Shawn: Where you at?
Me: Her parents in Germantown.
Shawn: Anything you need?
Me: I don’t know, man.
Shawn: Holler if you do. We’re gonna head home soon.
They were already going to head back to Oxford tonight. That’s why we rode in separate vehicles.
When I hear what I think is Whitney’s name being yelled, I look out the passenger side window. Whitney is walking swiftly across the lawn in my direction. Jumping out of the truck, I round the back. In her arms, pulled to her chest, is a small toddler. Whitney has one arm wrapped around the back of the little girl’s body.
“Whitney, don’t do this,” a voice shouts, pulling my gaze toward the house.
Her mother stands in the doorway dressed in a long nightgown. I shouldn’t hate that woman, but I do, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to reign in how I feel toward her. She took my Love away from me.
“Momma,” a softer voice calls out, bringing my attention back to the two people getting closer to me. The voice belongs to a slightly older little girl. She wasn’t as small as I was expecting.
Taking a step toward them, I freeze, rooted to my spot. My eyes zero in on the young girl who is about the same height as Whitney, with the same slender frame that mimics her mother’s. She’s wearing dark pajamas—solid colored shorts with a loose top that has tiny white skulls covering the material of the black shirt and flip flops on her feet. Her long, dark hair almost matches the color of her bottoms. But it’s the eyes I can’t stop staring at. My eyes. Or the face that’s a carbon copy of my mother’s when she was ten. My grandmother has always loved pulling out old photo albums every time we visit. I’m often reminded how much I look like my mom.
Realization was instant.
Air expels from my lungs in a rush as I crash down on the concrete below, my knees hitting hard, but the pain not registering because the searing pain inside my chest is so excruciating I think I might pass out.
Someone asks if I’m okay, but I can’t speak to say anything.
“What’s wrong with him?” The girl in front of me turns her head sideways, asking her mother.
“Um . . . Shane?” Whitney calls out slowly. I can’t move. Words fail me. “What’s . . .” She trails. “Oh my . . . I-I . . . oh my Go . . .” I’m finally able to turn my face toward Whitney. She’s looking from the girl to me, her face volleying back and forth between the two of us until suddenly Whitney’s hand flies to her mouth.
She knows. She sees it too.
“Momma, what’s going on?”
“Everly, please,” Whitney calls out. Everly. All of my strength vanishes, and I fall forward, barely catching myself with my palms before my face planted on the ground. “Take your sister and get inside that vehicle over there.”
“Why?” The girl asks. “Who is he?”
“Ev, just do as I say. Okay?” Whitney sounds like she’s pleading with girl—Everly—our daughter.
A door on my Tahoe closes, telling me she did what her mother told her to do. A minute passes without words spoken before Whitney finally breaks the silence that feels like it’s going to crush my windpipe. “We were a whole lot more than just friends.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. One that’s truer than she understands. She may realize I’m the father of her oldest daughter—it’s obvious. How could she not? But she still doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t remember us.
“We were together almost five years,” I tell her. God, I wish she could remember.
“I don’t understand. How? Why?” She breathes. “What the hell is going on?”
“They lied to you,” I bark, my voice cracking. “They didn’t just steal you away from me.” The words are bitter on my tongue. “They stole my . . . They stole everything.”
“I can’t even . . .” She sighs heavily, shaking her head. “Look, I don’t mean to rush you. It’s just that Blake will be here any minute. We gotta go. I don’t want to deal with him yet.”
“I can’t drive,” I confess. But I probably shouldn’t stay here any longer either, or I’ll end up leaving in a car with blue lights.
“I’ll do it,” she rushes out. “Just get in. I’ll drive.”
I look up, then push my palms off the ground, sitting back onto my boots. I stare at her as I rub my hands on my pants to dust the dirt from the ground off them. Whitney looks more confused than broken like I am.
Finally, I stand up and walk aimlessly to the passenger side and get inside.
As I pull the seatbelt across my body, buckling, I can’t stop myself from looking to the backseat at the girl I now know as Everly. Foreverly after. I have a daughter. I’ve had a daughter for nearly a decade, and I had no idea. If I’d only . . .
“Where do I go?” Whitney breaks my thoughts.
Fuck if I know. Where do we go?
“Head back the way we came,” I finally instruct. “Head to Oxford.”
“Mississippi?” she questions, and I just nod. “Is that where you live?”
“No.”
“Then why are we going there?”
“Because I’m going to need my brother to keep me from murdering someone tonight.” A sharp, intake of air comes from the back, and I instantly regret my choice of words.
I’m going to have to be careful what I say from here on. I don’t want to scare her.
It’s silent for nearly fifteen minutes until Everly opens her mouth. I can’t help but twist my head around to look at her. She’s sitting behind the driver’s seat.
“Mom, where’s Dad?” That question is like a rope cording around my heart. I have to look away, so I turn back around, facing forward. Whitney glances over, but I remain quiet.
“Ev, sweetheart, um . . .” Whitney pauses. I guess she doesn’t know what to tell her. Even I realize she can’t spring the truth on her right now. Hell, I’m still trying to understand it myself—absorb it.
I have a good idea why, but still . . . Who does something like that?
“We’re going to hang out with my friend Shane here. Uh . . . he and I used to—” The sound of my cell phone ringing through the car speakers cuts her off.
Reaching for the phone, I have every intention of ignoring the call. I’m not in the right frame of mind to speak to anyone. The display shows Kylie’s name along with her smiling picture. I hit decline, sitting it back in the cup holder between Whitney and me.
“It’s not important,” I mumble. It’s about the only words I have the energy to say.
Ringing comes through the speakers again, and I do the same thing as before, declining the call.
Why do people call at the worst times?
Before I can set the phone back down, Kylie calls a third time.
Jesus fucking Christ. Not today.
“She’s obviously not going to stop until you answer it,” Whitney chimes in without taking her eyes off the road. I guess at some point she saw Kylie’s name, or maybe her face on the screen.
My thumb hovers over the screen briefly before I sigh, accepting the call.
“It’s not a good time.”
“Don’t you dare hang up,” she demands, her voice streaming through the car speakers. “You haven’t taken any of my calls in almost two freaking weeks.” She sounds hurt. I suppose she is, but she can’t expect me to be okay with her decision not to move. I’m pissed at her, and that’s not something I’m used to when it comes to Kylie Morgan. My anger with her deepens just thinking about it.
“Have you changed your mind?”
“No,” she fires back.
“Then I have nothing else to say to you until you do,” I spit right back. I’m done. If she can’t see logic, then there’s nothing left to say. I tried talking sense into her, but she doesn’t see it—or doesn’t want to.
A woman, the same age as Kylie, was murdered last month in the apartment directly across from hers. Kylie refuses to break her lease and move. “Kylie,” I say through clenched teeth. “I don’t need this right now.” I b
reathe hard, inhaling then forcing the air back out through my mouth.
“You!” she says loudly, but then goes silent for a moment. I already know what’s coming. I can already hear the whiny words fall out of her mouth before she even speaks. “Shaney,” she whispers in a voice begging me to stop being mad. She usually succeed’s, but not this time.
“Don’t call him that.” Whitney immediately reacts, shocking me. There’s a audible gasp on the other end of the line. Recognition was instant. “I-I don’t know where that came from. I’m so sorry. Please, ignore me,” she tells us, embarrassed.
“Wh-Whitney?”
Whit’s head whips to the side, looking at me in confusion. “How does she know who I am?”
Before I can answer, Kylie’s voice breaks in. “Oh my God! It really is you.” Whitney looks back to the road, but glances over again waiting for an answer. “Shane, what’s going on?”
“Ky, listen,” I start. “I can’t get into that right now. Yes. Whitney is with me, but there are also kids in the vehicle and I just can’t.” My anger dissipates, and I’m hoping like hell she understands. She is my best friend. I love her more than words can say, but I can’t deal with her shit plus my own right now.
“Okay.” She sighs but quickly follows up with, “When?”
I lean my head back against the headrest, taking in a deep breath of air. I look up at the roof of my Tahoe trying to come up with something to tell her, but I’m at a loss.
“I don’t know,” I confess. “I can’t think right now. I’ll call you later. That’s all I can give you.”
Silence ensues.
“Do I need to come home?” she asks. I shake my head. Why can’t she take a hint?
“You can’t, and you know it.” I let out a breath. She’s working in the surgical intensive care unit the entire month of November. “There’s just no way.”
“But—” I cut her off.
“Kylie, please. I can’t talk to you about this right now. I’ll call you when I can. Let that be enough for now.” Please, God let that be all.
“Okay. But I need you to call me back tonight, Shane.” I hear a whimper come out of her. “Promise me.”
Hell . . .
“I promise,” I tell her, conceding.
The line goes dead, and then there’s silence.
Five minutes go by as we merge onto I-55 heading south.
“Pom-poms,” Whitney whispers. It takes me a second to understand. “Is she Asian?”
“Half-Korean.” She’s remembering. “And she was a cheerleader in high school.”
“She’s one of the ones you mentioned earlier. You said she was one of our best friends, right?” She does a quick glance my way. Then peeks through the rearview mirror; I’m guessing at Everly. I can’t bring myself to look at her again. Not yet. I’m barely holding myself together, and I don’t know what to do.
“That’s correct. She was your best friend. The three of you, Eve included, were pretty tight.”
“But I was your—”
“Can we wait until we get to Shawn’s to talk about this?” I nod my head in the direction of the kids. I’m not worried about the little one. She’s too young to understand us, but Ever . . . I close my eyes, reaching for a reprieve that’s nowhere in sight.
Movement from the backseat makes me turn my head, opening my eyes before I realize what I’m doing. Everly has her hands wrapped around herself, rubbing her arms up and down.
“Are you cold?” I ask her.
When she nods, I lean forward, turning the A/C off, and the heat on. It was chilly when we picked them up.
“Crap,” Whitney blurts. “I’m sorry Ev. I didn’t think.” She rolls her head toward me. “Thank you.” I nod in response.
A truck passes us on the interstate, flying by at a higher rate of speed than what Whitney is driving. It’s my brother. His truck is unmistakable with the Wicked Ink logo covering most of his back glass.
I grab my cell phone, shooting Taralynn a text.
Me: Tell Shawn to slow down. Whit’s driving and I need her to follow him.
Taralynn: Done. You okay?
Me: No.
Taralynn: What’s going on?
Me: You’ll know when we get there.
Taralynn: Okay.
There is no doubt in my mind that Taralynn will instantly know Everly is my daughter just as my brother will. My mom’s been more of a mother to her than hers ever was.
I shake my head at the memory of Katherine. She was Trent’s biological mother but Taralynn’s stepmom. When Taralynn and Shawn were going through a rocky part of their relationship she learned that her father was having an affair with a woman that worked for him; a woman that I faintly remember from when I was younger.
Lynn, Taralynn’s biological mother was my mom’s best friend. Sadly, she committed suicide when Jacob, Taralynn’s father, wouldn’t leave Katherine to be with her. She carried Taralynn to term but then took her life the same day she gave birth. Fucking tragic.
I see brakes flash down the road as Shawn slows down.
“Follow the white F150 up there.”
“O-okay,” she stutters.
“It’s my brother. I sent his girlfriend a text telling her you were gonna follow them.”
“Gotcha.”
I look back at the dark-haired girl in the back. I recall something Whitney told me once. They’re the color of the sea with the moonlight shining down. In the darkness of the truck, her eyes do seem to glow. I wonder if that’s the way Whitney saw mine once upon a time? I wonder if she’ll ever see them that way, again?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Whitney Lane
His brother parked his pickup truck a few minutes ago in the driveway. Both he and his girlfriend went inside the older, two-story home afterward. More like after Taralynn drug Shawn from the front yard, where I’m guessing he was waiting for Shane to emerge from this vehicle.
We’re still sitting here, in silence, with Shane’s truck turned off.
Not knowing what else to do, I remove the keys from the ignition, then hold them out in the palm of my hand for Shane to take—which he does but without looking at me.
I want him to look at me. I want to know what he’s thinking. He looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown. There’s a crease in the center of his forehead, and he’s gripping his thighs like maybe that’s what is holding him together.
I was so focused on driving that I didn’t let any of the things I’ve discovered tonight sink in.
I’ve been lied to.
I’ve been deceived.
I’ve been . . . Fuck, what the hell has everyone in my life done to me? I don’t even know where to begin. Everly. I close my eyes to reign in my emotions. I’m not a crier, but suddenly that’s all I want to do. I can’t, though. I have to hold myself together for my girls; for Everly mostly because she’ll know something is wrong. If she doesn’t already.
Have my parents really lied to me? Would they do something that despicable?
Not now, I tell myself.
Glancing up, I look into the rearview mirror seeing my oldest daughter staring at me expectantly. Yet, I have no answers to give her. None that she would understand. But one thing is for sure: she isn’t Blake’s daughter.
Oh, hell. I have a daughter with a man that isn’t my husband. A man I don’t know, yet is capable of making my insides twist in ways Blake never has. Why is that?
I shut my eyes, pressing them together tightly. But the sound of a door opening has them popping back open. Looking over, I see Shane climbing out.
“Let’s go,” I tell Everly.
Hopping out, I round the back of the vehicle to the other side, grabbing Emersyn from her booster seat. Thank God, I had enough sense to leave it at my parents in case they had to go out.
Everly waits for me at the front of Shane’s truck, so when I reach her, we both walk toward the front of the house where Shane’s walking up a set of steps.
“Mom,” she wh
ispers.
“Not now, honey. We’ll talk later, okay?”
She doesn’t answer.
I kick myself for not getting her to change into warmer clothes, but I was in such a rush to get out of there before Blake arrived. I know he came to my parents’ house. I don’t need someone to confirm it. He’s probably livid right now, but I don’t care. There is so much more I need to find out before I broach the subject of my husband.
Husband. That word disgusts me now. If any of this is true, then I feel so . . . violated.
No. I can’t go down that road; not yet. Strength. I need to muster up everything I’ve got inside me and hold on to it for a little longer.
We enter the house without Shane knocking, but then maybe he has that type of relationship with his family—with his brother. The one where you can go over to someone else's house, and even if they aren’t expecting you, you just waltz right in. I don’t have that kind of relationship with my parents or even Blake’s folks. An invitation is always expected.
We enter into a small foyer with a staircase directly in front of the door. Shane waits for all of us to come inside before he closes the door. When our eyes meet, he gives me the saddest smile I think I’ve even seen. A knife stabs at my chest at the sight. I don’t like it, but can I blame him? After what he’s learned I’m honestly surprised he’s holding up as well as he is. When he crashed to the ground at my parents, it was all I could do not to drop down next to him. I don’t know him, yet there’s this pull inside me that does recognizes him. Then again, maybe it’s just wishful thinking.
Fucking memories.
Shane nods his head toward an entryway to the right of me. He heads through it after a beat, and we follow.
Emersyn lets out a small cry; I shush her the best I can. When I look down, I see she’s still asleep, so it must have been a baby dream. She does that often. She’ll cry out once but never wakes.
The entryway we go through leads into a large living room.
“Mom,” Everly whispers. I strain my head to look over my shoulder. “Why are we here?”
“I said we’d talk later, and we will. Just know everything is fine.” Great. Now I’m lying to my daughter. How on earth will I ever explain any of this to her when I don’t even understand it myself?
More Than Memories: A Second Chance Standalone Romance Page 6
