Finishing my shower, I turn the hot water off, pull the shower curtain open and then step out, grabbing a towel to dry off.

This isn’t the first time I’ve worked in the emergency department. I’ve rotated several times through the ER over the course of my residency. But it is the first time I’ve started to question my career choice.

Good days are great. When you’ve helped a child that’s injured or sick, there’s this feeling I don’t even know how to describe. It’s more than joy. It’s even part pride. It’s an amazing feeling.

But bad days wipe you out. They crush your soul and bring you to the edge of breaking down.

I lost a patient.

It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last time, but God, I wish it were.

It was a senseless accident that should never have happened. A guy was running from the cops, in a truck. He t-boned a school bus. There were eighteen students on board. Fifteen, including the driver, had serious injuries. Two of those were life threatening. The second kid was still in surgery when I left the hospital.

After dressing and hanging the wet towel on the rack behind the door, I scoop my dirty clothes up, taking them to my room.

When I’m coming back through the living room, Whitney is staring at her cell phone with the same look on her face she had two nights ago. Must mean another text from that dickhead. When I step back, looking at Whitney’s situation objectively—at least I think it’s objectively—how is he much better than a rapist? He took from her what she would never have given willingly if she didn’t have amnesia.

Her parents. How do I call them that? They didn’t do what was best for their daughter like they were supposed to do. They did what they wanted, and for whatever reason they did it, it wasn’t what was best for Whitney. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t her choice.

Someone needs to pay for what’s been done to her. It’s not about me. She was touched physically by a person she would not have allowed to touch her. It’s taken everything inside me not to do something about it. I want him to pay. I want them all to pay.

I’m not used to these violent feelings. I don’t know what to do with them.

Jacob told her to say the word, and he’d file a motion in civil court. So far, she hasn’t mentioned doing anything. And financial means won’t make up for the damages he has helped cause. But if it’s a choice in losing a good chunk of what he has in the bank, it might put Whitney in a position to bargain for sole custody of their child.

It’s her choice where this is taken. I get that she just wants it over, but until she does something, he’ll always be in her life. And in Emersyn’s life. He doesn’t deserve to be that little girl’s father.

At this point, I don’t want to know if she’s reading a message from him. So, instead of walking over to Whitney, I ruffle Emersyn’s blonde hair as I round the couch. Crouching down next to my daughter, I cock my head to see what she’s doing. Homework from the looks of it.

“I think we’re about to eat dinner.” She stops writing to look up at me. “But after you finish your homework and shower, if there’s enough time before bed, we’ll do a lesson on the guitar. You want to?”

“Yes!” She beams. “I’m almost done now.”

“Good deal.” I stand, scooping Emersyn into my arms. “Let’s go wash your dirty paws before we eat.”

“I not got paws, Shaney.” Her nose scrunches up as she shakes her head. “I not no cat.”

“I don’t know,” I tell her, walking down the hall. “Those green eyes look cat-like to me. You sure you aren’t part kitty?”

Placing her down onto the vanity next to the sink, I grab the hand soap.

“You think I’m part kitty?” I laugh, soaking it all up and letting some of the ache in my chest ebb away. I needed this.

“Hold your hands out.” I squirt foam into her palm. She rubs them together without being told to do so.

Leave it to a three-year-old to lift a weight from my shoulders.

“Thanks, Em.”

“For what?”

“For being you.” I place a light kiss on her forehead.

“For being a kitty?”

“No, sweet girl. Just for being you.”

Once she’s done, I pick her up, off the counter. “Let’s go eat.”

When I walk through, Whitney catches my attention. She’s picking up Everly’s homework from the table in front of the couch, placing it into a pink binder. It’s not what she’s doing that has me pausing.

She’s humming.

She’s humming the song I’m teaching our daughter on the guitar. She’s humming a song she wrote.

Another weight is lifted, and I pray this is progress toward her unlocking her memories.

* * *

When you have something you look forward coming home to, it’s amazing how fast a person can complete tasks that usually take all day.

That’s why I’m coming in the door to my apartment just after lunch the following day. Working the long hours I do, I haven’t gotten nearly as much time as I’d like with Whitney and the girls. I know Emersyn will never be my daughter biologically, but I’ve become attached to her in the three weeks they’ve been here the same way I’ve grown attached to Everly.

“Whit,” I call out. When I don’t get a response, I listen. Emersyn is probably down for her afternoon nap, and maybe Whitney is too.

I peek into the spare room but only see Em sprawled out across the bed, with her head at the foot, sleeping.

I ease the door closed, not wanting to wake her.

I didn’t check the kitchen; maybe Whitney is in there. Before I get back down the hall, the sound of soft music makes me pause by my bedroom door.

Maybe she decided to rest on my bed to give herself a break. She has Emersyn twenty-four seven, except last weekend when she was at Blake’s. Before that, she’s always had her. I didn’t think about it until now, but I should offer to keep them on one of my days off so she could get some alone time. As much as I want all of my free time with her and the kids, she deserves some time to herself.

I don’t knock. Not because I want to sneak in, but because if she’s sleeping, I don’t want to disturb her. But what I get, I don’t think I’m prepared for.

“Holy hell,” I whisper, not able to take my eyes off the bed. My bed. My bed with Whitney in it—naked. Naked with her hands between her legs and her eyes closed.

I need to close the door. I need to, but I can’t. I’m rooted to the ground with one hand cemented around the door knob and my other wrapped around the frame. I can’t move. And I certainly can’t stop watching the scene laid out in front of me.

My dick hardens. I don’t have to look down to know my hard-on is trying everything possible to break through the fabric of my scrubs.

“Goddamn.” The words fall from my lips as she pumps her middle finger in and out of her pussy.

She must have heard my voice because her eyes fly open. A moan, which sounds more like a curse, falls out of her mouth.

I swallow.

“Don’t stop, Love,” I tell her when her fingers slow and the other hand she was using to rub her clit falls to the mattress. Seconds go by without any moment at all. “Please,” I beg her to start moving her fingers between her legs again. To allow me to watch. Finally, her fingers slowly start pumping, picking up speed.

Her eyes stay locked on me as mine stay trained on her beautiful pussy. My pussy.

“Rub your clit,” I instruct, and she complies, running her other hand over her hip bone and down until she comes in contact with that sweet, sensitive spot. Her teeth clamp down on her lip, suppressing a moan.

Taking a step inside my bedroom, I close the door behind me without looking away. “Release your lip. I want to hear you.” I can’t stop myself. I take another step forward. And then another until I reach the foot.

“Mm.” Her moan is low and soft, but it strikes my ears, piercing them, making me feel her all the way down to my toes.

“That’s beautiful, Love. Pull your heels up to your thighs and open your legs wider.”

Another moan—this time louder slips through those red, full lips. Both of her hands are between her legs, causing her beautiful tits to push together and sit high on her chest.

“Fuck yourself harder.”

“I-I can’t.” She stutters as she tries to pick up speed but can’t keep the speed circling her clit.

“Move your hand from your clit, up to your breast, Love.” My knee meets the mattress as she moves her hand, running it up her torso until she palms her gorgeous tit, squeezing.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself under control. I’m quickly losing the battle, but I have to push on.

My hand comes down, meeting the soft material of the comforter. I fist my hand around the fabric, bending down as I do. When the intoxicating aroma of Whitney’s juices hits my nostrils, my tongue juts out, wetting my lips.

She still smells the same. Just the way I remember her. I could drown in her scent every day, and it wouldn’t be enough to sate me.

Some people’s vice is drugs or alcohol; mine was always Whitney. The sweetest, most powerful of anything in existence—and I want nothing more than to overdose on it right now.

But I won’t. Not yet anyway.

“I won’t touch,” I assure her, watching as goose bumps trail down her inner thigh from my breath fanning her leg. “I promise,” I swear to her, even though it’s taking all the strength inside me not to.

Lowering my head, I blow on her clit. “Oh, my fu . . .” A smile tugs the corner of my lips.

“Tou . . . touch me. Please, Shane.”

I lift my eyes to hers. “No. You’re almost there. You got this, Love.” Then my gaze drops to the most beautiful sight in the whole damn world. “Pull your fingers out; run your juices up to your clit and make slow circles, baby.”

She follows my command. Her glistening finger runs up the path of her slit connecting to the bundle of nerves that will set her free.

I blow a soft breeze over her fingers and clit, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from her lips. Her abdominal muscles contract as her ass lifts. I have to pull back so I don’t come in contact with her hand.

Voyeurism isn’t new to me. I used to love watching Whitney make herself come undone, and she got off on watching me watch her. Just like she’s doing now.

Only this time, I won’t be slamming myself home.

“Faster,” is all I say, and then I blow another stream of steady air. Seconds later she screams out her release, and it’s music to my ears.

She pants, sucking in and releasing air in rapid succession. I push off the bed, backing up to give her room. Her cheeks pink when her eyes open, meeting mine. And I smile.

Whitney moves off the bed and walks towards me—my smile falters. What is she doing? She just watches me, her face blank, not giving me any idea what she was thinking.

Was I wrong? Should I have not . . .

Her hand rises in a gesture I remember all too well. Her fingers, including the one still slick with her juices, run down my lips. My eyes close, savoring her touch. But when her hand starts to lower, I catch her wrist in my hand, pulling it back up. My lips tip on their own accord as my eyes flutter open.

“May I?” Without words, she bobs her head, granting me permission.

Pulling her wrist to my mouth, I close my lips around her middle finger. Her eyes dilate as sweetness coats my tongue, spreading a static-like sensation around my scalp as tingles flow over my shoulders and down my spine.

I don’t want to release her, but I do, pulling her finger from my lips.

“So beautiful.” Her cheeks turn pink again. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I thought that when I was a kid. I thought that when I made love to you the first time. I think that now.”

Tears pool in her eyes. She breathes in deep, schooling her emotions that threaten to spill down her cheeks.

Stepping back, she lowers her eyes, and then a sexy smirk forms on her lips as her eyes flick up to mine. “Your . . . scrubs are a little wet.”

Fucking thin pants and pre-cum. Nice.

I look down, surprised I didn’t blow my full load from what I just watched if truth be told. “Thank you, Love, for letting—”

“Momma,” Em’s voice came through the door, cutting me off. “I peed the bed. I’m sorry.”

Whitney’s palm meets her forehead as laughter pours out of me. Luckily my hard-on dies down and the interruption helps break up what just happened between us without any awkwardness or tension.

I shake my head.

“Go clean up, babe. I got her.” And then I slip out of the bedroom door.