No lie, this might be the toughest job I’ve ever taken on.
And that’s saying a fuck of a lot, considering the Cornaro Outfit made me wish I was dead once upon a time.
I’m not sure what worries me more as I stand under the waterfall showerhead, temperature set to glacial.
Is it the re-match with Cornaro guns making me freak?
Or is it Valerie Gerard’s sweet looks that could end me in a puff of flame and testosterone?
3
Turtle Tracks (Valerie)
I don’t know why I’m so scared, why I don’t dare be alone.
Sure, I guess the whole losing my mind and waking up in agony, magically hitched to the hottest man on the island might have something to do with it but…
Why does it feel like I can’t trust anyone but Flint? Because he’s my husband?
I have to keep reminding myself it’s true.
No denying it, the man could chase every Instagram beast on the planet under the table with his looks. This natural son of the sea, all seam-bursting muscle and icy-hot starshine stares and dancing ink I totally wouldn’t mind seeing up close and personal.
Forget the kind of man you wouldn’t mind chowing down on crackers in your bed. For him, I just might leave a whole fricking package.
But it’s more than just a schoolgirl crush.
He’s built, yeah, but he also has this powerful, mysterious aura. Like the air itself ignites with static every time he’s near. Maybe it’s too weird to describe perfectly, but I know what he does to me.
When he’s near, I feel safe.
And safe also means oddly relieved. I think I’ve been afraid for a long time, even if I don’t know why.
There’s so much I don’t know.
A sigh builds in my chest and my eyes flutter shut. I listen to the shower running.
Flint keeps telling me not to try so hard, not to push too fast, but not knowing anything about who I am sucks the big one.
Imagine if everything was gone.
All your happy summers. All the stuck-up mean girls who made your teen years hell. All your first kisses with boys you really liked. All your scabbed knees and butterfly sightings and surfboard rides and getting grounded by your parents and…even your own flipping wedding day.
Holy hell.
I should remember getting married, especially to a man like him. Whatever other mistakes I’ve made in my life, I can’t see how I went wrong here. Somehow, I landed the type of guy who’ll be there at three in the morning when a girl keeps yodeling up seawater, or at two in the afternoon when she just needs a nice tall drink of mango iced tea.
Honestly? It feels good to be that girl.
Even tumbling down this memory abyss, that much is obvious.
My lips curl into a smile, and I don’t fight it this time.
Same for the thought of having him in bed beside me, where I can lay my head on his shoulder and sleep the night away. That’s the other thing. I’m so exhausted. Can’t keep my eyes pried open for more than a few hours at a time.
Flint keeps saying sleep is the best cure, doctor’s orders, yada, yada, yada.
He’s probably right. I can’t fight the drowsiness when it comes in force. It’s like a big old heavy blanket that enshrouds me, pulling me under.
Kinda like now.
Just knowing he’s near helps me snuggle deeper into the blankets. I’m out cold before Flint even joins me, closing my eyes and letting the sandman carry me away.
* * *
My heart races so breakneck fast I feel it in my temples.
I’m totally petrified. But I have to get far, far away before it’s too late.
I’m in a boat, scrambling as I push on the throttle. The little skiff jerks across the water, skimming the waves in bumpy zig-zags that make my stomach churn. Somewhere around my feet, the cat cries, just as scared as I am.
We’re not far from shore, close to safety, but we’re not there yet. I have to haul butt. Faster!
There’s something rattling around behind me then, and suddenly—oh God, it’s in the ship!—I know we won’t make it.
I barely have a second to reach down, scoop up my furry baby, and take a leap of faith into the ocean chop.
There’s already bright orange flames spreading across the sea the second I come up for air. It’s everywhere, debris splintering and burning and smoking like we’re not even surrounded by the roaring Pacific. More like Hell’s own Lake of Fire.
The waves chase them back rapidly, though. So much water. Currents rushing by faster than I thought, invisible fingers slapping me across the face, trying to tear the poor soaked animal from my arms.
No!
I scream the cat’s name. Then I’m just…sinking.
It’s not like the movies. In currents like these, you don’t just slide under. You’re pulled down, fast and hard, and the worst part is, I’m not even crying for myself.