“We don’t have long. Your mom wants you in bed by ten.” She nods as I hand her the pick I pulled from my pocket. Her eyes glance up, meeting mine, and I get the same feeling I’ve been getting for a while now. Like there’s something her eyes are trying to tell me, or ask me. “You sure you’re okay?” I can’t help but ask again.
Her head bobs in response, so I let it go.
“Same as before?” Her words are almost a whisper.
“Sure. Let’s do that.” I’ve been teaching her the same repetitive chords since she got the basics down. “If you think you’re ready we’ll add more chords tomorrow. Does that sound good?”
She nods once, then dips her head down to the guitar and starts to strum the chords to the chorus. The same words and music notes I have inked on my back.
Of all the things that could’ve triggered Whitney’s memory, I’d have shown her my back weeks ago had I thought that’d happen.
When I look up after hearing the music stop, she isn’t playing anymore and she’s staring. Again.
“What is it, Everly?”
I really do love her name, and although I technically have “everly” inked on my chest, I want her name on me somewhere.
“My . . . my fingers hurt.”
“That’s normal,” I assure her, letting out a short laugh and remembering mine when I first started learning. They hurt like a bitch until I built up calluses on my fingers. They still do now because I’ve only been playing again since Trent died. I’d stopped when I lost Whitney. She’d always been my reason for playing to begin with. Then my best friend got killed. All the emotions I thought I’d closed off when Whitney was ripped out of my life came rushing back along with the need to play. And now, I don’t play that often. Halloween at Gavin’s was the first time I’ve played since this past summer.
“They’re going to hurt. At least at first and until you get your fingers used to the guitar. Feel mine.” I open my palm, moving it forward in her direction.
“Your . . . fingers?” I nod.
Looking down, she reaches out, running her thumb over mine. “It’s rough.” Her nose scrunches up.
“Not as rough as they used to be when I played all the time.” I pull my hand back. “They’re called callouses. And your fingers will develop them too if you keep playing. The more you play, the quicker they’ll develop and eventually they won’t hurt anymore when you start playing.”
“Thanks . . .” Her eyes don’t leave mine, as if she’s searching for something.
I can’t take it any longer. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I finally have to ask Everly. I’ve racked my brain. I haven’t a clue what she’s thinking about. If there’s something she wants to ask me but is too scared. Shit, I hope not. The last thing I want is to scare her.
She’s silent, biting her lip but finally speaks, “I don’t know what . . . to call you.”
I look at her. That’s it? That’s the big thing that’s been lingering all these weeks?
“What do you mean? You know my name. Don’t you remember I told you the night we met? And surely you’ve heard your mom and everyone else call me Shane at some point.” She nods her small head.
“I know that but . . .” Her words trail and she tucks her dark hair behind her ear. When she’s nervous, she has to touch her hair in some way. I’ve noticed this about her in only a few short weeks.
“But what?” If there is one thing I’m determined to do as her father, it’s to break this shyness. She needs to learn to be bold and strong like her mother.
Although, speaking of her mom, even she has got to come back into herself. They’ve tried to tame her, and it shows. I hate it.
“If you’re my real dad, shouldn’t I call you that and not your name?” Her words stop every thought in my head, and I stare. I stare at her, knowing I heard exactly what I did but not believing them. She knows I’m her father. She finally knows after almost a month of wanting to tell her. She knows. But how does she know? “I don’t have to,” she says way too fast.
“Wait, what?”
“I don’t have to. I’ll call you whatever you want me to. I just thought—”
“Wait, Ev. Stop.” I take a deep breath. “How do you . . . know?”
“I-I . . .” Her eyes grow wide, and she stutters nervously as if she’s done something wrong.
“Ev, it’s okay.” I let her know, reaching over and squeezing her shoulder. “Calm down. You don’t have to be scared. You’re not in trouble. And yeah, I am your dad and you can call me that. You can call me whatever you’re comfortable calling me. But Ev, how did you find out?”
My voice is a lot calmer than the emotions running through me. When she acted like she was about to get in trouble for doing something I went into doctor mode. Kids are all too often scared and nervous when they come in the ER injured. Half the time, they’re fearful they’ll get in trouble for their own injuries. As sad as the thought is, I was a kid too once, and it’s a normal feeling. Especially when you hurt yourself doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing.
“Ev?” I try encouraging her. “It’s okay to tell me anything.” I should get Whitney for this.
How the hell did she find out? And why isn’t she freaking out? If I’d just found out my dad wasn’t my dad and someone else was, I’d lose it. Nine, Ten, Twenty, doesn’t matter. I’d lose my shit.
“Well, mom—” I cut her off, not meaning to.
“Your mom?”
There’s no way Whitney would have told her without me. No. I mentally shake my head. She wouldn’t.
“Uh-huh.” But that thought is contradicted by my daughter’s words.
“Wait a minute,” I pause, looking down at her. “Whitney. Your mother knows that you know I’m your father?”
“Yes, but”—She starts shaking her head, vigorously—“I wasn’t supposed to say anything. I’m sorry. I just never know what to call you and . . .” Her words start to get rushed as my blood pressure starts to rise. “I don’t know. I just-I just . . .”
“Everly.” I grab her gently by the shoulders, doing everything possible to reign in my anger so that she doesn’t see it. “Slow down. It’s fine.” It’s not, but she doesn’t need to know that. “You are not in trouble whatsoever. Okay?” She just looks at me. “Okay?” I say again.
“Okay,” she says, but it’s soft, and we’re back to that shy voice of hers. Her eyes start to fall from mine, so with the tips of my fingers, I gently raise her chin.
“Sweetheart, you can call me Dad, or you can call me Shane. Whatever you want to call me is perfectly fine with me. But you are not in trouble. It’s fine that you know. I wanted you to know.”
Her head bobs.
Surely, she has questions.
“Is there anything you want to ask me?” She just shakes her head. “You know this means Emersyn’s dad isn’t yours. He was never your father. You know this?”
“Momma explained it a couple of weeks ago.”
“A couple of weeks ago?” I burst out, unable to contain the rise in my voice and scaring her at the same time. Her body jumps. “Crap. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Are you mad at Momma? Please don’t yell at her. I don’t like it when he yells. He’s always yelling and being mean to her. I don’t want to go back there. Please don’t make us go back to my old home.”
Without thought, I reach out and pull her onto my lap, into an embrace. It’s the first time I’ve hugged my daughter or touched her this much. It feels good. It feels right. She’s mine, and I’ve wanted this moment for too long now. It’s been less than a month since I’ve known her, but right now, right here, it feels like I’ve had her in my life longer.
“Everly, you aren’t going to understand this, but I’m going to say it anyway. I love your mother more than I’ll ever be able to put in words. I’ve loved her for a long time. And even if I am mad or upset at her, which you should not even worry about, does not mean I stopped loving her. I
t doesn’t mean I want her or you or Emersyn to leave. Because trust me, if there is one thing I can assure you of, it’s that your mother, nor you, nor your sister are going anywhere. Ev, I don’t know how to make you understand, but you guys, all three of you, are my family now, tomorrow, and forever. No one is going anywhere. But I do need you to go into the house and upstairs, brush your teeth and get ready for bed. Don’t worry about showering. You can take a bath in the morning. It’s late, and I’m probably throwing a lot at you. I’m going to stop now,” I breathe, holding her tight for a second longer. Finally, I let up on my hold, and then I help her off my lap. “We can talk tomorrow if you don’t understand something or you need anything. Okay?”
She nods, smiling and tucking a stray hair behind her ear at the same time. “So I . . .” She bites her lip and looks away, toward the house.
“What?” I prompt, getting her to turn back toward me.
“I can call you Daddy?”
Fuck me if my heart doesn’t stop.
“Of course you can.” I grab her wrist, pulling her into another hug. “There’s nothing in the world that would make me happier.”
She steps back, yawning and covering her mouth with her elbow. “Night, Daddy.”
Before my mind has time to process a response back, she turns and takes off running toward the door.
Once Everly is through the door, I sit here for at least five minutes. One, I need time for my brain to catch up to everything running a mile a minute. Two, because I need a chance to calm down, because there is a certain women inside the house I want to strangle.
How the fuck could she keep this from me? And why? I let out a long breath. It’s going to take everything in me not to beat that woman’s ass. Not literally, but she is about to hear a lashing from me that’ll feel like one.
I push off the chair, coming to a stand, and then I march my way inside to find out why the hell she hasn’t told me before now.
I can’t fathom any excuse or reason why she’d keep that to herself and ask our daughter to do the same. Guess there’s only one way to find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Whitney Lane
With all the excitement these past few days, I have haven’t had a quiet moment to myself until now.
Shane’s family is amazing. I’ve always thought his parents were the best. I even envied him at times when I didn’t understand why mine couldn’t be more like his. Pam and Bill both have demanding careers, yet they’ve always found the time—wanted the time—to spend with their kids. They still do. I’ve seen that since we’ve been here. But it can also be overwhelming, especially since I’m not used to it.
Holidays spent with Blake’s family, or mine consisted of an hour, two at the most, in their company. Never days. But even if all of this is a lot to handle at once, I’d still take it over one more day spent in the company of people that set out to sabotage my whole world.
And the thing is, I don’t know why. It doesn’t make sense, but then again maybe shitty people are just that—shitty people. And for no reason at all.
If I could just wrap my mind around the why of it all.
Blake knew back in high school I didn’t like him like that. I made it blatantly obvious.
No one is in the kitchen as I come down the stairs after tucking Emersyn in the bed. I left, coming down here once Everly started brushing her teeth. If I don’t make sure that girl puts a toothbrush, with toothpaste, into her mouth, chances are high she won’t clean her teeth.
I plugged my cell phone into a charger yesterday morning and hadn’t checked it since. I have to say, it’s been nice not dealing with Blake’s crap. We were supposed to appear in court early next week about the petition to dissolve my marriage, but Shane heard from Jacob yesterday. The hearing has been delayed by an extra week. I don’t know why but probably bullshit.
I just want this fake-ass marriage over. The sooner, the better.
Grabbing my cell phone, I pull the charging chord out from the bottom and let it fall to the granite countertop. Then I twist around, resting my back into the corner of the kitchen countertop.
Of course I have multiple text messages from my child’s father. That’s what I need to refer to him as from now on. He’s just Emersyn’s dad. God, I wish he weren’t, but there is nothing I can do about that.
I have a couple of missed calls and one voice message. One of the missed calls is from my mother, but she didn’t leave a message. I’m surprised she even called.
I hit the play button on the voice message, then bring the phone up to my ear to listen.
“Hi, Mrs. Lane, this is Betty at Dyer Drugs. I called because we don’t have a prescription on file for you. If you could have your doctor’s office call us or have someone submit one to us electronically, we’ll get it filled right away.”
What the hell?
That’s impossible. I’ve always gotten my prescriptions filled there for as long as I can remember. And I know they have to have it. The last time I saw my Gynecologist she gave me a paper prescription because they were still behind in electronic submission technology. Blake dropped it off for me. And then he would pick them up for me each month. Right?
I pull the phone away from my ear as I rack my brain, thinking back. I can’t be wrong. There’s no way he got them from another drug store. I remember the prescription bag. The store logo was stamped on the bottom.
It has to be some mistake. Maybe she pulled up the wrong person. I’ll have to call tomorrow and get it sorted out.
“Hey, have you seen Shane?”
I pause, looking up. Shawn is standing on the other side of the island with his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the heels and balls of his feet.
“I think he’s still out back.” I tip my head toward the sliding glass door that leads to the back patio. “Ev came in a few minutes ago to go to bed.”
He nods. “We’re about to cut out.” He looks down for a moment before his dark eyes rise meeting mine again. “I’m glad you got your memory back.”
“Thanks.” Other than Pam, no one’s made a big deal of it. And for that I’m grateful. “Where’s Taralynn? I want to tell her bye before y’all leave.”
“Across the street getting Mason.”
That’s right. Kylie and Mason’s parents still live directly across from Pam and Bill. I didn’t go over there. Kylie didn’t come home, and I was never close to her mom like I was Shane’s.
I put my cell on the counter, not bothering with the text messages I don’t even want to read—like ever—to hop onto the countertop.
“Y’all are going to Georgia, tonight? This late?” I’ve never been to their parents’ vacation home. My parents never let me go, but I remember it, and I remember both Shane and his brother loved riding ATV’s when they were kids. Apparently, that hasn’t changed.
“Yeah,” is all he tells me, or maybe that’s all he gets a chance to say.
I jump at the sound of the door shutting with force.
“Everly knows?”
I look away from Shawn as Shane’s words register. His voice doesn’t match the fire blazing in his eyes.
A tickle starts to creep up my back. He’s pissed. “She fucking knew.” His words are slow and measured the same way he’s stalking toward me now. And he’s not asking. He already knows our daughter knows the truth. “And you didn’t bother to tell me?” He’s not just mad. He’s hurt. His eyes are rimmed in red, and his face is flushed.
Taking a few steps, he inches closer to me.
“Everly knows what?” His brother asks, but I don’t dare say a word.
Instinct is urging me to move back, but I have nowhere to move to. There’s a cabinet door directly behind my head.
I’ve fucked up.
Big time.
Everly has known Shane is her real dad since the day after I left Blake. She overheard the end of my conversation with him. What was I supposed to tell her? The truth was always going to come out eventually.
<
br /> Shane is right, though. I never bothered to tell him she knew. In fact, I’ve lead him to believe she still thought Blake was her father.
At the time, I didn’t know how to deal with everything being thrown at me, so I asked her to keep it between the two of us. It was a mistake. I should never have done it, and I’ve had plenty of time to come clean since then, but I’ve chosen not to.
“Dude,” Shawn exasperates. “You gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on?”
We both are too locked on each other to pay Shawn the least bit of attention. No way I’m breaking eye contact first.
When he steps in front of me, he doesn’t stop. He pushes through my legs, getting an inch away from my face.
“How could you keep that from me?” I feel his hands wrap around the bottom material of my shirt, fisting it and using the fabric to pull me forward. “Say something,” he barks.
Shane has never been one to get angry quickly. Even with everything that was stolen from us he hasn’t shown any of the resentment I know he’s harboring. So this, what I’ve done to him, I know I’ve hurt him like no one else has the power to do. And I feel like dog shit—as I should.
The problem is, I’m at a loss for words. There isn’t one thing I can say to make what I’ve done justified.
“Whitney, so help me fucking God. Do not sit there—”
He is yanked backward, away from me, making me lose eye contact with him. Shawn has one hand wrapped around his bicep and another around his throat, holding Shane to his front.
“Calm down,” Shawn commands, his voice sounds like a threat.
“What on earth?” Taralynn’s voice has a panic to it, but I can’t take my eyes off Shane.
“Get off me,” he demands but doesn’t stop looking at me—maybe through me. Fuck, those eyes. “Shawn, let me go.”
“Not until you cool down, Bro.”
“Take your hands off my throat or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Shawn interrupts, making me wish he’d shut his damn mouth.
More Than Memories: A Second Chance Standalone Romance Page 22