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.

“Okay, what did you do now?” she sighs. My back is to her, but I know she has entered the kitchen. “Shane?” Her voice doing a one-eighty, becoming softer and surprised. “You didn’t tell me your brother was here.”

“Yeah well . . .” Shawn brings his coffee to his lips as his eyes meet mine.

“Hey Bud,” she greets Shane, and he gives her a small smile—a forced one.

“Boys. Taralynn, that smell alone is going to make this old man fat.” A man chuckles. Their dad. It must be.

“Mom. Dad.” Curiosity gets the better of me, so I twist in my chair to face them. “He called you for m—” Shane doesn’t get to finish what he was saying.

“Oh, my . . .” Her hand covers her mouth as I take her in first. It’s not just the short, dark hair cut into a bob that gets me. It’s not her sparkling eyes that begin to pool with tears while she stares back at me. It’s the look, the facial features, the . . . everything. My daughter could easily pass for her own daughter. They favor that much. “I can’t belie . . .” Her hands slowly slip away from her face. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Mom,” Shane calls out.

She doesn’t answer him or even acknowledge he’s in the room. She just keeps looking at me.

“Oh, Angel.” A tear falls down her cheek as she takes a step forward. “I’ve missed you so much.” She clasps her hand around my bicep, pulling me gently up and out of the chair and into an embrace, wrapping her arms all the way around me. She squeezes tightly.

Angel. Why does that give me butterflies? She called me Angel. But from what I took away from Shane last night in the car it sounded as though I was a tough teenager to handle—certainly not an angel.

“Here, Pam. I made it just the way you like it.” Taralynn tips her lips up, looking at me like she knows I need rescuing. Pam lets go, reluctantly, then takes the steaming cup from Taralynn. “Strong and more strong.”

“Thanks, Honey,” Pam says to her retreating back as Taralynn walks back over to the stove. She takes a small sip, slurping the liquid into her mouth. But she keeps looking at me. I have to take a step away, walking backward.

It’s on the second step that a hand touches my hip, covering the long T-shirt and yoga pants Taralynn let me borrow. I know it’s Shane even before I look over my shoulder. At first, it feels like heat coating me from the outer side, but it’s the shaking of his palm that makes the warmth retreat. He quickly removes it.

I was about to back into him. I know that’s the reason he reached out to me.

He swallows hard, then looks around me. I slide over so he can see his parents better.

“Mom,” Shane calls her again. “Dad, you too.” He presses his teeth to the corner of his bottom lip. “Can I talk to you both? Out back?”

“Of course, Bud.” His mom bobs her head.

“Momma.” Everly’s shy voice drowns out everything around me.

“Momma.” Another voice—Emersyn—copies her sister, making me chuckle. She’s been doing it for over a month now.

Twisting around, Everly is standing at the entrance of the kitchen. Her sister is wrapped around her leg, hiding behind her. Em isn’t shy, but she always clings to her sister every chance she gets and luckily it doesn’t seem to bother Everly. I think she likes it.

“Your sister wake you up?” I ask Ev.

She starts to nod, but it’s the intake of breath that makes my insides drop. Not again.

Looking over, I see Shane’s mom bringing her hand up to cover her mouth as her eyes grow large. As if to keep from speaking—or maybe screaming—she slides the side of one finger between her teeth and bites down.

She sees it. Of course she does. She sees the resemblance to her son—to herself.

“Mom.” Shane tries to get her attention. When she doesn’t acknowledge him, he stands, takes two steps in her direction, and places a hand on her shoulder. “Whit will introduce you to the girls later. Let’s go talk, okay?” He turns her gently, then moves his hand from her shoulder, down to her elbow, then guides her to the back door.

His dad follows. But as he does so, he glances between my daughter and me with the saddest look on his face. That sadness quickly turns to anger. Can I blame him? It’s then I notice the resemblance to Shawn. Shawn looks like a younger version of his father. He favors his dad as much as Shane favors his mom in looks. Shane alluded to Shawn’s quick temper earlier. I wonder if his dad is the same?

I see the damage that’s been done to them as clear as a blue sky. The damage done to you I hear somewhere in the back of my mind. But I push it farther back.

Not now. Not yet.

Keep it together, Whitney.