goes into the kitchen.
That’s my cue to get up. I need to feel him.
A light clicks on, but they aren’t as bright as they usually are, telling me he must have flipped on the light above the sink.
My bare feet carry me toward him. There’s a pull I’ve come to recognize anytime he’s near. It’s worse, heavier whenever we’re alone. I ache for him to touch me. He doesn’t though. And not for lack of wanting to. If anything, his agony seems worse than my own. It’s written all over his face. He wants me as much as I want him. He wants it more than you. He remembers.
When I enter, my eyes trail until I find him standing in front of the sink. His arms are stretched out, away from his body and braced against the edge of the countertop. His breathing is heavy. I can see his shoulders rise and fall with every breath. I stop next to the small island when his back catches my attention once again.
A tattoo covers the majority of his back. There’s a woman—an angel—in the center. The top of her head starts in-between his shoulder blades with her bare feet ending at the small of his back. Her wings are black, but that’s not what draws me in. It’s her face—my face—that has my palm covering my mouth as my lip quivers.
I blink, making myself take in the rest. Writing, no, lyrics surround her in script. I know these words. I know the song they go to. The song he’s been teaching Everly on his guitar.
Blinding pain erupts inside my head, making me grip the edge of the island. The front of my forehead burns with fire so hot I think I might black out. But it only lasts seconds before an overwhelming tingle replaces the pain. A flood of heat releases, flowing down through my whole body.
I can see it all.
Memories.
I can see everything.
The day a boy asked if he could kiss me. I’d never been kissed before. I paled at his question. Everyone was looking at me, waiting for my response. I had to make the stares stop, so I . . . I punched him in the arm. What he did next knocked me on my butt. He smiled, and his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. I was done for in that moment. And no matter how hard I fought, he owned me. That was the moment I became destined to be Shane’s and only Shane’s.
God, I was bitch even that young. I bite my lip, remembering he liked, no, loved me that way. I remember it all. The beauty and the ugly—the chaos. Every time I refused him. Every time I begged him back. Every time he was inside me. Shit.
Before I realize it, I’m touching him, running my hands up his back, making his muscles tighten at first touch, but I guess he realizes it’s me because he starts to relax into my hands. He’s welcoming it—needing it, I recognize. It’s what I need too.
“Love,” he chokes out.
I place my forehead to the center of his warm back.
“You broke my pencil in first grade because you accidentally stepped on it. You weren’t paying attention to where you were walking. Then, the next day, there were ten brand new colorful pencils on my desk when I sat down.”
“You—”
I cut him off. I’m not finished. I have too much to get out.
“In second grade, Tommy Wilson pushed me to the ground. You made him apologize. You were at least six inches taller than him, taller than every other kid in our grade. He was so scared of you he peed his pants.” I laugh for what feels like the first time in my life. It feels good too.
Fingers wrap around the loose T-shirt I’m wearing. His T-shirt. I swiped it after my shower because I wanted his scent to envelop me. I never bothered with shorts since the shirt was long enough to cover my thighs.
He pulls me around to his front where I’m sandwiched between the counter and him.
“You remember.” I bite down on my lower lip to keep myself from attacking him. I nod. “What else?”
He hoists me up onto the rim of the counter, then Shane settles between my thighs.
“In third grade, I kicked you in the balls.” His eyes flash. “You went down harder than Betsy Lincoln did when I cunt-punched her in ninth grade for—”
I don’t get to finish. His lips smash into mine, making me almost fall into the sink bowl behind me. If it weren’t for Shane’s grip on my ass and tugging me back into him, I would have.
My panties are ripped off, leaving my ass bare on the tiny, cold surface.
Between memories coming back and Shane’s lips and hands going everywhere I’m getting dizzy. But it feels so good I can’t stop. It’s the chaos I’ve dreamed of. And it’s real.
“Fuck, baby,” he says between kisses. “I need you, Love.”
His lips work down my neck. My eyes close and my head falls back to allow him all the access he wants to take. I need him to take it. Take it all. It’s his. It’s always been his.
“Please,” I beg, pleading as if my life is on the line. “Fuck me, Shane. I need you inside me.”
His hand jerks off me, and he shuffles. Before I comprehend what’s happening, he rams inside of me, pushing a scream I think I’ve been holding for a long time out of me.
“Oh, God.”
“Love,” he pants, pulling my head forward. Our eyes lock and then he rams inside me again. “This is what living feels like.”
His hand digs into my hip, making tingles skirt across my body. His lips find mine once again and his tongue feels like bliss dancing with my own. Our eyes never leave one another, but his pace increases and the pressure starts to build from deep inside my core.
He lets me see every emotion forming in his stormy eyes. It’s beautiful and sad and happy and much more. Above all, there is love, and it wraps around me, coating me, penetrating me.
He slams into one last time, his girth stretching me like I haven’t been stretched in ages. And I haven’t. This is everything. This is home. My orgasm rips me apart, shattering all the pent-up hatred I’ve been gathering inside for so long. Shane breaks me apart like no other man ever could.
His hands tighten, holding me in place, and before he comes inside me, I say, “I love you,” as I’m coming down from the deepest high I’ve ever had.
His eyes open after he comes, and what they tell is he isn’t done with me, yet.
“I’m going to show you just how deep my love for you is, Love.”
And with that, he slips out of me to pull up his pants, but before I can hop off the counter he pulls me to his chest, wrapping my legs around his waist, and then walks out of the kitchen.