by Snow, Nicole
I bite my lip. Bryce looks too much like him to be a lie, so I ask, “What was she lying about?”
“Not Bryce, he’s mine,” he says, almost reading my thoughts. “It was her life she lied about. Her habits. The money I constantly sent her went to drugs. Any rotten shit she could get her hands on. I’d already gotten custody of Bryce, but the night she died...” He shakes his head, his lip curled up in a silent snarl. “One of the worst nights of my life.”
“What happened?” I touch his arm, sensing the tension under his skin.
My heart aches, just seeing the look crossing his face, the agony he lived etched into every crease on his brow.
“Bitch was high, babe. She rolled her Jeep. I was at work, burning the midnight oil to get my security company off the ground so I’d be home during the day when she’d come and try to take Bryce behind my back. The police came to my jobsite, told me about the accident.”
I study Flint hard, my heart stopped in its tracks.
“They wanted to know if Bryce was with her. There was a kids’ seat in the car, some of his clothes, his toys. They were afraid he’d been thrown out when the vehicle rolled and couldn’t find him anywhere. He’d been with my ma, but I knew there was a chance Brina would’ve gone to my place and taken him if Ma got distracted. And she wasn’t answering her phone.”
Oh, God.
His voice simmers to a low, poison growl. “That hour, from the time when the cops questioned me on his whereabouts to the time I got home, holding him in my arms, was the longest fucking hour of my life.” He lets out a long sigh. “Turns out, Ma shut the ringer off on her phone because Brina kept calling nonstop. She was hard up for cash, money she owed another fucking dealer or some shit.”
My heart tightens in my chest. “Oh, Flint, that’s terrifying.”
“It was. The accident happened less than five miles from my place. I figured she was on the way there, to get Bryce. Thinking she could hold him hostage until I gave her more money or something. I don’t know. The coroner said her toxicology report was off the charts at the time of her death.”
“Is that why you moved here?” I ask, already understanding it’s just one of the many things he’s done to keep his son safe. Even from horrible memories Bryce was too young to recall.
“Yeah,” he says.
One mundane word, heavier than ever.
A deeper understanding settles over me.
So that’s why he’s helping me. Keeping me safe. Going through this craziness he really doesn’t have to suffer.
It’s embedded in his makeup.
I think about the other part of what Beverly said.
About the scars, the same ones I’ve seen on his back every time he’s shirtless.
I’d gotten a good look last week, when he’d fallen asleep on the lounge chair.
It’s almost like...someone just dragged something up his whole body. Or punched holes in his skin, dangerously close to his spine.
Chills ripple through me from head to toe. An odd inkling tells me those scars have something to do with me. Somehow. Some way.
“Speaking of mothers,” he says. “We need to go see yours.”
“Wait, what?” Another chill arcs through me, so strong I rub my arms. “We do?”
“You heard me. I’ve had my contacts after Ray and his friends for days, but it’s gone quiet. We think he fled to Maui, possibly. I need to know more, Val. Only way that happens is you talking to the last person in your family who’s not an instant threat.”
* * *
Within the hour, we’re driving up to a sprawling beach house on the outskirts of Honolulu that feels vaguely familiar. Tiny hints of memories flash in my head. Images.
Mainly of the inside, of dark walls and dark rooms. Even though it’s next to the beach, there’s barely any sunshine inside this place. It’s a vortex of anxiety with the shadows to match.
“Are-are you sure she’s home? She’s here?” I ask, my insides shriveling up.
“She’s home,” Flint says, without a shred of doubt.
“How do you know?”
He puts the truck in park, turns to me, and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not the only man helping you with this. I’ve hired some guys, trusted men who worked for me in the past. They’ve confirmed your mother’s around.”
“And Ray?” His very name makes me want to just fall into a hole in the ground.
“No. Promise. We wouldn’t be here if he was skulking around.”
A sense of relief has me freeing the air from my lungs.
“We should keep up the pretense of being a couple,” he says. “Otherwise, your ma will wonder who the hell I am.”
That also gives me more relief than it probably should.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Ready or not, I know he’s right.
We just need to get this over with.
Having Flint at my side gives me more strength than I think I’ve ever had.
Honestly, I’m not sure, because there’s still that pesky amnesia thing, but I sense it’s true.
I also, once again, remind myself there’s nothing romantic about this.
Most people would consider it creepy. Pretending to be engaged to a stranger? Ugh.
But most people haven’t had amnesia with lethal men stalking them.
If anything’s creepy, it’s that. So are the old images flashing in my mind, bits and pieces of a life that’s just too far gone to catch.
Flint gets out and walks around the truck, opens my door, and holds my hand as we walk to the house. Heavy black iron covers the screen door.
My hand starts stinging on the doorstep. There’s a faint memory, having my hand slammed in that heavy door, and Ray laughing his head off.
Flint pushes the doorbell. I wonder at the irony, ringing the doorbell to my own home.
I hear several locks being undone before the door opens, and I instantly recognize the thin, grey-haired woman.
Lorelei Gerard. My mother.
Tears threaten to form, but I hold them back. “Hi, Mother.”
“Valerie!” She shoves open the heavy screen door. “Oh, God, Valerie. I’ve been so worried.”
She practically falls out and hugs me tight.
I return the gesture, holding on longer because it feels good. Familiar. If she ever hurt me, I can’t remember how.
“What happened? It’s not like you to visit friends without telling me,” she says as we part. Her gaze jumps to Flint, and she lifts a brow, staring at me again.
“Uh, right. This is one of those friends. His name’s Flint.”
My mother’s eyes light up, just as bright and gold as mine.
“Well, no wonder you were being so secretive.” Holding out her hand, she says, “Hello, Flint, I’m Lorelei Gerard.”
He shakes her hand. “Pleasure, ma’am.”
“Nonsense. It’s a bigger pleasure to meet you,” Mother replies. “Come in.”
We do, and just as I thought, the walls are dark wood, and heavy drapes cover the windows.
This place feels more like a castle or a New England hunting lodge, somewhere far colder and darker than Oahu. It’s oppressive.
Always has been. Same for the bigger house downtown, in Honolulu proper.
Mother gestures for us to sit on the regal wine-colored sofa.
We do, side by side, and although I know she’s my mother, I’m thankful for his presence. No one becomes the center of the room quite like Flint Calum.
“So you live on the Big Island, Flint?” Mother smiles at us. “Ray said that’s where you were staying the past few weeks. I still don’t recall you telling me you were going to the Big Island with him. You and Ray never go anywhere together anymore. He said your phone quit, and that’s why you didn’t return any of my calls.”
“It did,” I say, but unable to avoid the Big Island reference, I ask, “Did Ray say why we went to the Big Island?”
She glances at Flint and partially hides a smile. “No. But after me
eting your friend, I have my suspicions...”
“Mother!” I can’t figure out whose smile cuts deeper, hers or Flint’s.
I also don’t recall if the Big Island was the yacht’s real destination. I doubt it.
“He told me about that dreadful storm, how the runabout was lost in the rough weather.” She shrugs. “It’s too bad, but it was just a boat.”
Storm? I get the sense it couldn’t be more wrong.
“Would you care for a drink, Flint? Our maid is out shopping, but Webster is in the kitchen. He’ll fix you anything you’d like.”
Webster. I know that name. My heartbeat intensifies.
He’s been our cook for years and goes wherever Mother wants. Spends most of his time between this house and two others. One in the heart of the city, one here, and one on Kauai.
“No, thanks, Mrs. Gerard.” Flint says. “I’m fine.”
“You do look fine,” Mother says, brow raised. “Tell me, how do you get along with Savanny?”
“He’s a nice cat,” he says.
“Ha! I love your sense of humor. That droll little beast doesn’t like anyone except my daughter. Hasn’t since the day Stanley brought it home.” Frowning, she then looks at me. “Where is Savanny, Valerie?”
“He’s at Flint’s house,” I say, eyeing her cautiously.
“Really? You left him behind?” she asks again. “Odd. You haven’t gone anywhere without that cat since you got him. Why, you practically become a hermit sometimes, refusing to let him out of your sight, always so afraid someone will steal your precious baby away from you.” Glancing at Flint, she continues, “Exotic cats like Savanny are illegal in Hawaii. But my Stanley spoiled his little girl rotten. She always wanted a cheetah, so Stanley found a way for her to have the next best thing. He was always so good with that, finding ways around the impossible to keep this family happy.”
Well, that confirms one memory.
Besides his death, and a few foggy hints now and then, I don’t remember much about my father. Just like I don’t remember much about her, other than the fact she’s my mother.
“I don’t think there was a storm, Mother. That’s not what happened to the skiff,” I say slowly.
Flint tenses at my side, shooting me a searing, glassy look. Careful, his eyes warn.
Mother slowly frowns. “You must be mistaken, dear. Ray told me all about it. He said there were huge waves, terrible winds. A miracle you were close to port when it blew through. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. There’s no good reason. An accident is an accident.”
“Did he tell you Val was injured?” Flint asks, his voice a low growl.
“Injured? Heaven’s no!” She looks genuinely concerned now, those matching gold eyes like mine flicking back and forth. “Where? How? What happened?”
The butterfly stitches fell off the other day, but I put my hand to my temple, where there’s still a thin pinkish scar.
“It was just a bump to the head,” I say. “Nothing life-threatening.”
“It was a gash,” Flint says, folding his hands, leaning forward in his chair. “Val was knocked out unconscious.”
“Oh, that little rascal. Now I see,” she says. Like Ray is just a kid Bryce’s age instead of a full-grown man. “He didn’t tell me any of that. He doesn’t tell me anything. He must think I’ll worry myself to an early grave, just like your poor father.”
It doesn’t surprise me Ray lied to her. But it’s hardly for the benign reasons Mother thinks.
My hands start trembling. Flint’s fingers tuck tight around my right hand, and I squeeze his palm as images of chaos, water, and fire on the ocean flash in my mind.
I don’t want her knowing about my amnesia, so I try not to dwell on it.
“Have you been checked out, Valerie?” Mother asks.
“A doctor saw her,” Flint says. “Ray knows all about it.”
“He does?” This time she sounds mildly angry, confused. “I don’t...when did this happen?”
“While she was on the yacht,” Flint answers.
The flashbacks are fading, and though I don’t want them to return, I have to know more.
I’m not thinking straight when my next words come. I just want answers.
“Mother, listen. I think Ray might be involved in something. Something seriously wrong, something with King Heron.”
“Nonsense, doll. He took over the helm after your father died, and he’s working with the same lovely people your father employed.” She shakes her head. “Everything runs just the same. Except for missing Stanley’s instincts, sometimes. The man always found a way, even when his odds were terrible. Surely, you know Ray’s cut from the same cloth. He’d never—”
“What about the missing ships, Mrs. Gerard?” Flint asks, cutting in.
I glance up at him.
Missing ships? Wait. He’s right, there have been missing ships.
“It’s true. We’ve lost a few over the years. Always as ghastly as it is unexpected, these tragedies.” She shrugs. “Accidents happen in this line of business, in these waters.”
They aren’t accidents. I know that. I know more, too, but it’s not quite coming.
It’s blocked, partitioned off in my brain by something I don’t want to remember.
“Missing ships aren’t accidents...” Flint sits up in his seat, skimming a thumb across my hand, staring at Mother pointedly. “They’re tragedies, Mrs. Gerard, you aren’t wrong about that. But they aren’t accidents.”
Mother ices over. I can see it in her expression, and I remember that, too.
She’s a human ostrich. Always denying bad things, racing to stick her head in the sand at the first sign.
Just like when we were kids and Ray would do something nasty, she’d deny it for him. And she wouldn’t believe me when I told her the truth about her golden boy.
My heart starts racing. Tears sting my eyes.
There’s too much hitting too hard, too fast, too soon.
I grab Flint’s arm with my other hand.
“We should go now,” I whisper, twisting in my seat.
Concern flashes in his eyes. He stands, then helps me up.
“You’re leaving so soon? Where?” Mother asks.
“I’m going back to Flint’s place, Mother.”
“On the Big Island? Another flight? But you just got here. Valerie, this is highly unusual,” she snaps, her eyes flitting back and forth, genuinely confused. “You hardly ever stayed the night at a friend’s house when you were little. And when you went to college, well, we don’t need to rehash that.”
College? I need air.
“I’m not so little now, Mother. I’m an adult. I just need space.”
“Space from me? Your own mother?” she gasps, turning her hand around to point at her chest.
“From Ray.” I watch her blink, stunned, like I just tore a hole in her world.
Flint has an arm around me, and I need that, too. The panic surfaces inside me, this invisible cord around my neck, threatening suffocation.
He turns me toward the door, walking close beside me.
“A-are you ill, girl? You look pale. Are you certain you’ve seen a good doctor?” Mother follows, all questions, stuttering as she walks.
I can’t speak.
New flashbacks keep hammering my head, frying it like a freaking egg.
So many times over the years when I was told to be quiet, to shut up, that I didn’t know what I was talking about.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gerard,” Flint tells her. “She just needs to rest. The doctor said it’ll take time to fully heal.”
“Rest? Then she needs to stay here and see our doctor!” Mother says, her heels clicking after us. “Young man, you can’t just—”
Flint opens the door, walking me outside, beaming back a look that halts her mid-step.
“She’s been in great hands ever since the accident. She just wanted you to know she was okay. We’ll take it from here.”
The
air, the sunshine, feels like sweet freedom. The flashbacks and pain drift away, little by little.
I glance up at Flint.
He winks at me, then tells my mother, “She’ll call you later, after she’s rested. I promise.”
“She knows more, Flint.” I wait until we’re in his truck, heading for the main road, before I say it.
“Is your memory coming back? Is that what happened back there?”
“No, not really. More like hints of images, little things, but I know. She knows more than she lets on.” Pressing a hand to my chest where there’s a heaviness, a fear, I sigh.
“Val?” he barks, glancing over.
“I feel it, Flint. She’s always known more, but she’s taught herself to deny it.”
12
Here Comes Trouble (Flint)
I can’t answer her.
I’m keeping one eye in my rear-view mirror, trained on the SUV that turned onto the street behind us shortly after we left the Gerard beach house. A house that was so damn dark and cloying inside I felt like I needed to squint in order to see anything.
I can’t believe Val ever had any say in how it was decorated, especially after seeing what she’d done with the upstairs bedrooms in my house. They’re light, cheerful, and breezy like her. Hardly the luxury bunker vibe that place had.
The SUV hangs close, even after I take a few corners. I know my man is back there, too, following just like I told him, but now I’m concerned about cutting through the center of the island to get back to my place.
Those roads are a lot less trafficked than the main highways. More than a few places where a vehicle could be forced off the road and over the cliffs with one or two well-timed punches of metal on metal.
“Those missing ships you mentioned to my mother, they’re King Heron boats, aren’t they?” she asks.
“Right,” I answer, taking yet another corner tighter, weaving my way through town.
“Are they recent?”
Shit. The SUV is still there.
It’s like they want me to know they’re trailing us.
“Depends what you mean by recent?” I ask.