More Than Memories: A Second Chance Standalone Romance

by N. E. Henderson

  She’s silent for at least two minutes, but her eyes never leave mine. She doesn’t cower. She doesn’t scare. My Whitney is in there somewhere, and I’m determined to do whatever it takes to find her.

  I decide to hammer my point home. “You were mine.” I run my palms up and down my jeans. The itch intensifies.

  She must notice because she asks, “What’s the matter?” Her head dips, and her eyes follow my movement.

  “It’s taking everything in me right now not to grab you, not to kiss you, hug you. Not to . . .” I slam my eyes shut. If I don’t, I may just grab her and toss her down on the bed anyway—to hell with the consequences. The need to be inside her is excruciating.

  Opening my lids, I finally continue. “I know this isn’t easy for you either. I do. But, Love . . . for me, you were and have always been the love of my life.” I lay my truth on her. I lay it down thick. “And you’re here. But you’re not. You don’t remember. I remember everything. And not touching you makes my skin itch. It’s making my chest burn. You’re so close but so far away, and then on top of it all, I have a daughter. God, if I thought you being stolen was Hell.” I breathe. “I could’ve had a family for how long now? She’s nine, isn’t she?”

  Whitney bobs her head.

  “She’ll be ten on December second.”

  “December?” That can’t be right. “I did the math. She should have been born in January.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “We only forgot to use a condom once,” I inform her.

  “She was born five weeks early.” My chest seizes. “She’s okay, though. She’s always been on the smaller side. Don’t call her tiny though. She hates that.”

  “Was there something wrong that made you go into labor early?”

  “Me. Or so Blake loves to remind me.” She sounds bitter. “I was stressed the whole time. More so in my last trimester.”

  “You lost your memory, of course you were stressed.”

  “Yeah, I know, but that wasn’t . . .”

  “It wasn’t what?”

  “My parents planned my wedding, and I felt like they were forcing it on me.” Her eyes cut away from me as if she’s thinking. “I guess they were.” Her brows pinch together, then she looks back at me. Anger burns in her beautiful eyes. “They did this. They did it all. Why? You said something about them finally getting the daughter they always wanted or something like that. What did you mean?”

  “You weren’t obedient. Well, not with them. Not with your mother. Judy wanted you to act a certain way. She wanted you proper.” I let out a dry laugh. “You were far from proper. You did you. You did whatever it was that you wanted to do. Other people’s opinions didn’t matter to you. You didn’t follow anyone else’s way or path. You went your way.”

  “What about your way? Did I follow your way?”

  “No.” I’m honest. “You followed you. I’m not saying you were bad because you weren’t. You didn’t get into much trouble, not anything substantial. But you weren’t foreign to a fight or two if someone pissed you off or you didn’t like something someone did.” This time I chuckle, remembering something she did. “Our junior year of high school there was a girl that thought she could come between Trent and Kylie. It was before our last class of the day. Everyone was in the halls changing classes. The girl—Renee I think—walked up to Trent when we were standing by some lockers talking. You and Kylie were probably coming to find us. This chick just walked right up to Trent, planting her lips on his, and I swear he went ghost white and became a statue. He didn’t push her away, but not because he liked it. The poor bastard couldn’t move he was in so much shock. You, though, you walked up right behind her, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back. Then you slammed her face into a locker. You got in-school suspension for three days.”

  “Huh.” She blows air out of her mouth.

  “What?” Does she remember something?

  “My parents said I was home schooled.” For the love of God. These people are something. Something despicable. Fucking evil is what they are.

  “You weren’t. We went to the same school since the beginning.” She was mine longer than she’s ever known. She was mine from the start. I’ve just never told her that until a few minutes ago. The old Whitney thought I didn’t notice her until junior high. That is the farthest thing from the truth.

  “So, I was so out of control that my parents decided to invent someone else? That’s what you’re telling me?”

  “No.” I spit, getting frustrated. “Not even close. You weren’t out of control. Your parents have always had a skewed view of a person’s worth. They only deem someone worthy of their time if that person can benefit them somehow.”

  “You seem like a nice enough person. Why didn’t they want us together?”

  “They didn’t know me. They knew who my parents were, but uh . . .” I watch her, not sure I should tell her this. I’m not certain it’s the reason they never cared to meet me, accept me in Whitney’s life, but I have a feeling it’s the very reason they didn’t like me. At least why her mother dislikes me.

  “What?”

  “Your mom had a thing for my dad at one time. They even went on a couple of dates, years ago. I never knew that until . . . until after the wreck. It was maybe in college, I think, but they didn’t hit it off—at least not for my dad. Then he met my mom about the same time. I remember now; it was during grad school.” I draw in a breath, needing a moment. Needing the knot in my chest to go away. “I guess your mom didn’t take that too well. She wanted him, and my mother didn’t come from money. Judy didn’t understand why he could pick my mom over her.”

  “So everything they did to me, to us, you’re telling me is because my mother got dumped?”

  She’s finding it hard to believe I’m sure.

  “Maybe.” I run my hand through my hair. “I don’t know, Love. It’s the only reason I can come up with.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that I have to go home.” She holds her hand up. “There are things I need. Things my girls need. Hell, Ev has school on Monday. I need to figure out what I’m going to do.”

  “You’re not.” I feel like I’m preaching to a brick wall. “Anything you need, I’ll get it. Anything they need, you tell me what it is, and I’ll get it. Just don’t go back. Please, Whitney. I can’t take it.” My fingers wrap around my knees, digging into my skin through my jeans. “Don’t leave me, again.”

  “You damaged the sheetrock in my ceiling yet?”

  The ball falls back into my hands as my eyes flick to Matt’s bedroom door. Since he’s out of town, I decided to crash in his room since it’s on the second floor and closer to where Whitney and the girls are sleeping. Only sleep hasn’t reached me.

  I pull air into my lung, then push it out on a hard sigh.

  “Gavin called your cell.” Shawn walks into the room. “You left it in the kitchen, and I answered it. He said to take a personal day.” He props up against the dresser, crossing his heavy boots one over the other.

  Work is the last thing on my mind. And there is no point. I’d be useless.

  “Okay.” I manage to go back to throwing the mini-sized basketball toward the ceiling, waiting until it falls back into my hands before doing it all over again, like I have for the last half-hour.

  “She in my old room?”

  “Whitney?” I ask for clarification. He nods. “Yeah. She went in there with them about two hours ago.”

  We’re both quiet for a minute, but I see Shawn through my peripheral. His head is hanging, and his forehead is creased.

  “I wish I’d taken more than one swing.”

  “You and me both.” I catch the ball, but instead of continuing to toss it up, I place it on the bed, then scoot up into a sitting position against the headboard. “I’m surprised he didn’t press charges, but . . . then again maybe he didn’t know who you were.”

  “I don’t give a fuck. Let him,” Shawn spits. “That motherfucker took wha
t wasn’t his. The question is, what’re you gonna do?”

  That’s the question sitting in the pit of my stomach. What am I going to do . . .?

  I swing my legs off the bed, sitting on the edge before I answer him. “I don’t know.” I shake my head, then stand, running my hand through my hair. “I don’t know what to think. Or do. So much is running through my head, and I’m getting nowhere. I just . . .”

  “He needs to pay. Her parents need to pay for what they’ve done too.” He’s pissed. When Shawn’s angry, it shows loud and clear. It’s unmistakable. “You have a fucking kid, man.”

  “Keep your voice down,” I scold, gaining a huff of frustration from my brother.

  “Why aren’t you mad? I’d flip the fuck out.” He pushes off the dresser only to turn, facing it. I see him close his eyes through the mirror. “Fuck, I’m mad for you. I want to rip him apart.”

  “You think I’m not mad?” Mad isn’t the right word for what I am. I’m numb, and that’s so much worse. I don’t know what to do or what not to do. Logically, I know I’m still in shock.

  “You’re too calm. I don’t get it.” He starts to pace.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask. “Should I go find him? Beat his ass?”

  “Yes,” he bellows. I shake my head.

  “I’m not saying I don’t want to do that, Shawn. But it wouldn’t help. It’s not going to get the time back that I’ve lost with both of them.” I head toward the door. My hands are itching, but I don’t tell my brother that. I do want to hurt Blake Lane. I want to hurt him like he’s hurt me. Like her parents have hurt us all. “I’m going to shower.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s all I’ve got right now, Shawn. I’m exhausted, but sleep is futile at this point.” I pull the door open but stop to look back at my brother. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Or what to do.”

  “Mom would know,” he jabs.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t already called her.”

  “Not my shit to tell our parents.” He steps closer, heading out of the bedroom the same as I am. There’s a hall bath on the second floor I plan on using. Since it’s next to Matt’s bedroom, my feet don’t have far to walk.

  Walking is an effort.

  Thinking is an effort.

  “Do me a favor,” I tell him. “In the back of my truck is a gym bag with a set of scrubs. Get ’em for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey, Shawn?” He stops before descending the stairs. “They’re gonna find out eventually.” We stare at each other until he nods, answering my plea, then his feet hit hard going down the stairs.

  I close myself inside the small bathroom, planting my palms on the edge of the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. A fire kindles somewhere inside me.

  I am mad. Angry. Hurt. But it’s myself I’m furious with the most. If I’d tried harder, kept trying to get to Whitney, would we . . .

  CHAPTER TEN

  Whitney Lane

  Sleep.

  That’s a joke.

  Like I could actually shut my eyes and drift off into a peaceful slumber after learning everything I did last night. In reality, it was only a few hours ago.

  I roll over onto my side, away from the girls. There’s a small bedside clock sitting on the nightstand that tells me it’s a quarter to seven in the morning. Even though it’s Saturday, I’d normally have been awake over an hour ago. I enjoy the alone time before the girls get going. On the weekend, it’s non-stop with two.

  Another ten minutes go by, and I can’t lie here any longer. The constant thinking will not stop. My mind is on repeat, replaying the scene at that doctor’s house, the revelation outside my parents, and my conversation with Shane a few hours ago.

  None of it will stop.

  I just need a few minutes . . .

  Getting gently off the bed so I don’t wake Everly or Em, I decide to go to the bathroom I remember seeing next to the room Shane’s sleeping in.

  I wonder if he got to sleep.

  The look on his face has been haunting me since I left that room. Don’t leave me, again.

  It wasn’t my choice to leave to begin with. Why can’t I remember? Why is God keeping my memories from me? Was I so awful before that I deserved this? Shane says I wasn’t, but then he was in love with that version of me—maybe still is.

  The way he looks at me. It’s so nerve racking yet, it calls to me. How does that make any sense?

  I turn the knob on the bedroom door slowly. I’m not worried about Emersyn. That girl could sleep through anything. But Everly is a light sleeper. She always has been.

  Slipping out, I pad my bare feet down the hall. The lights are on, shining brightly through the crack at the bottom of the door, telling me someone’s in there. My money is on Shane, seeing how I would imagine his brother and Taralynn have a master bath connected to their bedroom.

  I lean against the wall across from the hall bath. As I wait, I look around me. The walls are a creamy, warm beige color with white trim. There are a few decorative, wall art pieces hanging up. None of them match, but it’s the cross that my eyes linger on. There is something about crosses that I’ve always admired. I go to church every Sunday with my family, but I’ve never felt close to God there. Yet when I see a cross, I feel settled inside. It’s really the only time I do. Being in a church with Blake makes my skin itch. I think he only goes for show.

  “Whit?”

  I’m so lost in thought I didn’t notice the door had opened. When I look over Shane is coming out. The light has already been shut off, and he’s dressed in scrubs. That makes me wonder . . .

  “Are you a doctor?” Gavin’s a doctor, and Shane was at his party. Maybe they work together. Then again, maybe I’m being presumptuous. Nurses wear scrubs too along with others in the medical field.

  “Yeah,” he confirms. “I work at the children’s hospital in Memphis. I’m in my last year of residency.”

  He works with kids. Why does that make my body hum?

  I can see it though. I know I don’t remember him, but there is something gentle and caring that pours off of him.

  “You need in here?”

  “Yeah.” I nod.

  “It’s all yours. I’m gonna head downstairs. I need to throw this in the laundry.” He holds up his wet towel and the clothes he was wearing last night. “Taralynn will have a meltdown if I leave them on the floor in there.”

  “Okay.”

  I watch him pass me. I even watch him disappear down the stairs.

  He’s so . . . different than Blake—polar opposite, actually. Blake looks at me as if he owns me—and not in a good way. As if I’m property. I hate it if I’m honest with myself. But there’s always been Everly, and then Emersyn came. She wasn’t planned, but I love her so much. Both of my girls are my whole world.

  Now there’s Shane, and he looks at me as if I’m treasure. It’s weird. It’s exhilarating. But I’m not treasure. I’m just me. But do I really know myself?

  By the time I’m finished using the bathroom and washing my face, I smell goodness when I exit. Bacon to be exact. I descend the stairs. As I’m walking the short distance from the foyer and down the hall that leads into the kitchen, I hear voices. They’re familiar to me now. Shane’s brother is talking. His voice booms, but I don’t get the feeling it’s raised. I think this is his normal tone.

  “How are you so fucking calm?”

  I stop just before I enter. Shane’s sitting at the round kitchen table with his elbows resting on top. Shawn’s opposite of him, leaned back in his chair.

  “I’m not,” he answers, and I wonder why Shawn can’t see it. It’s in the way Shane’s jaw ticks. How his skin is flushed along the column of his neck and how his leg is dancing up and down underneath the table. He doesn’t elude calm—not to me. He’s boiling beneath his skin. Why can’t his brother see it? A better question is why do I recognize it so easily?

  “Then why aren’t you doing something?” He
leans forward. “Anything at all, man.”

  “I’m not you, Shawn. I don’t get pissed and start throwing punches before I know what’s going on.” Shane’s voice is soft. Maybe that’s why his brother thinks the way he does.

  Shawn’s dark eyes cut to me, then Shane turns, seeing me too. Sadness overtakes the fire I feel coming from him. Don’t leave me, again. My chest constricts. I want to tell him I won’t, but I can’t make that promise. Everything is so messed up. I don’t know which way is up or down. Right or wrong.

  “Y’all don’t have to stop talking because of me.” I move my feet toward him. Home. The word pops into my head catching me so off guard that I have to look away from him.

  “Mornin’,” Taralynn greets from the stove. “Hungry?”

  My stomach is in knots. I don’t think I could keep anything down at this moment—even if it smells divine.

  “Do you maybe have any coffee?”

  “Of course. Have a seat with the guys and I’ll bring you a cup.” She places a spatula down next to the stove. “How do you like it?”

  “Cream, no sugar.” I turn my head. It was Shane that answered her. “Is that still how you like it?”

  I nod. After a beat, I make my way over. Pulling the chair out, I sit down, joining them at the table.

  “I was just saying”—Shawn’s forehead crinkles—“he should be pissed about . . .” He raises his hand, palm open, gesturing toward me without finishing his sentence. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he was headed.

  I peek at Shane, who’s scowling at his brother. Turning my attention back to Shawn, I’m about to tell him Shane is mad—boiling mad even—but the sound of the front door opening followed by a woman’s voice stops me.

  “Shawn Douglas,” she calls out, and my insides instantly warm. Her voice calls to me. Not in the same way Shane’s does, but the warm sound of her voice comforts me. Does that mean I know her too? Or rather, the me that doesn’t remember knowing her?

  “In here, Mom,” Shawn calls out, shaking his head. I’m betting ‘Douglas’ is his middle name. Everly hates when I bring out the ‘Everly Michelle.’ The thought makes me want to laugh, but I don’t.