“I-I…can’t. Can’t br-brea—”
“You can and you will,” Flint says, patting my back hard while pushing my head down between my knees. “Focus. One breath at a time. You’ve made it this far.”
I listen. I’m not sure how he makes it happen, but it works.
The air flows in and out of my mouth, my nostrils, my lungs again. Every breath eases the panic swell threatening to crush me like this ruthless wave.
I stay like that with my head hanging down, trying to decipher everything he said.
But I don’t need to decipher anything. He’s telling me the truth about my life.
I’ve known it for some time, but I still don’t know what it is. I only feel bits and pieces. It’s so weird, so fragmentary, so many little gaps I’m missing, but I’m sure of one thing.
There are men after me. I don’t know them, I don’t know why, but they’re coming. I truly believe they want me dead, just like he said.
Who knows, maybe they’ve been after me for some time.
“To clear shit up, I only lied about us being hitched,” Flint says, drawing slow, winding circles over my back. “Cash and I were special forces. Navy SEALs, once, then we specialized in security services. He’s truly a doctor, I sold a patent, and we owned a security and rescue company together after our time with Uncle Sam. We know what we’re doing.”
“SEALs?” I shake my head, even though it’s still hanging between my knees. “You never told me that.”
“Sorry. It’s not something I fling around. Until Cash found you, we’d bowed out of the cloak and dagger shit, thought we’d left it all behind.” He turns briefly to stare out the window at all the pure, golden light falling down on another perfect island day. “It’s not paradise out there, even if it looks like it. Not yet. Our work’s not done. Not till you’re safe.”
This is so different from not remembering anything. It makes my head hurt, but in a different way. “So is Bryce really your son, or just a kid you’ve got under your protection?”
“No, he’s mine.”
“What does he know about me?” I ask him.
Flint’s hand goes still on my back. “Nothing much beyond the pointers I gave him an hour ago. You’re a friend of mine, you’re in trouble, and I’m helping you out. Keeping you safe until we catch the bad guys.”
“Does he think we’re married, too?”
Flint lets out a growly sigh. “He knows we aren’t, but my head was up my ass. Again. I asked him to pretend we are because it’ll make you feel more comfortable here. Glad there’s no need for that anymore.”
God, this is all so confusing.
I don’t even know if I should be mad at him for asking his son to go along with a wild lie, or if I should be touched he was willing to go to such extremes for me. “I think I just…I need some time to think. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Sure, babe,” he says.
I wait for him to move, but he doesn’t, just stays at my side like he’s got his feet bolted to the floor.
“Um, I mean, alone,” I say, fidgeting with my fingers.
“Gotcha. Do me a favor and sit up first, so I know you’re not going to faint.”
I sit up, closing my eyes because I can’t stand seeing him right now.
I might start crying if I do.
For a few blissful days, I was the luckiest woman on earth. Mrs. Flint Calum.
Now, I’m just a strange woman in hiding because someone’s trying to kill me.
There goes that goose again, walking over my grave. This time, it’s dancing, I think.
My bones shiver, my skin breaks out in goosebumps, telling me how serious this is.
Right. The last thing I should bawl over is having a marriage that was never real demolished in one hard conversation.
Refusing to let him know what a mess I am inside, I say, “I’m fine. Not going to faint.”
“All right. I’ll leave you alone. Call me back in if you need anything.”
The bed shifts as he stands. I don’t even open my eyes, don’t need to.
I can feel him standing beside me. I press my hands together, to prevent reaching out, grabbing him, begging him to stay.
The worst part? I still feel the ring on my finger. The most elegant black pearl I’ve ever seen. Now it’s just this little wad of darkness, a soul sucker, devouring the beautiful lie I lived for under a week.
Tears come again, spilling out from under my closed lids as I clumsily tug the ring off. “Here. Take this back. It’s yours.”
“Keep it,” he says, his voice soft and sure. “It’s yours, Val. I bought it on a whim and always figured I’d have a good use for it, one way or another. If it helps you feel better, then there’s nowhere else it belongs.”