Accidental Shield (Marriage Mistake #6)(31)

Oh, please. Like anyone would ever do that.

“As if. Go back to the other site, please.”

He does. I have him click on the friend’s button. A list of several hundred faces appear. “Scroll down,” I say.

I watch the pictures as they roll past. None are familiar, but I’m really only looking for one.

“That’s the end,” he says, scrolling into blank white space.

“Weird. Why didn’t I see your picture? Shouldn’t I be friends with you? I mean, some couples even put their selfies up front and center.”

“Not our style. You know me...or you did. I’m not into social media.”

“Ohhh, you’re one of those guys.”

“Yeah, those guys. Ones who don’t want every damn detail of their lives plastered all over the web.”

I giggle. “Aw, come on. It’s not plastered all over the web. Only your friends see what you post. You can even crank it up so it’s just certain users. You just saw how restricted mine is.”

He closes the laptop. “Lot of fucked up shit in this world. There are hackers who can skim everything and put you in a mountain of debt if they want it bad enough, privacy be damned.”

I lean my head back against the couch. “Yeah, well, if you know one of those hackers, please send them my way, would you?”

He sets the laptop on the coffee table. “No dice, Val. You’ll just have to give your brain a chance. You’ll remember in time.”

“In time for what?” I sigh. “My funeral?”

My lips purse. I’m feeling sorry for myself, a good dose of woe churning away inside.

Flint’s eyes haven’t gone anywhere.

He’s still looking at me with such a serious expression, I kinda regret what I said, how I feel. This isn’t any easier for him.

Seriously.

Just imagine being married to a woman who might never remember the day you married her. I sit up and look him straight in the face. Eye to eye.

“You know I’m just kidding, right?” Like earlier today, the pull is too strong to resist, and I lean closer so our lips can touch. Heat flares inside me as our lips clash together in this red-hot collision.

Then comes disappointment.

He cuts our kiss short and jerks up.

I hear something echoing in the house, a bird call? It’s the doorbell. I realize it a second later.

“There’s Cash,” Flint says. “Be right back.”

Great. Perfect timing. Leaning back against the couch, I ask, “How does he get through the gate, anyway?”

“He has an opener. One of a very short list of people I trust.”

So we can be interrupted at any time, day or night? It just keeps getting better.

Okay, so I’m just being bitchy. You’d be too if your chance to suck face with a man as handsome as Flint Calum was rudely ripped away.

Cash is the only doctor I’ve ever heard of who makes house calls.

He strolls through the front door Flint holds open.

“Hello, hello,” Cash says, walking toward me. “How’re we feeling today? Any more dizzy spells?”

“Nope,” I say, “but I’ve been remembering a lot about sea turtles.”

He looks up from his bag on the coffee table. “Turtles?”

“Turtles. You know, because I own a turtle tour company.” Not sure about that, I look at Flint. “I do own it, right?”

“Yeah, honey. All yours,” Flint says.

“Ah, yes, I do recall hearing about your escapades with the local marine life. Very lucrative, I’m sure.” Cash snorts back a chuckle as he wanders over, then shines a mini flashlight at my eyes.

“Jeez!” I throw my hand up, trying to adjust to the brightness. “A little warning first, maybe?”

“My apologies, Valerie. Just figured you’d be as anxious as I am to get this over with. Look straight ahead, please, and no blinking.”

Sighing, I listen, and then sit through another ten or fifteen minutes of mind-numbing questions and annoying tests. At least he doesn’t want to draw blood. I hate needles.

“We Googled amnesia but didn’t find anything too helpful,” I say, just as he finishes listening to my lungs.

“No surprise. It’s standard with your condition. Time and rest are really the only medicine,” he says.

“It did say forgetting who you are is pretty rare,” I tell him, my cheeks heating.

“Correct. Cases of true long-term personal dissociation are quite rare with amnesia and fugue states. Permanent damage to a person’s identity usually comes with more serious traumatic brain injuries.”

His dark-green eyes cut through me. For a second, I hesitate, unsure whether he’ll laugh at me if I say what I want to. Whatever, here goes.

“I’m not pretending, you know,” I say quietly. I don’t even know when that worry hits me, but it does. “I’m not faking amnesia. For attention or something. I don’t know, if there was ever any—”

“Doubt? Perish the thought, lovely lady,” Cash says. “You’re a happily married woman. Perfectly well adjusted. If I had any concerns about other motives for your behavior, you wouldn’t be dealing with me right now. Your husband would’ve brought you a shrink.”