I slide my hand over, reaching for hers. Glancing over, she smiles at me when I intertwine our fingers.

A flash goes off from the backseat of my Jeep Wrangler, courtesy of Trent’s girlfriend.

“Knock it off, Kylie. You’re screwing with my vision by snapping pictures every two-seconds.”

Jesus Christ. I’m starting to see dots, and we’re late. Dinner with my folks ran long tonight, so Whit and I didn’t pick up Trent and Kylie until after nine. We were supposed to be at Chance’s uncles by eight thirty.

“Lighten up for once, Shane. We’re graduates now. And in less than two months we’ll all be away at college and out of sight from our parents. This calls for a celebration tonight. Right, Whit?” Kylie eggs on.

“You know it,” my girlfriend agrees, earning her a scowl from me. It only takes her giggle for me to falter. Her laughs are my undoing.

“Some of us don’t have perfect parents like you, Shaney.”

“Hey! Don’t call him that.” Whitney quickly chimes in as she swings her head toward the backseat, giving her best friend a scowl of her own. Kylie thinks she’s being cute when she calls me that, but it irritates the hell out of me, and I wish Trent would get her to stop.

“What. Ever.”

“Whit and Trent may have a leg to stand on,” I say. “But what issues do you have with your parents, Ky?”

“Oh my God! Have you met my overbearing mother?”

“Yep. Several times. She’s pretty normal in comparison.”

“In comparison to what?” Kylie demands. “Your parents are awesomesauce on top of awesomesauce with sprinkles on top.”

“I know, right?” I laugh. My parents are far from perfect, but they are great. I don’t have one complaint. I might have a moody little brother that’s a jerk at times, but I wouldn’t trade my family for another.

“I hate you.” Looking in the rearview mirror, I see Kylie glaring at me with her arms crossed over her chest.

“She may hate you, babe, but I don’t.” I glance to my right. If there is one thing that is perfect in this world, it’s the girl sitting next to me right now.

“Hand me your camera,” Whitney tells Ky as the sound of her seatbelt releasing registers in my ear.

“Love, what are you doing?” I ask without looking at her. It’s starting to drizzle, so I flick the handle to make the windshield wipers come on.

“I’m capturing moments,” she calls out, trying to appease me. From the rearview mirror, I see Whitney take the camera from Kylie’s hand. “You two cuddle up and smile,” she tells Trent and Kylie.

“Whitney,” I call out. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

“Hush.” Click.

From my peripheral vision, I see her turn back around to face forward, but then the flash goes off again momentarily blinding me.

“Whitney,” I force out, blinking several times.

Just as I’m reopening my eyes headlights round the corner . . .

A sharp, inhale of air not only forces my eyes to pop open but also causes me to spring up. Air. I need air.

When I let the same nightmare that’s on constant replay fade, I find myself alone in my bed . . . as always. The comforter is missing, but I know it ended up somewhere on the floor during the night. The dark blue sheets have been kicked to the end of the bed, almost falling off. There’s sweat sliding down my forehead.

I draw in a deep breath, trying to shake the rest of the dream away.

But it’s never far.

And it always returns.

A sigh escapes my mouth as I climb out of bed.

I know there’s only one way to push it to the back of my mind . . . for now at least.

Going to my chest of drawers, against the wall, I pull out a pair of sweat pants and put them on, pulling them over my boxer briefs followed by my socks and sneakers. Grabbing my earbuds from where they are lying on top of the chest of drawers, I head for the door.

Running away from my past is what I’ve done for what feels like a lifetime now. The only problem is I can never get far enough away. Doesn’t stop me from trying.

* * *

Ten miles later, I make it back up the stairs to my third-floor apartment just as daylight breaks through the dark sky.

I have roughly two hours before I’m due at the children’s hospital for a full day in the ER, but I have no plans for any more shuteye. A long, hot shower though, is just what I do need.

I pull the ear buds of my headphones from both of my ears just as Torn to Pieces by Pop Evil winds down.

As I get closer to my door, I see Roxanne’s door swinging open before she walks out.

Her sharp, intake of air isn’t lost on me, but I act like I don’t catch it.

“Hey. Where are you headed so early?” I ask, stopping by my door. Our apartments are directly across from each other. Rox is one of the first-year interns I’m training in the Children’s Emergency Department. As a third-year resident, I have to work in the ER for three months out of this fiscal year. This month through the end of December is where I’ll be—some days, some nights. My schedule rotates every quarter. Nights are the worst. Working 7 p.m. through 7 a.m. will wear on a person’s body—at least mine it does. I prefer day shift hours.

“Morning, Shane,” she greets. “I promised my sister I’d take her kids to school this morning. She has to take her husband to the airport for an early flight for a business trip. What are you doing up already?”

I glance down at the sweat pouring down my chest.

“I’m usually up at this time every day unless I’m working. I like to run before the day officially starts.”

I do like to run. I’ve always enjoyed it. Whitney and I used to run together every evening before dinner. Now, I don’t know; maybe it makes me feel connected to her somehow. I often wonder if she still runs, too. I shouldn’t, but I do. Letting my mind wonder those types of things makes it harder to breathe. Makes life harder.

“Well . . .” She pauses, allowing her eyes to run down my body. “Looks like it pays off.” She gives me a coy smile once her eyes sweep back up.

It’s not that she isn’t an attractive woman, she is, very much so, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested. For starters, I’m practically her teacher and somewhat her supervisor, in a way. All third-year residents are assigned first-year interns to help mold them into the doctors they need to become. It would be wrong—unethical—to pursue any form of a relationship. Casual or not.

“I’m going to hit the shower. See you at work.” I nod in her direction.

Without another word, I go inside my apartment.