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.
“Wow 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