Accidental Shield (Marriage Mistake #6)(5)

“Do you still know your name?” he asks. His eyes search mine.

Okay, think. Here’s your chance to stop making a total fool of yourself.

I close my eyes, focus, and remember that’s what woke me up.

Flint saying my name. It was distant and hazy, sure, but it left an impression.

“Valerie?” I say, unsure if I’m right.

He nods and looks at the way Flint and I are holding hands.

“What about your last name? Do you remember that?” Cash asks.

I try, but there’s just a blank, so I simply shake my head.

“Do you know what day it is?”

Ha. If I knew that, I feel like I’d be able to leap up and walk away.

“No. Sorry.”

“What month?”

I glance at the window for a clue, but seasons and months aren’t all that different in Hawaii, so I shake my head again.

“Do you know how old you are?”

I bite down on my bottom lip as it starts trembling and my breathing goes shaky.

God, I can’t remember any of those things. It’s beyond surreal. It’s scary.

“Cash,” Flint snaps. “Enough. Don’t badger the poor girl.”

“I’m hardly badgering her,” Cash throws back. “It’s part of a routine exam, vital questions to determine the extent of her amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” I say, my eyes popping wide.

No freaking way. That’s movie stuff. Not real life.

“You took a hard blow right to the head, dear,” Cash says. “Temporary amnesia isn’t as rare as people believe.”

My stomach drops. I don’t know if that makes me feel better.

Amnesia. Even temporary, that’s pretty freaky.

“How temporary are we talking?” I ask, snatching nervously at the blanket.

“Hmm, well...hard to say. It could be hours or it could be months. Every head trauma case is as unique as its victim, I’m afraid. We just don’t have reliable models for this sort of thing.”

“Months? Jesus. You’re telling me I might be in for months of not knowing anything?” My trembling increases, and ice-cold panic grips my chest again.

“Cash,” Flint growls. “I’m telling you, she’s had a fucking ’nough.”

The sharpness of his tone has me looking up at him. There’s enough steel in the gaze he’s leveled on Cash to filet a barracuda.

Cash nods and pats my leg. “Fine. Let’s get you cleaned up in a bath and some food in you. Maybe it’ll help jog your memory.”

“A bath and food?” I can’t hide my skepticism. That seems way too easy.

“Sometimes, believe it or not, that’s all it takes. A normal routine helps get the brain working properly,” he says. “I’ve heard of cases where elderly patients only needed to smell a cup of coffee or hear a favorite song to recall plenty about their lives.”

Whatever. I’m willing to try anything, I guess.

I glance up at Flint again. I’m not sure why I feel like I want his approval.

His bright eyes soften as he looks down at me and nods.

Cash stands, unhooks the stethoscope from around his neck, and stuffs it in his bag. Then, with a parting smile for me, and a nod at Flint, he says, “I’ll meet you in the kitchen after you get your wife settled in the bathroom.”

My entire body freezes over.

What did he just say? Wife!





2





What Friends Are For (Flint)





I’m so fucking pissed I want to wring Cash’s neck, and barrel toward the kitchen with half a mind of doing just that.

I should’ve known he’d screw me over. The smart-ass grin on his face when I come striding in doesn’t soften the urge in my fists.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “Wife? Why the hell would you lie?”

Leaning against the counter smugly with a coffee mug in hand, Cash takes a long, loud slurp before answering. “She has amnesia. She’s scared half out of her wits. If she believes you’re her husband, her anxiety level won’t be quite as high, and she’ll feel safer staying here. We should try to keep her comfortable if we want a swift recovery.”

I’m so frustrated I can barely think.

It’s even worse that he’s throwing his smarmy MD logic in my face.

“Comfortable?” I shake my head. “Goddammit, for the last time, she’s not staying here.”

“Oh, yes, she is.” Cash lifts another cup off the standing rack on the counter and holds it up. “You agreed to that last night, my man. Remember?”

Snarling, I nod, urging him to hurry it up and pour me a cup of Kona coffee.

“One night, you said,” I tell him. “One damn night. That’s all I agreed to.”

He eyeballs me, amused.

I rip the cup of coffee he holds out to me from his hand.

“One. Frigging. Night.” I emphasize each word.

“She has to stay here, Flint, especially with this amnesia state. She’s a sitting duck who doesn’t know what happened. I’ve seen amnesia cases before. It’s just like I said—the memory might return in a few hours, or a few months. There’s no real medical consensus why. A sharp blow to the head can often cause this kind of self-resolving forgetfulness.”