Accidental Shield: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Nicole Snow

  He flipped his lid because I wouldn’t just jump in the car with him.

  I let out a heavy sigh, this dull ache resonating from my temples for the umpteenth time.

  Why did my parents let him become such a little tyrant? Did they not know or not care?

  Flint would never let Bryce act like Ray.

  Not that I can see that sweet, gangly boy ever wanting to. He’s too well behaved.

  While we were at the coffee shop, he never made a peep. Never questioned what happened later, either.

  Flint hadn’t bullied sweetness and sensitivity into his son. He’d taught him.

  Planted morals and watered them with fatherly kindness. Now, he’s reaping tons of respect.

  I can’t help wondering how I was raised, too.

  Will I see all of this differently if and when my memory returns?

  What if I’m more like Ray than I remember?

  There’s a scary thought. My stomach knots, looking across the beach just past the property, where the sunlight fragments into layers of pink and orange and indigo over the wavering horizon.

  Sweet, sweet Hawaii.

  If there’s one thing that’s not so pleasant about the breathtaking sunset, it’s being sad during it. People come from thousands of miles away just to watch the sun go down over the placid ocean with a drink in their hands.

  I can’t help thinking how many must be watching the same scene, happy and grateful and carefree.

  It feels wrong to be so tormented while I’m bathed in so much beauty.

  “Hey, Valerie? Check it out!”

  I twist to see Bryce, who’s busy playing in the sand just outside the lanai wall.

  “Savanny’s learning how to fetch!” he tells me proudly, tossing a rubber ball low to the ground so it skips across the sand.

  My cat takes off after it like a sprinting cheetah. He darts after the ball and pounces on it with a chirp, stopping it from bouncing.

  “Awesome, Savanny! Now bring it back, dude,” Bryce calls to him, but the cat remains prone, side-eyeing both of us suspiciously with the ball tucked under his big paws.

  I think he’s afraid we’ll snatch away his new treasure. It’s impossible not to grin.

  “Looks like he’s got it halfway down pat,” I say.

  Bryce runs over then and snatches the ball up. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t bring it back to me yet, but he will! Just you wait.”

  Laughing, I shout, “Can’t wait to see that. You’re a lucky little guy if you manage to teach an old cat new tricks.”

  “Keep watching!” Bryce yells back.

  I smile, resisting the urge to shake my head. It’s incredible how confident he is with something so ridiculous, another trait he must get from Flint.

  Bryce whips the ball across the sand again. Savanny bolts after it a second time and throws his paws around it. Then Bryce tries every combination of words in the book to get the cat to pick it up with his mouth and return it, but it ain’t happening today.

  How precious.

  Suddenly, I have this weird urge to capture the scene, but not with the camera on my phone.

  So I get up and head into the house where I find Flint in the kitchen, busy at his computer.

  “Just in time,” he says, dragging his gaze over me with a smile. “I’m marinating some chicken breasts to cook up in a little bit. Hope you’re getting hungry.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, smiling at how he always thinks of food first. “But later, maybe. I’m not exactly starving right now. I was wondering if you have some paper and a pencil?”

  “Paper? Yeah.” He nods toward the small built-in desk between the kitchen and dining room. “Over in the top drawer, babe.”

  “Thanks.” I find a spiral notebook and automatic pencil. “I’m going back outside to watch Bryce and Savanny for a little. Give me a shout if I can help with anything.”

  He nods. “What are they doing out there? Heard him yelling his head off earlier.”

  “He’s teaching Savanny to play fetch.”

  “You’re shitting me.” Flint chuckles, this deep, resonant sound that goes through my ears like molasses. “Wait, you’re serious?”

  I nod, trying not to break into a grin. “Yep. He’s a smart kid so...he knows the difference between cats and dogs, right?”

  “Sure does. That’s Bryce being Bryce. Couldn’t tell you the number of times he’s banged himself up or taken crap from other kids trying to do the impossible. Every so often, it works,” he says with a wink. “But that’s my boy. Stubborn. How’s his big plan working out?”

  “About like you’d expect. Bryce has to steal the ball from Savanny every time, but he’s sure he’ll get the little nugget bringing it back to him soon. Have to admire his ambition.”

  “Always do,” Flint says with another hearty chuckle, turning back to his screen.

  Always. That comment echoes in my head as I walk back to the lanai. It’s such a simple word, but it holds weight in my heart.

  It’s hard not to admire the easy, respectful bond between father and son. So sure and effortless and strong, I think Flint might tear the head off anybody who’d dare suggest Bryce can’t accomplish anything he’s set his heart on. It shows how much Flint believes in him, too.

  Screw amnesia. I know that’s as beautiful as it is rare.

  I also wonder if I’ve always pondered things so deeply or if it’s just due to the fried egg state of my brain.

  Back outside, my mind returns to the scene in front of me. I sit down on the steps leading down to the beach and start sketching Bryce and Savanny on the scratch pad.

  Weirdly, it doesn’t take much thought. My hand just goes to work, sweeping across the blank white page, capturing what I’m seeing like it’s second nature.

  Twenty minutes later, I’ve sketched up three different scenes of them in action.

  Then the ball bounces off the wall next to me and ricochets back to the sand. I barely duck.

  “Oh, sorry!” Bryce says, running over to retrieve it. Savanny beats him there, landing on the ball and sinking his fangs deep into the rubber.

  I laugh at how Bryce has to work to steal it away.

  “He’s a speed-demon, Valerie,” Bryce says, smiling as he hovers over my shoulder. “Never seen one run so fast in my life. Some of the strays around the island are pretty quick, but they’d eat his dust!”

  “Yeah, he’s a special boy. Part wild serval. Don’t let it go to his head.” I flick my fingers at the cat as he looks at me, his wild eyes flashing in the fading daylight.

  “Oh, right, Dad told me. I looked it up online. Way cool. Can’t wait to show Louie, he lives right down the—”

  “We’ve met,” I tell him, biting my lip at the memory. “Nice kid. Should have him dropping off some popcorn soon.”

  He steps closer. “So what’re you drawing?”

  I flip the scratch pad around and show him.

  “Whoa, that’s...that’s art, Val. Me and Savanny. Guess that’s what they mean by spitting image. You have to show Dad!” He grins so wide I almost believe it’s good.

  But my cheeks flush at the thought of Flint looking it over. I can almost see those bright-blue eyes slowly assessing my work, then nodding warmly as he flashes another approving smile that could start a wildfire.

  Holy hell.

  “You know, it’s not quite done yet. Sort of a work in progress. Let’s keep this just between you and me until I say...okay, Bryce?”

  He nods and motions like he’s zipping his lips shut, then lets the ball in his hand swing closer to the ground. Savanny sits on his haunches, recharging his feline batteries, lazily scratching at it with both paws.

  I start drawing again, but my strokes aren’t as swift this time. My hand wants to draw more than what’s in front of me.

  I’ve heard of automatic writing, this weird old-timely spiritual practice, but automatic drawing?

  I keep going, slashing at the paper, brow furrowed, almost like I’m channeling a
message from the Great Beyond.

  The whole scene changes.

  Rather than little Savanny playfully batting at the ball, he’s swiping now, his lips curled up in a defensive snarl. I keep drawing, faster, and my breath grows shallower with every stroke.

  I’m trembling by the time it’s done.

  It’s Savanny, all right, and he’s not going for the ball.

  He’s swiping at Ray.

  There’s more. The background I’ve drawn vaguely resembles a yacht with its plush seats surrounding a polished deck. The family yacht. I’m in the drawing too, behind Savanny, this twisted look of shock on my face, like there’s supposed to be something else behind Ray. Someone, maybe.

  Crud.

  I drop the notepad and look away from where it lands near my feet. Images of Ray yelling flash in my head. He’s screaming at me.

  Telling me how stupid, how reckless I am.

  How I’m ruining everything. All of his big, precious plans meant for King Heron. For the family.

  Just like usual.

  I can’t fight the instinct to press my fingers against my ears, knowing full well it’s all in my head. That’s why it doesn’t help block out anything. I can still hear him.

  Yelling. Screaming. Accusing. Blaming me.

  He says this was supposed to be the end of it, the thing that might save us, if only I hadn’t stowed away on board and—

  Something touches my shoulder.

  A man’s heavy hand. Oh, God, it’s—

  “Whoa,” Flint says, sitting down beside me. “Didn’t mean to make you jump.”

  I shake my head, but don’t reply. Once I’m sure the images are fading, the shouting stops. I let my hands fall away from my ears.

  “Another memory?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

  I nod blankly, pointing at the scratch pad on the ground. “There.”

  He picks it up and studies it carefully.

  “Shit, Val. You drew this?”

  “I was drawing Bryce and Savanny playing, but all of a sudden...that’s what it turned into on the new page.” I look up at him, unsure how to explain it better. “I-I didn’t have to try. My hand just went to work and did the rest. How can that be? I wasn’t even thinking—I didn’t know what I was drawing until it was done.”

  He flips through the previous pictures of Savanny and Bryce. Those sea glass eyes that light up his face flash, kinder and sexier than ever. “You’re one talented lady. This shit looks professional. Uh, and by shit, I mean...the shit.”

  I burst out laughing, this awkward tension pouring out of me.

  There’s still a tightness in my chest. “No, Flint, I don’t think so. I don’t think I draw very often. Or if I did...I doubt I’d show anyone. It just feels secret, almost. Like something I kept to myself.”

  “Why?” He leans closer, his eyes searching mine. “Look, woman, I’m not about to type up a damn dissertation on Van Gogh, but this looks like it’s about to leap right off the page. Almost life-like. Why would you keep it under wraps?”

  “I don’t know.” I rub my chest, where the tightness presses on my lungs in a suffocating trigger point. “It’s just this inkling I get. And by inkling, I mean more like a violent wave. Almost sickly. Like I wasn’t ever supposed to draw, or someone else would—”

  “Like someone was stifling you?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know.” I draw in a deep breath as the choking sensation eases.

  It’s so strange, how these things hit hard and then fade away just as fast.

  “No easy answers,” Flint says, “but maybe you just figured out how to help us find them.”

  His long finger taps against the page, and I follow it with my eyes.

  He points at the sketch with Ray, sneering down like he’s about to slap me across the face. “That shape in the corner looks like a door. And the way the cat’s snarling like a stuck raccoon, seems like you were forced into a room.”

  “We were,” I say. “Below deck, I think, back on the yacht. Ray was upset. I wasn’t supposed to be there. He was yelling, screaming how stupid I am, how it was all my fault, and I was ruining everything like apparently I always do.” I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I was.”

  “Like hell you were,” he growls, eyes flashing. “Ruining it for him and his asshole friends? Maybe. Considering their line of business, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re smart enough to know, Val, don’t need to hear it from me.”

  But I do.

  I’m freaking reeling.

  I can’t even believe I’m about to say the next thing that pops into my head.

  “Should I try drawing more? It’s not exactly a sunny walk on the beach, but if I can just get over the pain, the shock, maybe I’ll remember something we can use?”

  He shrugs. “Just like everything else, honey. Don’t force it, but when the urge to draw strikes, do it.” He sets the scratch pad down. “I promised Bryce we’d go swimming before supper. Want to join us? Still a sliver of light left. Bet it’ll help get that pretty head off shitty brothers screaming in your face.”

  I almost say yes, before my mind questions if I should.

  Should things be this normal?

  It’s hard to imagine just letting go, but maybe he’s right.

  I miss normalcy. Not having to second-guess every single thought. Being able to enjoy a cool, breezy afternoon on the beach without a panic attack.

  “C’mon. Somebody needs to keep that cat in line while he’s floating around with Bryce,” he says, nudging me playfully with his elbow.

  A smile breaks loose, finally, and I nod. “Sure. Let me grab my swimsuit.”

  I hurry inside, change, and go back out, refusing to let my personal hell control every aspect of my life. For the next hour, I’ll take Flint’s advice.

  Forget about everything else and just be.

  They’re both bobbing in the water when I return. Savanny’s back on Bryce’s paddleboard, gently flicking his tail. I swear my cat might be part dolphin.

  I slowly wade into the cool ocean, loving how the soft ripple winds around my legs. Then, conjuring up my courage, I dive below and swim out to where they are, moving with the soft current.

  “He’s a natural, isn’t he? I always thought cats hated water,” Flint says, smiling as he watches Bryce stroking a hand down the cat’s back.

  “Not my Savanny,” I say. Right now, I’m not going to worry about whether I should know that about my cat or not.

  “Some cats love the water. Don’t you guys watch YouTube?” Bryce asks, holding onto the board with his hands, kicking his feet to move past us. “There’s even cat swim races on there. Pretty crazy. Most don’t like it because it makes them feel sluggish. I guess their coats have this special oil that doesn’t let them dry off too fast.”

  “He Googled that,” Flint says, leaning close to me.

  “Oh, yes,” I say, laughing. “He definitely Googled that.”

  We both kick our feet up and swim, catching up with Bryce, and then all three of us swim farther out.

  Savanny just needs a little skipper hat to look like he’s the captain of his own little boat. We laugh at how he sprawls out on Bryce’s paddleboard, sun bathing, and meows at us when we make waves that cause the board to rock.

  “Oh, stop it, you’re fine!” I tell him, flicking a few water drops his way. But Bryce swings the board around just as I splash water, and it hits him instead of Savanny.

  “Hey, no fair!” He splashes water back at me, laughing.

  I dodge just in time. It hits Flint instead.

  Whoops.

  A full blown splash war breaks out, quickly turning into a game of tag with frantic laughter. I feel like I’m hit from all sides, but I give as good as I get.

  The sun drifts lower, slipping toward the horizon, making the entire surface shimmer. It’s like being in the middle of a huge glittery pool, casting pure silver light at Flint and his son every time my hand shimmies through the water. Bryce cracks up so
hard he can’t even splash back.

  Even Savanny gets some on his face, shaking off his big ears, his whiskers, and probably wondering why the humans have suddenly lost their ever-loving minds.

  There’s no beating Flint with his swift strokes through the water and the wild range of his muscles, so I shoot Bryce a silent look. He nods, sealing our wordless pact.

  We’re teaming up. We circle a little closer to Flint. I wait for his hand signal, then we both jump Big Daddy, splashing him full force.

  Bryce from behind, me from the front, Savanny clinging to the board for dear life as water flies over his head.

  “Ahhhh, hell, two on one?” Flint belts out a loud roar, totally the playful tiger. “Just wait, you guys, gonna make you regret not picking me for your team.”

  He sends several huge swells of water crashing my way, but I duck down, swimming straight toward him. He pauses, just long enough for me to douse his face in one big swoop.

  Laughing, he grabs me and pulls me in, pinning my arms against my sides in this enormous swimmer’s bear hug.

  Good Lord.

  The instant my body connects with his, the ocean battle couldn’t be further from my mind.

  There’s just rock-hard muscle, wet skin, a curl of his lips in the whisper of distant sunlight. So sexy I wonder if it’s possible to self-combust. Yes, even while I’m eighty percent submerged in the ocean.

  I know one thing—the happy, feral panther look he gives me with those sea glass eyes strikes a match, igniting my blood like a fuse winding through to my toes.

  It’s a thunderbolt. A strike-me-down flash of heat. Pure, untainted desire knocking the wind out of me.

  If Poseidon came up from the waves right now with eyes like heaven and a chest like a mountain, I still think Flint freaking Calum would leave Mr. Trident Face in the seaweed.

  Oh, and it’s worse than I thought.

  Flint feels it, too. I can tell by the flicking hunger in his eyes.

  You know that old cliché about eyes that smolder?

  This man’s eyes do.

  His gaze, his expression, his wicked intent prowls its way up and down my body.

  No, on second thought, screw smoldering.