by Lesley Jones
“No, no. it’s fine. I don’t need collecting.” She sounded panicked. Warning bells sort of went off, but I chose to ignore them.
I turned the chair around and faced the wall in my office so I didn’t have to look at my brother’s obvious pleasure over finding out this girl had me by the balls.
“You okay? I missed you,” I told her quietly. She said nothing. More alarm bells. I stamped on them till they shut the fuck up. Shoulda gone with my gut.
“I stayed at yours last night. I needed to be able to smell you. I fuckin’ hated sleeping in your bed and waking up alone.”
Robbie made a gaging noise from behind me. I spun the chair around, picked up the pot containing the pens, and launched it at him. My stapler followed.
She was silent. Nothing but the sound of her breathing was coming through the phone, but I could barely hear it over the sound of my own heart beating loudly in my ears.
“Georgia, you still there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. Look, Cam, we need to talk.”
No, no we do not need to talk.
“But not on the phone. I need to see you in person.”
Fuck. I closed my eyes and tried not to voice the panic rising in my chest.
“Well, I just said I’d come and get you, but I only have an hour. I have a flight to catch at four thirty. I won’t be back until Monday.”
“Well, I’ll just wait and see you Monday then.”
Monday? Monday was forever away.
“I’d really like to see you now, Kitten.” I spun in the chair back away from my brother, who was still rubbing his forehead where the stapler had hit him. Serves the wanker right.
“Monday’s a long way off, and I want to show you how sorry I am for being such a prick last night.”
“Fuck Me!” my brother whisper shouted. “I’m gonna take a piss, I can’t listen to any more of this.” He got up and went into my bathroom.
“I can’t, Cam. You don’t have to keep apologising. You shouldn’t have behaved like a prick, and I shouldn’t have stormed off like a diva. Go catch your flight and give me a call on Monday once you’re home.”
Fuck my luck and fuck those Russians. I raked my hand through my hair and let out a long sigh.
“If I could get out of it, George, I would, but something’s come up with some business I have going on in Amsterdam, and I need to fly over and sort it out. I only just found out myself I had to go.”
“It’s okay, you go and sort out your business and we’ll talk on Monday.”
Tell her you love her, tell her how you feel …
“I miss you, Kitten. Have a good weekend.”
Tell her for fuck’s sake!
“You too, Cam. Bye.”
Fucking tell her. My own voice roared in my head.
“George, I …” The door to my bathroom swung open and my brother stepped back into my office.
“Nothing, I’ll see you Monday.”
I flew to Amsterdam rearranged the meeting with Kadnikov and saw him Friday night. I was thoroughly fucked off with the situation and the inconvenience it had caused me. I took my fucked offness out on his face and made him see the error of his ways. It was NOT okay to hit women, and it was NOT okay to burn down buildings we owned. We would NOT be paying him for protection. He would NOT mess with us again. He got my point, along with a broken nose.
I got a flight home Saturday lunch time.
Before we took off, I called Georgia, she’d slept in and I’d woken her up. Her voice was all croaky and as sexy as fuck. I turned my back to the airport crowds and tried to readjust my hard-on as I spoke to her on the phone.
She was even less talkative than she’d been when she called me Friday morning. All I learned was that she’d gone out to an Indian restaurant with Jimmie Friday night, but she didn’t drink much because she was saving herself for Ashley’s party. In that split second, I decided not to tell her I was coming home and just to turn up at her place to surprise her later.
Once we landed, I went home to shower before going over to Georgia’s and found a message waiting from the estate agent on my answerphone. The offer on the house I’d spent the last two weeks trying to buy had finally been accepted.
I didn’t call Georgia or go to her place that afternoon, deciding to turn up at Ashley’s birthday party that night and surprise her instead.
She was fucking surprised all right.
The first thing I noticed when I pulled into my reserved spot was the extra security in place, even at the back of the building. I walked around to the front, where there were not only more of my staff than usual but also faces I didn’t recognise.
“What’s going on?” I asked Steve, one of my head doorman.
“Private party, boss. Frank’s boy, the one that’s in the band? He’s up there with another bloke from the band.”
I looked around at the queue as he spoke and spotted a few photographers hanging about. Oh well, it’d be good publicity for the club and would most definitely raise our profile having them here.
“Who’s paying for all the extra security?” I asked him.
“Nothing to do with us, boss. They came with the band. Bailey’s inside, have a chat with him.”
I nodded my head but I was only half listening. Georgia was inside, and after two lonely nights without her in my bed, I planned to drag her out of there just as soon as she’d let me.
I had a key with me. It wasn’t the actual key to the house I’d bought, but she wouldn’t know that. I was gonna put it into a glass of champagne and pass it to her.
The club was packed to capacity, and the bars were four deep with people waiting to be served. I made my way through the crowds and up the stairs to the VIP area.
Bailey stepped in front of me, blocking my path from the bar to the dance floor in the sectioned off area.
“I thought you were away till next week?” he questioned. His eyebrows were drawn down and he blinked rapidly as a look of complete panic washed over his face. It was only there for a few seconds before he composed himself. Bailey Layton looked worried, what the fuck was that all about?
“I got things sorted sooner than expected and thought I’d fly straight home to surprise your sister.”
He swallowed hard and nodded his head slowly. He wasn’t happy that we were together, but he’d been pretty good about things so far. I wasn’t sure how he was gonna feel about Georgia moving in with me, though. Fuck, I missed her. I needed to see those pretty blue eyes that finally had some light back in them.
“Where is she?”
He shrugged his shoulders and sat himself down on a bar stool. “Not sure, but if I know Georgia, she’s probably dancing. Have a drink.”
He caught the attention of Kelly, one of our barmaids, and motioned with his finger between us. She brought over a bottle of bourbon and two glasses, moving the ice bucket along the bar so it was within our reach.
“So, your brother’s here, the one that’s in Carnage?”
“Er, yeah. Yeah he is. Both my brothers are here.” He looked all around himself as he spoke. He looked like he was either in pain, or he was terrified.
What the fuck was going on?
My office door opened.
“I think George said she was gonna go to the dance floor downstairs, perhaps you’d be better off looking for her there,” Bailey said, whipping the sweat that was shining on his forehead.
“Why the fuck would she go down there?”
A bloke that seemed vaguely familiar appeared over Bailey’s shoulder, dangling a bunch of keys.
“Cheers, mate. We owe you big time.”
I looked from the bloke, to the keys, to Bailey.
He closed his eyes and seemed to hold his breath before turning around on the stool he was sitting on. I followed his gaze.
Kitten.
“You wanna drink, baby?” the bloke, the key-dangling fucker, kissed her temple and asked.
I was torn between telling him to take his hands
off my woman and smiling at her. I opened my mouth to speak when realisation of who he was started to seep into my poor, stupid, love-fucked brain.
The singer from the band.
Mac?
Maca?
Something like that.
I looked from her to him, he’d kissed her and he was holding her hand. I looked at her face. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she were about to speak, and her eyes were wide. My gaze swung back to him to find him looking at her as if she were the most beautiful, amazing creature to have ever graced the earth.
He’d kissed her.
He was holding her hand.
I couldn’t fucking breathe.
“Gia, what’s wrong?” he asked her gently. Love, devotion, concern, and worship all too obvious in his voice. My heart stopped beating. For a few split seconds, I thought I was going to choke on it as it crawled from my chest and lodged itself in my throat.
Two days.
I’d been gone for two fucking days.
I needed to get out of there.
I needed to … I had no clue what I needed, but it needed to make me numb.
I turned to walk away.
“Cam?”
That voice. Her voice. She was calling my name, talking to me. Hope began to infiltrate the empty spot my heart had just left vacant, and stupidly, for a few seconds, I allowed it to affect my way of thinking. I’d got it all wrong, they were friends, just her brother’s band mate. She’d probably known him for years. I had nothing to worry about. She wouldn’t do that to me, not my Kitten.
I swung back around, and the control I had over my own fists was hanging tenuously by a thread.
Bailey jerked in his stool. He could read me like a book. Him and I were the same, it was in our genes. We could read a person’s body language from ten feet away and sniff out trouble from twenty.
Because I needed to do something—anything other than stand there, dying—I held out my hand.
“Cameron King, joint owner of the place.”
“Sean McCarthy.”
My world ended. I nodded my head in acknowledgment of this fact.
“You’re Sean? The lead singer of Carnage. Of course.” I had no clue how I managed to string that sentence together.
He looked from me to her.
“Do you need a minute to talk?”
He knew. That fucker knew about me.
I sure as shit knew about him. Sean. Her Sean.
She gave her head a slight nod in answer to his question.
I wasn’t sure whose head I wanted to rip off the most—hers, his, or my own.
He said something in her ear and then turned to me, “I’m gonna go get a drink from the other bar.”
Good. Fuck off and don’t come back. I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Bailey stated in his rough voice.
“Cam.” She reached out to touch my arm, hesitated, and then put it back down to her side.
Touch me. Please touch me and tell me that I’ve got this all wrong. I need that. I need you, Kitten.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”
No. No. No. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go.
I’d bought a house.
For us.
A fucking house with stables.
She was killing me. Every word she spoke killed me a little more.
“I thought you were away till Monday. I wanted to tell you then, face to face.”
I thought she felt the same as I did. I thought what we had meant something to both of us. I flew home early. I bought a house. I bought a house with fucking stables. For her. It was all for her. I needed to make her see. I should’ve gone after her Thursday night. I should’ve told her on the phone how I felt. I should’ve done things differently.
“I came home early to surprise you. I wanted to see you, to tell you, to show you how sorry I am for my behaviour on Thursday night. Kitten, you remember that? Thursday. Two fucking days ago?” I was losing it.
I had never hated and loved someone so much in my life, would never have thought it was possible.
“Two nights ago, Kitten, when I stupidly thought you were in a relationship with me.” I punched my fist into my own chest, but it did nothing to subdue the anger building inside me.
Georgia flinched. “I was. We was …”
I glared at her whilst battling to control the rage burning in every part of me.
I picked up my drink from the bar and downed it in one go. I needed more—more than bourbon, more than beer. There was only one thing that would give me what I needed. One thing that would make me feel like I was invincible and not dying a slow, painful, excruciating death with every word that came out of her lying, cheating, whoreish mouth.
“Sean McCarthy, now why didn’t I work that one out?” I asked her through gritted teeth, barely holding back the need to throw up at the mention of his name. “I knew all about Sean. I just didn’t realise it was that Sean.”
Why didn’t I? How had I never worked that one out? Because I was a love-fucked cunt that was why.
“I didn’t stand a chance did I? Me or a twenty-two-year-old fucking rock god?”
“Cam, please. It’s not like that. I’ve known him since I was eleven years old. He was my boyfriend from the age of thirteen.”
She looked at the ground before looking back at me with those beautiful and oh so blue eyes.
“He’s the only boy I’ve ever loved.”
Boom. There it was, the very last of my will to live leaving my body.
“Thanks, Kitten, thanks for that.”
I turned and walked away, leaving my love and my life at Georgia’s feet.
I grabbed a couple of bottles of bourbon from the bar downstairs and took them home with me. I’d almost finished the first one by the time I’d pulled up outside the wine bar.
When I got to my flat, I went straight to my bedside chest of drawers and found an old contacts book.
All it took was one call. One call, and all of my hard work to get and stay straight the last few years went to shit. What did it matter? I had nothing to live for anyway. If I died, I died. Anything was better than thinking, than remembering her.
Chapter Eight
Georgia
I’m not sure what wakes me, probably the turmoil that I’ve got going on in my head right now.
I got up and went to the bathroom before grabbing a T-shirt Cam had left hanging over the back of the chair and putting it on. God, I love the way he smells the smell of him. He has a half dozen different aftershaves in his bathroom cupboard, but the Givenchy he’s been wearing since we first met is still my favourite.
This weekend has been horrible and it is all my fault. I thought I was ready to finally have a read through all of Sean’s old letters. I was wrong. It isn’t just about the words they contain, it’s a combination of hurt, anger, and guilt. It would’ve all been so different if one of us had just reached out to the other. Our lives would have taken such different paths if we hadn’t remained apart for those four years.
But then what?
Where would Cam have fit in the picture if Sean and I had married and started a family at eighteen like we had planned? Would I have had him in my life? Would we have still somehow ended up together? Would our children even exist if Sean hadn’t died? I always thought I would have given anything for Sean to still be alive, but I would never give up my family and what I have with Cam.
So what does that mean? What does it say about me as a person? A wife and mother?
I am so sick of it all going around in my head. I am driving myself nuts, so I’ve no clue how Cam must be feeling having to watch me struggle with all of this. Again.
I had never doubted us or the strength of our relationship until yesterday. When he didn’t get up to take the kids to dinner with me, I really thought he’d finally had enough of me and my meltdowns. I made excuses to the kids about him being
tired and forced my food down when we got to the restaurant. I smiled and joked with the kids the entire time we were out, but on the inside, I was falling apart.
On the drive home, One Direction’s “History” came on the radio. I am just grateful that the car is dark and the kids are too engrossed in their phones to notice my tears.
I couldn’t lose him. I wouldn’t survive without his love. I went over a hundred scenarios in my head, considering different ways to convince him not to leave me.
I’d drunk a bottle of wine once I got home and the kids had gone to their rooms. When I finally plucked up the courage to go upstairs and face him, I found him still in our bed and in the middle of a nightmare.
He’d told me it was jetlag. He tried to reassure me that he was fine and that we were good, but I wasn’t convinced.
I slide my leg across to Cams side of the bed to find it cold and empty. The surge of adrenalin that happens when the self-doubt I’d been suffering from makes a rapid reappearance, makes my stomach churn. I get up and go to the bathroom, before grabbing a T-shirt that Cam left hanging over the back of the chair and put it on. God, I love the way he smells. He has a half dozen different aftershaves in his bathroom cupboard, but the Givenchy he’s been wearing since we first met is still my favourite.
I pad down the stairs barefoot and along the hallway to our family room.
Empty.
I make my way back down the hall to Cam’s office, which is also empty. It’s as I’m backing out that I notice a thin sliver of light coming from under the door to my office.
Fuck!
There’s only one reason he would be in there, and it not so that he can add himself to the kid’s growth charts pencilled on the wall.
My husband is an inherently nosey person. He, Marley, and Lennon often have conference calls about juicy bits of gossip they may have heard about someone we know. I kid you not, Ash, Jimmie, and I have nicknamed them T. M. and Z. They are as up on the gossip as my girls. For someone who doesn’t “do” social media, Cam still manages to know the names of every one of those Kardashian kids.
I push at the door with my fingertips and it opens silently.
