Accidental Shield

“No fair! Lemme see, you stupid little—”

“Ray, don’t!” I try my best to hide the shell behind my back, not wanting him to see it.

He always makes me show him things, and then he says they’re his.

Not this time. Not this conch.

It’s mine, but I say we can share it, even if it makes my stomach feel all gurgly.

Ray says okay, and he snatches it away from me, running off.

Now, it’s later, and I’m looking for my shell. I can’t find it anywhere.

I look high and low. Behind some big rocks, I find Ray.

He’s sitting on another little boy’s back, pushing his face into the sand, snarling like this scary animal. Ray’s hurting the boy.

“Stop!” I tell him. “Don’t, Ray, you’ll…”

I don’t even know. But I’m scared.

The kid finally pokes his head up, coughing. Crying. Sand sticks to his patchy red face from the tears. He looks hurt.

Ray just laughs. “Now’s your chance! Run, you big dummy! Or do you want some more?”

The kid takes off, stumbling as he flies across the beach, still making this awful sound.

Then it’s just me and my big brother.

He talks so much.

He tells me the boy stole the conch shell and that he had to get it back. Then he says the shell is his. That we aren’t sharing anymore. It was always his, and I’m lucky he even let me borrow it.

I’m so sick of him being so mean.

I turn to run, saying I’m going to tell on him, but he grabs my arm and won’t let go.

He’s shaking me.

* * *

Present

My eyes snap open.

Holy crap.

Something about the sudden view of overgrown road and palm trees is scary, disorienting.

I try to control the gasping mess I’ve become. My chest heaves and my eyes burn like I was crying. My heart wants to spring right out of my chest.

“What’s wrong, Val?” Flint asks, sitting bolt upright in the driver’s seat next to me.

His big hand is already on my arm, applying that gentle, calming pressure that’s totally his style.

I relax instantly.

Jesus. It was him holding my arm. Not the boy in my dream. Not Ray.

“Another nightmare?” he asks, releasing my arm. His gaze cuts through me, a pleasant fog of sea glass blue tonight.

All I can do is nod.

“I’m fine. Just focus on the road.”

Silly. It was just another dream. But it felt more real than that, too.

More like a memory, a terrible one.

I feel like it’s still there, floating around in the back of my mind, this hazy, cruel image projected on a screen. I can sense the emotional punch, even if I can’t quite recall specific scenes.

It’s so strange how the human mind works. Or doesn’t work in my case.

“We’re almost home,” Flint says.

I close my eyes, still seeing that vicious kid. My lips don’t want to work, but I make them.

“So, hey…did I ever mention anybody named Ray?”

“Ray? Hell, I don’t know everybody you do, honey,” Flint says quietly.

It’s almost a quip. Surprising. Strange.

I do a double take, looking at him slowly before turning back to the view outside my window.

What’s the deal?

I try not to be frustrated, mainly because I like him—of course I like him, I’m freaking married to him—and this must be as frustrating for him as it is for me. I can tell.

He’s being so patient, so kind, but there are times when I sense his worry under the surface.

Who wouldn’t be uneasy in his shoes? Being married to a woman who can’t remember you.

It’s flipping nuts. And there’s a darkness in my mind, a sinister, scary sense I’m still missing something right under my nose.

I can’t blame him, even when Mr. Sea Glass turns into Mr. Growlypants. Flint’s the only reason I haven’t flipped my lid.

Kissing him back there proved it. Just a simple, sweet kiss was all I needed to chase away the gloom, the frightful, gut-wrenching confusion. I can’t help but think it’s proof I love him.

It’s not like I ever doubted it. I just…

I wish I could remember. Bring myself back to meeting him for the first time. Remember falling in love.

If there’s one thing I despise this amnesia for robbing away, it’s that.

Our dating routine. Our first kiss. Our little dance of he loves me, he loves me not.

All gone thanks to a sickening twist of fate.

Why the hell am I dreaming about my brother, who seems like a total sicko, and not Flint Calum?

I try to will it, pinching my lips together, tightening my thigh muscles as other parts of my body try to do the thinking. Hazy or not, it’s still sexy, everything I picture.

My toes curl, imagining him touching me. Running those strong fingers through my hair, tangling my locks around his fingers.

Kissing me.

Growling his hot frustration against my tongue. Stealing my breath. Pushing my nipples against his chest, his hands roaming, his ladykiller eyes making me so wet I start to shake.