“What you wanna bet this has to do with you?” Shawn flashes his ringing cell phone at me. Chance’s name is displaying on the screen. His finger swipes across the screen. “Hello.”

Chance’s voice sounds further away as it comes through the phone’s speaker, and it has me wondering if he’s calling while driving his motorcycle. He does it often. I’ve told him countless times to stop doing that. He does it often, even after Trent’s death. It only pisses me off more when he calls me while riding his motorcycle. He can argue all he wants that there’s nothing wrong about it or unsafe, but he’s wrong.

“You talked to your brother tonight?”

“Yeah,” Shawn drawls out.

“What the fuck’s going on then?” The wind against his machine makes it sound like he’s in a tunnel. “It’s true? Whitney’s with him?”

Whit whips her head toward me with her eyebrows drawn tight as she listens to the call.

“I guess you could say that.”

“You guess or you know, motherfucker?” I shake my head. “Because Kylie is blowing up Eve’s phone. Eve’s blowing up mine, talking about flying to Mississippi. That dickhead won’t answer anybody’s calls, and I had to cancel on one of my regulars to come home to calm Eve down. So give me some straight fucking answers.”

“She’s here. He’s here too. But Shane’s dealing with some major fucking shit right now. They both are. Maybe y’all could give him some breathing room, yeah?”

“Maybe the motherfucker could answer a goddamn phone.”

“You don’t know what he’s dealing with. Give him some room. He’ll call you guys when he’s ready.”

“Fuck that. This isn’t just somebody we went to high school with that didn’t mean shit. This is Whitney, man. She was one of Eve’s best friends. One of mine too,” he barks. “Maybe you were too young to remember—” Shawn’s quick to cut him off. His face turns heated.

“He’s my goddamn brother. And yeah I fucking remember too. I was there when my mom told him she was dead, fuckface.” Whitney gasps, pulling in air through her mouth. And I’ve had all I can take. I reach, snatching the phone from Shawn’s ear, earning a glare from him that clearly tells me he wanted to give Chance more of a piece of his mind.

I take the call off speaker, shoving the chair back as I stand.

“I’m here, and you’re a fucking ass, you know that?” I lay into him. “And stop talking on your phone while you’re riding your motorcycle.”

“It’s coming through my helmet, douchebag.”

“I don’t care. We’re done until you stop riding.” I hang up, ending the call before he can say another word. “I gotta call Kylie before she loses it. And Eve, too apparently. Can you fill her in on who that was?” My brother nods. I glance at Whitney before I leave the kitchen. “I’ll be out on the back patio if you need me.”

“Okay.”

Once I’m out the door, I call Kylie’s number. I don’t feel like talking to anyone, but she deserves answers. The little I have anyway.

“Shawn?” she answers.

“Nah, it’s me.”

She’s silent, and it helps me to get my thoughts straight. I take a seat on the small outdoor couch that’s pushed up against the house, and I lean my head back, resting it against the brick.

“She’s here,” I start with. “But she still doesn’t remember any of us.” I pause, remembering what Whitney said during the car ride. “Well, she may be remembering you. She said she pictured pom-poms after I got off the phone with you earlier.”

She’s still quiet.

“But, uh.” My voice cracks. “Ky.” I choke up then I hear the air Kylie blows out of her mouth from the other end of the line. “There’s something else.”

How do I tell my best friend I have a daughter I never knew about? I’m not sure I’ve fully comprehended it myself.

“What is it?” she asks me, frustration evident in her voice. When I don’t say anything, she speaks again, “Just tell me, Shane.”

“She has a daughter.”

“I know that. You told me that months ago. I’m so sorry, Shaney.”

“No, Ky. She has another daughter. A nine-year-old—I’m guessing.” There’s silence once again as she takes in my words. There’s no way for me to brace her, so I just say it. “A nine-year-old with my eyes”—she gasps—“the same color hair as mine.” I blow out air. “The same everything. She’s my daughter, Kylie.”

“Oh, Shane. I-I don’t even know what to say to that,” she sniffs. “I’m coming home. I don’t care about my job. This is so much—”

“No.” I’m more forceful with my tone than I should be. “You can’t. But I get it, so why don’t you fly up on the two days you have off next week.”

“I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

“I’m not letting her go anywhere. I’m not letting them go anywhere. She’ll be here when you get here.”

The phone beeps with an incoming call. Taking it away from my ear, I look to see who it is. Chance Manning.

“What do you need right now?” I can hear Kylie’s sweet voice even with the cell phone in front of my face. I put it back against my ear. “I gotta do something.”

“Will you call our bastard friends in Vegas and fill them in?” She half laughs but it quickly dies.

“Sure. I can do that. But I can’t promise Eve won’t call you. You know, Eve.”

“Yeah, I do. Chance already called Shawn’s cell. That’s why I’m on it, but I didn’t tell him much. He was . . .” I leave that hanging, knowing she’ll pick up on it. Trent’s death is still too heavy for the both of us. “And I wanted to tell you first.”

“Thanks. I’ll deal with them. And I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Thank you.”

I drop the phone, letting it land on the cushion next to me and I just stair up at the sky. What did I do to deserve not only Whitney to be taken from me but my daughter too?

* * *

When I finished my conversation with Kylie an hour ago, Whitney wasn’t where I’d left her and my brother. Taralynn told me she had gone upstairs to check on the girls. I didn’t want to talk anymore. I needed a minute of reprieve. So, against Shawn and Taralynn’s wishes, I headed up the stairs and went to Matt’s room.

Apparently, he’s in California until next week. I think I remember Taralynn mentioning his parents moved back there when he left for college. He and Taralynn became friends in junior high when his parents uprooted him and moved to Tupelo. I’ve noticed the two of them haven’t been close in the last year and I’m not sure why.

Movement brings me from my thoughts. My head rolls down from where it was resting against the headboard.

Love. She’s standing in the doorway I purposely left open hoping she would see me in here.

“Everly is finally asleep.” She crosses her arms, then leans against the doorframe. “That’s where I went when you walked outside to talk to your friend.”

“You know she’s mine, right? Like, you don’t just think there’s a chance. You see it, don’t you?” I sit up. My right leg falls off the edge of the bed, but I don’t care. I leave it there. It helps anchor me.

“I’d say it’s . . . clear.” She pushes off the door, walking inside. She stops in front of the dresser and looks around, taking in the room until her violet eyes land on me. She braces her hands, cupping the edge of the dresser then leans against it. “Can we . . .” She bites the side of her bottom lip. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah.” I glance down at my hands lying between my legs. Glancing back up I say, “I’d liked that.”

“Can we start with the past?” Her eyebrows furrow. “I’m really trying to wrap my head around you being my daughter’s father and not . . . Blake.”

I grunt, shaking my head.

“I’m trying to wrap my mind around you being married to that dirtbag. You couldn’t stand him,” I force out.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Let’s start there, all right? Please,” she stresses, pushing off the dark wood of the dresser. She comes closer. “May I sit?” She points to the corner of the bed furthest from me.

“Of course.” I take a deep breath, relaxing a little as she gets closer to me—closer to where she belongs. “And yeah, we can start with that, but, Whit,” I pause, staring at her. “She’s mine. I’m not losing another day with her.”

She just nods. And even though she doesn’t say she agrees with me, I can tell she feels the commitment behind my declaration.

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“Everything.” She sits on the bed, crossing her legs together, facing me. “Tell me about myself. The me I don’t know.”

I bang my head on the headboard as I lean back. I look directly at her, so there’s no way for her to misconstrue what I say. “She was mine. She was mine from the moment I laid eyes on her, and she was mine until she was taken away in an ambulance.”

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 what 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 . . .