“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.
“Are you trying to drive me crazy or something? Um, it’s working!” My entire face twists. It hurts. I not only feel like I’m losing my mind, but everything I’ve ever wanted. Some secret dream I’ve always had, yet don’t remember, no thanks to this flipping amnesia.