Accidental Shield (Marriage Mistake #6)(57)

The whole scene changes.

Rather than little Savanny playfully batting at the ball, he’s swiping now, his lips curled up in a defensive snarl. I keep drawing, faster, and my breath grows shallower with every stroke.

I’m trembling by the time it’s done.

It’s Savanny, all right, and he’s not going for the ball.

He’s swiping at Ray.

There’s more. The background I’ve drawn vaguely resembles a yacht with its plush seats surrounding a polished deck. The family yacht. I’m in the drawing too, behind Savanny, this twisted look of shock on my face, like there’s supposed to be something else behind Ray. Someone, maybe.

Crud.

I drop the notepad and look away from where it lands near my feet. Images of Ray yelling flash in my head. He’s screaming at me.

Telling me how stupid, how reckless I am.

How I’m ruining everything. All of his big, precious plans meant for King Heron. For the family.

Just like usual.

I can’t fight the instinct to press my fingers against my ears, knowing full well it’s all in my head. That’s why it doesn’t help block out anything. I can still hear him.

Yelling. Screaming. Accusing. Blaming me.

He says this was supposed to be the end of it, the thing that might save us, if only I hadn’t stowed away on board and—

Something touches my shoulder.

A man’s heavy hand. Oh, God, it’s—

“Whoa,” Flint says, sitting down beside me. “Didn’t mean to make you jump.”

I shake my head, but don’t reply. Once I’m sure the images are fading, the shouting stops. I let my hands fall away from my ears.

“Another memory?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

I nod blankly, pointing at the scratch pad on the ground. “There.”

He picks it up and studies it carefully.

“Shit, Val. You drew this?”

“I was drawing Bryce and Savanny playing, but all of a sudden...that’s what it turned into on the new page.” I look up at him, unsure how to explain it better. “I-I didn’t have to try. My hand just went to work and did the rest. How can that be? I wasn’t even thinking—I didn’t know what I was drawing until it was done.”

He flips through the previous pictures of Savanny and Bryce. Those sea glass eyes that light up his face flash, kinder and sexier than ever. “You’re one talented lady. This shit looks professional. Uh, and by shit, I mean...the shit.”

I burst out laughing, this awkward tension pouring out of me.

There’s still a tightness in my chest. “No, Flint, I don’t think so. I don’t think I draw very often. Or if I did...I doubt I’d show anyone. It just feels secret, almost. Like something I kept to myself.”

“Why?” He leans closer, his eyes searching mine. “Look, woman, I’m not about to type up a damn dissertation on Van Gogh, but this looks like it’s about to leap right off the page. Almost life-like. Why would you keep it under wraps?”

“I don’t know.” I rub my chest, where the tightness presses on my lungs in a suffocating trigger point. “It’s just this inkling I get. And by inkling, I mean more like a violent wave. Almost sickly. Like I wasn’t ever supposed to draw, or someone else would—”

“Like someone was stifling you?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” I draw in a deep breath as the choking sensation eases.

It’s so strange, how these things hit hard and then fade away just as fast.

“No easy answers,” Flint says, “but maybe you just figured out how to help us find them.”

His long finger taps against the page, and I follow it with my eyes.

He points at the sketch with Ray, sneering down like he’s about to slap me across the face. “That shape in the corner looks like a door. And the way the cat’s snarling like a stuck raccoon, seems like you were forced into a room.”

“We were,” I say. “Below deck, I think, back on the yacht. Ray was upset. I wasn’t supposed to be there. He was yelling, screaming how stupid I am, how it was all my fault, and I was ruining everything like apparently I always do.” I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I was.”

“Like hell you were,” he growls, eyes flashing. “Ruining it for him and his asshole friends? Maybe. Considering their line of business, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re smart enough to know, Val, don’t need to hear it from me.”

But I do.

I’m freaking reeling.

I can’t even believe I’m about to say the next thing that pops into my head.

“Should I try drawing more? It’s not exactly a sunny walk on the beach, but if I can just get over the pain, the shock, maybe I’ll remember something we can use?”

He shrugs. “Just like everything else, honey. Don’t force it, but when the urge to draw strikes, do it.” He sets the scratch pad down. “I promised Bryce we’d go swimming before supper. Want to join us? Still a sliver of light left. Bet it’ll help get that pretty head off shitty brothers screaming in your face.”

I almost say yes, before my mind questions if I should.

Should things be this normal?

It’s hard to imagine just letting go, but maybe he’s right.