“FUCK!” I scream, pulling at the roots of my hair as I slide down the door. “Give me strength. Someone. Please,” I beg.

The back of my head rests against the wood as my body starts to shake. Nothing I do seems to get it under control.

That’s why I’m hiding out in the men’s bathroom looking for anything to grant me a little bit of reprieve. Just a moment . . .

My heart is racing a mile a minute, and my head pounds with the memory of Whitney’s shattered face when the judge said that piece of shit could have equal rights to Emersyn. Those tears made me see red.

How? How does any sane person let that man within a mile of that little girl? If he’s capable of what he did to Whitney, what would he do to their daughter?

“Shane?” My dad’s voice breaks through from the other side of the locked door.

“Give me a minute,” I tell him, mustering up all the bravado I have left in me.

“Son, I think . . .”

There’s silence as I wait, listening for him to finish. But it doesn’t come. What does come is the sound of the handle being jiggled instead.

I stand, breathing in deep as my lower lip quivers. I will not lose it. Just as I blow the air out, there’s a soft knock, followed by Whitney’s voice. “Open, please.”

I turn the lock without hesitation, opening the door to face her. Sadness still clouds her eyes, making my chest constrict even more.

Without words, she steps forward and into my space, wrapping her arms around my middle. The side of her face meets the center of my chest, and this feels like home. The tension my body is holding starts to release. I can’t help but wrap one arm around her back as I bring my other hand up and behind her head, pulling her into me, fusing us together.

At this moment, she feels like mine again.

I want so badly for it to be real, but logically I know she’s just seeking some form of comfort. Whitney was never the type of person that would let many people see her vulnerable.

She pulls on my polo shirt, fisting it and pulling as if she can’t get me close enough.

Running my hands down her sides, I stop just underneath her ass, then I hoist her up, making her wrap her legs around my waist. I’m not planning on kissing her. I’m not planning on doing anything further than holding her. But right now, I need all of her in my arms.

She doesn’t say a word. Nor does she try to get me to let her go.

Whitney wraps her arms around me, and stares, looking me in the eyes the same as I look into hers.

“This feels so . . .”

“Right,” I finish for her, and she nods.

“I want to remember, Shane. I really do.”

“I know.” And I do know. I can see the want, the need for her memories every time she looks at me. I can hear it in her voice when she speaks. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything,” she says, nodding her head. “There’s no need to ask permission. Just ask me.”

“Will you take that wedding ring off, please?” Seeing it daily, it’s only a reminder that she isn’t mine. I already have the fear inside my head that she never will be. I don’t need the visual.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows scrunch together.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” I need her to, but I won’t tell her that. She has to want to.

“I didn’t realize I still had them on.” Her hands fall away from my neck, but I have a firm grip on her—she’s not going anywhere. She brings her left hand in-between us. “What do I do with them?” She removes both rings.

“Throw them on the floor. Toss them in the trash. I really don’t care as long as I never have to see them on your finger again.”

She scowls, making me scowl right back at her.

“I’m not throwing them on the floor. Do you know how much they’re worth?”

“I don’t care, Whitney.”

“Well, I do. I’m jobless with no money and two kids.” Her fingers fold around the two rings. “These could help until I figure out what I’m going to do.”

“What does that mean?” My grip on her ass tightens at the thought of her leaving me. My lips fall open, and I can’t control my labored breaths. She can’t leave . . .

“I-I . . . I didn’t mean I’m going anywhere, but . . .”

“But what?” My breath fans her face, making her hair fly up.

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “But you can’t stop your life,” she pleads, “just because I can’t remember who I was. I don’t know if I’ll ever remember, Shane.”

“I would, you know.” The whisper of my admission is as honest as it’s going to get.

“You would what?” she asks.

“Stop my life. Change it if need be.”

Her eyes drop to my mouth. A second later her tongue juts out, wetting her lips. My cock hardens, and I do something I shouldn’t.

I lower her, making her feel me. Her eyes instantly flick up to mine. Watching them darken only makes me swell even more.

“Maybe I need help remembering.” She wets her lips again. Her free hand runs up my arm causing tingles to trail behind her touch. My eyes close and my head falls to my shoulders. I can’t do this. We can’t do this.

But my dick disagrees. It wants her. I want her so fucking bad I can almost taste her solely from my memories.

She leans forward; her breath tickles my throat, making me nearly lose my shit.

“Love,” I warn.

“Help me remember, Shane.” Her voice is intoxicating. She’s not asking. She’s demanding, causing every fiber inside of me to come alive.

I bring my head forward, looking her in the eyes. I can’t chance looking at her mouth. I can’t. I’ll lose what little strength I have left.

Our faces are an inch apart. It would be nothing to meet her the rest of the way, but what would that accomplish? I don’t see it gaining me what I need the most. I don’t know if I can settle for anything less than what we once had. I need it back.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Yes.” She grips my bicep, tightening her hand around me and digs her nails into my skin.

Fuck.

She doesn’t know it because she doesn’t remember, but her aggressive side had always amped me up just as it’s doing now. My own fingers dig into her, making her eyes widen and a cocky smile take form on her lips.

I back her up against the wall.

“I said no.” And before she can ask why I tell her. “I’m not going to kiss you. I’m certainly not going to fuck you—not in a bathroom. And not until you remember.”

She breathes out, making me blink from the force of the air rushing out.

I’m frustrating her. Good.

I drop her legs, but I crowd her space, looking down at her. “You’re married. Remember?”

“My marriage is a sham. You know this. I know this. I don’t need a memory to know that. I’ve always felt it. I’ve always felt it was wrong. And now I know why. So . . .” She pushes on my chest, so I step back, giving her a little room. “So why are you throwing that in my face? Huh?”

“I’m not.” Maybe I am, hell. “I’m not going to add to your confusion, Love. I want you. There’s no ifs or buts in that statement. But I want the you that’s buried somewhere inside. I want what’s mine.”

“And what if I don’t get my memory back?”

“Then I’ll wait.”

“For how long? What if it never comes back, Shane?”

Yeah. That’s the question burning inside my skull. Because if she doesn’t remember soon, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off her again.

I don’t answer. Instead, I open the door, holding it open until she walks out.