Accidental Shield: A Marriage Mistake Romance Read online

  “Flint,” she almost moans my name. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound.

  Her head falls to my chest again and her hand skims up, molding to my abs, my pecs, my shoulders. “You’re a good man. Almost too good to be true.”

  “Not as good as you’d believe.” Raw guilt pushes it off my tongue before I can stop it, already regretting the dumpster fire ending I’m sure this catastrophe has waiting.

  Stepping back, she slips her arms off my neck and looks at her ring again. “Can I wear it for a while?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s your ring, lady. We’ll take it out soon, and you’ll make the other girls jealous.”

  Her eyes flick back and forth, her bashful smile slowly wilting. Then she says, “I get the feeling our marriage is sorta secret. Am I right?”

  I nod like a puppet on a string.

  “Is it family stuff?”

  I nod again.

  She sighs, smiling sadly. “That feels right. You know, as crazy as it sounds, it makes me feel better. I was starting to think it was all a weird sham of some kind.”

  My back teeth clamp together.

  It hurts to keep this phony-ass, reassuring smile on my face.

  Damn, she once again proves she’s too smart for this, meaning I don’t have much time. The whole thing could blow up in my face any second.

  “Keep working on that better part, woman. You’ll put the surreal shit behind you. It’ll be so buried under by happier times, someday you’ll just laugh. I know you will.”

  She beams at me. If she had a tail plastered to that sweet ass, I’m sure it’d be wagging.

  I don’t have a crystal ball. If and when she finds out the truth, it’s pretty likely she won’t be laughing for a long time to come. But the fact that she’ll be alive, able to laugh someday?

  Let her hate me. So long as she’s alive with a chance to make something of her life.

  That’s why I’m showering encouragement and big dreams at her feet.

  That’s what I fucking hope for more than anything.

  * * *

  That far-off clock I hear ticking gets louder later.

  While I’m grilling the steaks and throwing together some asparagus, Ma sends a text. My time’s running out on that end, too.

  Hiiii. I’ll be swinging by with Bryce at eight tomorrow. He’s yours again.

  Normally, I love how she piles a dozen emojis behind every text, but not today.

  I fire off a response asking if he can stay with her one more day, but she says that she’s heading to Maui at ten in the morning. Apparently, a couple friends are planning to party it up like old ladies do in Lahaina, so they’ll definitely be staying for a few days.

  Shit.

  I text her back, saying that’s fine, and I’ll pick Bryce up by eight.

  You’re fine, sweetie. Sleep in. I’ll bring him by your place!

  Double shit.

  I spend half the dinner trying to figure out how I can dig my way out of this with minimal damage. Needing to find a way to make sure Val sleeps late in the morning, I suggest we watch a movie after we eat. I let her pick, hoping she’ll find one to keep her awake for a few hours.

  She does.

  Two movies, actually.

  Both chick flicks, love stories, one with Luke Shaw, this ripped billionaire guy all the ladies adore on the big screen. One of those films has some scenes that leave every part of me throbbing by the time we go to bed after midnight.

  Blue balls doesn’t begin to describe what it’s like when I have to watch sex scenes with Little Miss Forgetful way too close for comfort.

  There’s a searing heat, a few awkward smiles across the sofa, and so much unspoken tension I damn near Gorilla Glue my eyes to the screen. Bad idea.

  Because it’s not just two detached strangers I see going at it like drunk gibbons. It’s me and Val, those long, caramel tanned legs of hers wrapped around me, digging into my sides, challenging me to fuck her faster and deeper and harder. Asking me to bed her like we’re truly man and wife.

  Kill me.

  I barely sleep a wink, tossing and turning, my cock hounding me to climb across the bed and do terrible things to keep us up. Lust might just be the most potent drug known to man.

  Thankfully, Val sleeps soundly, without any nightmares. At some point, I’m able to force my brain to shut down and put me out.

  She’s still sleeping when I climb out of bed as the sun starts coming up. I close the French doors and pull the hidden shade down to keep the room dark and quiet as I leave.

  After a quick, ice-cold shower in the guest bathroom, I send my ma a text, asking her to bring over a box of malasadas. Custard filled—what else?

  Val’s gonna need the sugar rush after hearing she has a stepson. There’s no way around it now.

  Then I watch for my ma’s car from the front porch, so I can catch them outside. I spend a couple minutes alone, trying not to dwell on my own misery, before her orange Forester whips through the gate.

  With his brown hair still mussed from sleep, but his blue eyes gleaming with excitement, Bryce throws open the door and jumps out, ready to talk my ear off about his time with grandma.

  He’s a good kid. Still at the age where he doesn’t balk at his old man giving him a quick hug. But it only lasts for a second before he’s ready to bolt inside.

  “Hold up, Bryce Crispie,” I say, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Need a few words with your grandma and then I need a few with you.”

  “No problem, Dad.”

  I turn to face my ma as she gets out of the car. “How was he?”

  “Oh, the perfect angel he always is!” Mother says, carrying a pastry box as she walks around her car. “We had a wonderful time. We even stopped at Dole to stock up.”

  She flashes me a devilish wink and points at the overstuffed bag in Bryce’s hand. I chuckle and shake my head.

  Some things never change. Ma probably visits the touristy plantation five times a year, and she still comes back loaded with pineapple everything. Candy pineapple, chocolate pineapple, pineapple tea, probably pineapple mouthwash. The woman’s lived in Hawaii as long as we have, yet she hoards her pineapple goodies like she’s still a visitor.

  “Shit, Ma. Bryce is gonna have pineapple breath for the next month,” I say, taking the malasada box.

  Bryce, getting impatient, shoots toward the house.

  “Bryce,” I snap. “Hold up.”

  He frowns. So does my mother. It’s not my normal tone.

  “But...but, Dad,” he says, batting his eyes. “I think I saw something in the window!”

  My gut churns. I turn slowly.

  Sure enough, Savanny’s smug little face is pushed against the glass. He’s sitting on the back of a chair, looking out, so close he leaves a smudge with his nose.

  “It’s a cat,” Bryce says. “When did we get a cat?”

  “Don’t open the door,” I tell him.

  “A cat?” Mother asks. “And malasadas? Since when do you have a sweet tooth, Flint Calum?”

  “It’s...” a long damn story, I want to say, but my mother’s a quick study.

  Her eyes light up. “You have a friend, don’t you? A lady friend.”

  My jaw tightens.

  “It’s about time! I was afraid you’d sworn off all women after—” She clears her throat. “She, who won’t be named.”

  Every time she uses that phrase, I want to snort. But there’s a good reason behind it.

  Ma hated Bryce’s mother from the get-go, and the shit show she put us through did no favors. That relationship was a train wreck that went off the rails and over the ravine. Fucking literally.

  My ma isn’t far off when she hints at me living like a monk. I had.

  Have, I remind myself. I’m still a bachelor.

  Valerie Gerard changes nothing.

  It’s a good deed, a protection gig, a particularly crappy chance to bring down the Cornaro Outfit. Nothing more.

  I raise an eyebrow, nodding at m
y mother. “You sure you wanna go on?”

  “No. You’re right, son.” She clams up and shakes her head.

  For real, Bryce’s mother was a mess, but after she died, Ma and I formed a pact. We agreed to never say anything derogatory in front of Bryce about his mother. I won’t have my son thinking he came from trash.

  So far, we’ve stuck to our guns. Too bad it hasn’t stopped her from trying to set me up with her friends’ daughters, plus some total strangers she meets around Oahu.

  “Don’t get too excited,” I warn her. “It’s nothing serious.”

  She cackles excitedly. “Oh, my word. Nothing serious? Really now? A cat in your house and malasadas tell a far juicier story. Let me get my phone. I’ll call Phyllis and tell her I can’t go to Maui today, that I have to—”

  “No,” I say. “You’re not calling Phyllis or canceling anything.”

  She looks up and blinks, her curly hair bobbing.

  “Ma, come on.” I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Leave. Before you make yourself late for the airport. Inouye Airport’s been a circus lately, all backed up with TSA changes. Let me know when you get home.”

  She nods, grinning from ear to ear. She’s a good mother. I try to pay her back for everything.

  My father died while I was in the service. After coming home, I vowed to take care of her for the rest of her life. Moving her to Oahu with us wasn’t even a question.

  “You’re truly sure?” She starts to protest, still lifting her phone.

  I shake my head fiercely. “Go, Mom. Enjoy Lahaina. See you in a few days.”

  She kisses my cheek. “All right, but I’d better meet her then.”

  I nod, knowing full well she’ll probably like Val. At the same time, I’m hoping this is over by the time she gets back from Maui.

  She leaves, and I walk over to Bryce, who’s running his index finger up and down the window, playing a touch-paw game with Savanny through the glass. The cat stands up on both legs, batting at his hand.

  “Cool cat, Dad. Love the little leopard spots. What’s its name? Is it ours?”

  “His name’s Savanny, and he belongs to a friend of mine. Her name’s Valerie.”

  “Sweet. Are we cat sitting then?”

  “Sort of.”

  Inquisitive and smart, he looks up at me, waiting for more. This is one time I wish he wasn’t always so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

  Fuck. How do I even find the words?

  “Son, listen...you know how Cash and I sold our security business a few years ago?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I remember. Then you got all that money from the big deal.”

  “Well, we’ve decided to take on one last job.”

  “Damn, that’s cool!” He holds up a hand for a high five.

  “Language,” I grunt.

  “Sorry!”

  I humor him with a high five. Part of me can’t blame the kid. He practically worships the ground I walk on.

  He’s always thought having a father who chases bad guys for a living was cool. Mainly because I never let on how dangerous it truly was. And I never said one word about the horror in Bali, what happened thanks to fuckface Cornaro...

  “This is serious, Bryce. I need you to listen and keep this a secret. Totally mum.”

  “You got it!”

  “My friend Valerie’s already inside. I’m keeping her at our place so she can chill and keep a low profile. Thing is, she doesn’t know that because she was in an accident. She has amnesia, meaning she doesn’t remember what happened, or even a lot about who she is.”

  “Whoa,” Bryce mouths silently. “Weird.”

  “Yeah. She was scared when Cash brought her here, so...” I pause, trying to find a good way for this next part, but there isn’t one. “So, I know this sounds crazy, but you know how Cash is. That big brain of his gets screwy sometimes when he’s not dealing in medicine. He wanted to help make her comfortable. He told her we’re married, and...she still thinks we are.”

  “Married?” Bryce squints at me like I’m speaking Portuguese.

  I want to throw my head back and start screaming. Instead, I just nod.

  “Wowwww. You mean it, huh? This isn’t just a joke? You can trust me, Dad! I won’t breathe one word.” Grinning, he adds, “This is so cool.”

  Yeah, just fucking stunning.

  Now, I have to go introduce my not-wife to her not-stepson.

  Bryce walks to the door but stops before opening it. “Uh, weird question but...do I need to call her mom?”

  “No,” I bite off. “Her name’s Valerie. Stick with that.”

  “Valerie. Got it, Dad.”

  The second his back is turned, my hand flies up and pinches the bridge of my nose so hard I see stars.

  Why? Why is this my life?

  Now, I’ve got my kid lying, too. Asking me if he should call a total stranger I’m not actually married to his mother, something he’s never had.

  Triple shit.

  7

  Balancing Act (Valerie)

  I’m frozen in my tracks.

  Like that touch and go game kids play, where you have to freeze and fall down instantly, and can’t move again until someone unfreezes you.

  That’s me. A deer in front of a speeding train would have a better chance at getting its brain unstuck.

  Flint stares at me with an eyebrow quirked. “You okay? Hope the news didn’t short-circuit anything.”

  His thick, strong hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes.

  Ah, there’s my unfreeze cue.

  “A son? I have a son?” Even the words taste like some strange, foreign flavor I can’t quite recognize.

  “Stepson, technically. His name’s Bryce.”

  I’ve heard the name before. Louie the Boy Scout said he knew a Bryce. I thought I’d heard that Kael boy mention it a few times at the shrimp truck, too.

  I’ve thought a whole heaping lot of things the past few days in this confused tizzy of amnesia and freaky secrets. But I never stopped to think I’d be a parent until it slapped me across the face like a scarf caught in an ocean breeze.

  I’d just walked out of the bathroom when Flint came into the room, said he needed to tell me something. He’d said it so casually, too, something like, “Bryce is home. You remember our son, don’t you?”

  Holy Toledo. I need a minute to let that sink in.

  No, maybe I need an entire flipping decade.

  Somehow, my knees still work, so I cross the room and sit down on the bed. The good thing is, this isn’t making my head spin like the bad memories over the past few days. But maybe that’s because my head just popped right off.

  I take a long breath, holding it in. “Bryce. And he’s been with your mother for the past week?”

  “Yes, at the big Aulani resort across the island. It’s an annual thing for them. They do this adventure scavenger hunt every year. Haven’t figured out who loves it more, the kid or my ma.” Smiling, Flint walks over to the French doors and pushes a button.

  The dark shade over the windows rolls up, filling the room with light. No, more than just light.

  There’s a boy running across the lanai, pulling a little red ball on a string. I see why a second later when Savanny comes rocketing around the corner, chasing it. Bryce laughs loudly, watching Savanny tackle the ball and slap it around a few times with his back feet.

  I watch them, waiting for the dizziness to come, the headache. Whatever else this is, I’m sure it’s another trip to blackout city. A new round of memories cutting through my head so swiftly it makes me want to faint.

  Only...it doesn’t happen.

  There’s nothing. Not even an inkling of a memory. No emotional imprint left behind by this kid, who can’t be much older than ten, a happy, gangly preteen boy if there ever was one.

  That scares me. What kind of stepmom have I been?

  Have I been a stepmom at all?

  My stomach drops out. The memories won’t come.

  This doesn’
t feel like amnesia. More like I don’t have any memories of Bryce. There’s nothing tugging at my head, no little flashes, no hints of happier times because they don’t exist. But that’s crazy.

  Oh. My. God.

  Tears sting the back of my eyes, so hot and unpleasant it feels like they’re drilling through my head. I blink fiercely, making it worse. I cover my mouth but not before a sob escapes.

  Flint darts over, instantly at my side. “What’s wrong, babe? Memories again?”

  “No!” It tears out of me like an angry bullet. “Damn it, no.”

  My words are so harsh, so fast, even Flint takes a step back. Those gorgeous azure blue eyes of his freeze over.

  “Val?” He growls my name. “What the fuck’s the matter?”

  “You. Why are you doing this?” I whimper, staring up at him, searching his eyes.

  His frozen gaze breaks.

  He looks away, turning, as if he can’t bear to look me in the eye.

  As if he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  I stand up and point out the window, my hand shaking. “If that’s really your son, my stepson, you would’ve told me before now. Memory loss or not. That’s far too important to just wait for me to remember, Flint.”

  His lips twist, but he doesn’t speak. And I’m not done. I can’t stop the incoming flood.

  “None of this makes sense. If we’re really married, there’d be more signs of it. But there’s not. No pictures. No wedding trinkets. No wedding band on your finger. No...no nothing! This house is beautiful, but it hasn’t ever seen a woman’s touch, much less mine.” Flustered, I point at the bathroom. “You want to know what really gave it away? What I’ve been trying to forget but can’t? There’s not even an effing hair binder in that bathroom! Every woman has a few lying around like loose change and...”

  I stop, glaring at him full force.

  He’s looking back at me, his face a tight mask, slowly shaking his head.

  “Yes, they do. Stop lying!” I run across the room and yank open the closet. “And they have more than half a dozen sets of clothes! Why, Flint? Why are you doing this to me? What did I do?”

  He’s eerily silent. Huffing out hot rage, I fold my arms.