Back in the hotel suite I storm into my bedroom and slump down on the bed. I can’t face my father or Damien; it will kill me with how I’m feeling at the moment. I want to fight; I want to beat the shit out of somebody, anybody, I don’t care who, as long as they make me bleed.
I don’t know how long I am sat there thinking about everything that has gone on over the past twelve months. My head is numb and my heart is broken. I hear the door open and close and when I look up I see my father stood watching me, waiting.
“Now is the time for words, Malcolm, I won’t wait anymore.” I know what he wants to know. I have noticed since he said it yesterday that all he has wanted to do was talk to me. The set of his shoulders and the hardness to his eyes showing me that his anger towards me has not dissipated.
“Please leave it, Dad. I can’t deal with this right now,” I say, begging him with my words not to bring it up. It will only show him how weak I actually am. I am not ashamed to say that if he asks I will tell him, and I would not be able to stop the tears from falling freely.
“Why were you at the graveyard, Malcolm?” And there we have it; the million dollar question. Well how do I bare my soul to my father? Here goes nothing, no time like the present.
“I was at my son’s grave,” I deadpan. The look of utter shock on my father’s face is one I will never forget. I suppose that’s not something he was expecting me to say.
“Your what? You never had a child, Malcolm...” I stop him before he can continue.
“I have a wife and another son, too.” Might as well get it out there while I am at it. I know I should probably have said it in a much better way but to be honest this is my pain not his, and I will tell him however I see fit.
“Who?” is all he says to me. The look of loss and disappointment is clear in his eyes; I hate that I have caused him more pain.
“Camilla,” I whisper, and I know that it’s all I need to say, as he knows exactly who it is now.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He roars at me and I must admit it has been a long time since I have seen him this angry at me, but I am not some six year old boy anymore, I am a twenty-nine year old fucking man for fuck’s sake. I stand to my full height, noticing now that my dad is just smaller than me, no less menacing but age is not being kind to him; some of the height and bulk is receding.
“How are you the one who is angry? I am the one that lost my fucking wife and child never to see them again. I have to hear it from Damien that she called him and not me. Do you know how much that fucking hurts?” I bellow at him and I watch him keep looking at me. I feel like there is steam coming out of my ears with how angry I am right now, at her, at my dad, hell, I am just angry full stop.
I feel my dad’s punch right across my jaw, and it stuns me for just a second but before I can retaliate his arms pull me into him and he holds me. Wrapped in his arms, I sob.
“That’s for not telling me that I have a daughter-in-law and grandchildren.” And somehow I feel a weight being lifted, not having to hide my pain anymore, but that does not solve the problem of not having them here with me.
“What happened son? What are the boys’ names?” How do I explain to him what happened without telling every heartbreaking detail of how I lost my family?
“Charlie and Andrew,” I whisper, the feeling of my throat drying and my eyes burning even more, knowing what I will say next. No matter how many times you tell the story it never gets any easier, the pain never goes away. “Andrew died in my arms not long after he was born, and Camilla and Charlie left me three days later. I wasn’t enough for her to stay, Dad.” My thoughts are spiraling. I’m going down into the broken place in my mind and now I have no option but to sit in this room and deal with it. I can’t just go to a bar and pick a fight, and I can’t even go to sit with Andrew and talk to him because I am stuck in Russia until at least tomorrow.
“Do you have a picture? I know this is hard for you, Son, but if you do I would really like to see them.” I just nod at his question, unable to form the words to speak now; I have a copy on my phone of the picture Camilla gave me before she left. I pull I away from my dad and reach down to the bed to retrieve my phone. Unlocking the screen, I scroll through the pictures to get the one that is most precious to me. I turn to my dad and pass him the phone and he takes the phone from me and looks down to the screen. Every trace of anger is gone from his face and a look of pure love replaces it. “They look like your mum, Son, it’s the blue eyes, they look beautiful. I’m so proud of you.” His words are like another, wound to my heart. I never knew my mum and to be told that my boys look like her is eating me up just that little bit more.
“I am sorry I kept it from you, Dad, but it was not just my decision not to tell anyone; I had to protect Camilla as well. After everything she went through, Dad, I had to do everything I could and even though it was wrong, it was the only way I could show her that I love her.” I pour everything into the words, laying my heart wide open.
“I am not saying I agree, but I do understand what you went through and what she is dealing with.”
I ask my dad to give me some time alone with my thoughts, not that I really want to but I have to process what he has said to me and what my next move will be. I drift off into a fitful sleep wondering when my life will improve, but then the dreams come, all the sins that I have committed come back to haunt me and I know that I don’t deserve my happily ever after. I’m not meant to have what other people have and that’s why it was taken away from me. The happiness I wanted so bad was destroyed to the point I don’t think I can get it back, but I know I have to at least try.
Showered and changed ready to get back home as quick as I can, I will talk to Damien on the plane about letting me go get my family. When I got up this morning I knew what I had to do, I had to fight for my wife and bring home my child – he needs the love and support only his family can give him and I’m determined not to miss another damn day of his life. I have missed so much already, and as far as Camilla goes she needs me whether she likes it or not.
The plane is mid-flight when I approach Damien. “You got a minute boss? Need to run something by you,” I ask him and wait for him to reply. I know these last four months I have really been a dick and he has shown as much patience as he can with my moods and anger.
“What do you want, Malc?” he says to me. I know he is ok as he called me Malc so the friend is pushing through to the surface more than the boss is.
“I need a few days off?” I ask him not sure how much I need to tell him in front of everyone on the plane.
“Will this fix my friend or will it break him more?” And just like that I know he knows what I want to do.
“To be honest, Damien, I don’t know but I have to try.” I try to be honest as I know bullshit won’t fly with Damien, it never has.
“Then go, my friend.” And that’s all he says. I wander back to my seat knowing that I have permission to go and get what I want, but now the butterflies have taken up home in my stomach and I can’t seem to shift them.
Landing back in London is bittersweet, I am glad to be home, but I am dreading what comes next. I don’t even get in the car to go back to the house and grab any clothes; I go to the hire car place at the airport. I rent myself an SUV and set off on the long drive to get my family. The drive is long, the miles pass, the scenery all looks the same the further up the country I go. I hit the A9 and I know I am not that long from arriving, only a couple more hours and I will see my boy. But most of all I am going to take her into my arms and kiss her, oh to have the taste of her lips on me again.
I don’t really look around much when I am driving; it all looks the same anyway, green everywhere, not much concrete around. My eyes feel heavy and I need to stop and grab a coffee, anything to keep me awake that little longer, the last thing I need right now is to get myself wrapped around one of those lush green trees.
I pull into the next local services that I pass. I park the car and head inside a
nd grab a coffee and a burger; I need something to eat. It’s just then that I realise in my dash to get to Camilla I have not eaten since last night, and even now with everything that is going I really don’t feel hungry, but the last thing she needs is me turning up at her door and passing out.
After half an hour and two coffees later I feel awake enough to get back on the road. The miles fly by and I soon see the sign for Duffus and turn the car down the road that is going to lead me to my everything, to my love.
Cami.
Bang, bang, bang.
Who the fuck is banging on my door at this time of the night? I rush out of the living room to answer and give whoever is stood on that side a piece of my mind, I have got a baby upstairs trying to sleep.
I throw open the door and stand there gaping at the man who is standing before me. “Malc,” I whisper and the shock suddenly fades. What? How? Why? Then I realise I need to speak those questions not just think them. “What are you doing here?” I demand.
“I’m here for you both, especially after that call, it ripped out the last piece of my soul, Camilla.” His words are like a knife straight in my heart, to the point and blunt as ever. That is one of the things I love about my moody husband, no matter what he feels he tells you straight, no bullshit.
“I don’t want you here, Malc, please go home.” I know my words die in the air between us as he just pushes past me into the house. The thought of him being here inside my home sends heat straight to my core and I realise no matter the fantasies he still takes my breath away. Real life is so much better.
“You don’t have a fucking choice, Camilla. You took four months away from me.” His voice thunders through the open space of the hallway.
“Keep your voice down, Malcolm. Charlie is asleep, I don’t want him waking,” I say in my sternest voice, knowing that when I call him Malcolm he listens, most of the time anyway.
Before I know what’s happening, I am pushed up against the nearest solid wall and his mouth drops to mine, his hands fist into my hair and he tilts my head making me gasp so that I open for him. My anger recedes just that little bit, while I relish in the fact that his mouth is on mine again. Oh God, his tongue dances with mine in one of the rawest and most passionate kisses I have ever had. I relax, my body melting into him, and I can feel the outline of his cock pressing into my tummy. The thought of him pinning me against the wall should annoy me and make me feel powerless but it never has with Malc – whatever he does to me I accept willingly. He breaks the kiss and I whimper at the loss, looking into his eyes I see it all, the need, want, heartbreak, anger and loss. I can see he is on the edge of pulling away from me, regaining his composure. “Please, Malc,” I say to him, making sure to let him hear the desire in my voice.
“We shouldn’t, Camilla, it’s not right. We need to talk.” His words still my desire for a fraction of a second. But I cling myself tighter to him not wanting him to pull away from me again, I need this, I need him.
“Please, Malc, I need this.” I suddenly feel him pull completely away from me, the hard look in his eyes tells me that what I have said has pissed him off. But before I can speak again to try and soothe him…
“You need this? So that’s all you want is it, the sex? It always boils down to sex, Camilla. No, I won’t do it again, we need to talk.” He releases me and walks off further into the house. To see him in my home is like a settling of peace over my soul, but it can’t stay as he won’t be here long. I can almost see right here and now that whatever he wants to talk about we both are definitely not going to agree on. The thought saddens me that he is going to leave us again. I stand at the living room door acting as a block between Malc and the upstairs to where Charlie sleeps.
“So what do you want to talk about?” There is nothing I want more than to jump into his arms and wrap my legs around his truly sculpted waist, but I speak to calm these racing thoughts inside my mind. He wants to talk, fine, we will talk. Although I am not so sure he will like what I have to say.
“You and Charlie are coming back home,” he says matter-of-factly.
“You know we can’t. I won’t go back, Malc, and you can’t fucking make me.” I try so hard not to raise my voice but when he is saying things like this to me I can’t help but get worked up quickly. I won’t go back, I can’t be in that life he leads. It is wrong on so many levels and I won’t risk mine or Charlie’s lives. I have been through hell with what that life entails and I won’t go back. I have more important things to think about now.
“You will. I don’t care that you don’t want to, Camilla. You took my only living son from me for four months, you won’t do it again, he comes home with me.” I drop down to the floor and the tears start to fall now as I am thrust back into the nightmare that was my life. No matter how much I know that Jake is dead and he can’t hurt me anymore, I just can’t face it. My scars burn and itch at the memories alone, there will always be somebody else that wants to hurt us, wants to use us to get at Malc or Damien. My mind is racing at the memories. My panic is consuming me and I try to back pedal on my bum out of that room, shuffling away from the pain. I feel a hand clamp onto my arm and I scream. No, not again I keep thinking, not again, please no, I can’t survive this again it broke me last time. I try to pull away from the hand that is holding onto me, I kick my legs and thrash anything to try and escape, I won’t be caught, not again.
“Camilla, stop!” I know that voice, as I try to place where I am, and who I’m with, the fog starts to clear a little and I realise I am at home. I am safe nothing can hurt me again.
“Malc,” I whisper, coming back from the brink of my meltdown. “I can’t, Malc, don’t make me, please.” That last comment causes my chest to heave again and then, as my mind clears more, I hear the crying from upstairs and I know that I have woken Charlie up. My mind was lost, not even aware of anyone with me but him ‘Jake’. I try to get myself up so that I can go to Charlie to comfort him.
“I want to go,” I hear Malc say to me, so I just nod. What else can I do? I can’t say no, Malc, you can’t have your son. I hear his footsteps on the staircase so I try to bring myself back in control taking deep breaths. I make myself stand up and walk into the kitchen, the sudden dizzy spell I get has me reaching out to grab onto the wall for support until it passes. It is always the same after I have had a meltdown and try to move past it too quickly, the drain on my mind and body is torture. That’s why I use my distractions; they stop me remembering everything and now that Malc is here I want to have that distraction again, I need it, to numb the pain. I feel the cold of the tiled floor as I walk into the kitchen. I wander slowly over to the stove to put the kettle on; I need a cup of tea and to warm up some milk for Charlie. I don’t think I could manage to feed right now, especially being so emotional, but that’s not the only reason, I don’t think I could manage to have Malc see me feed him, that’s just for me and Charlie. I take out one of the expressed milks that I made earlier for him, my body does not seem to understand that I only have one baby to feed as it makes enough to feed more. My breasts are full all of the time so I express to feel relief, that is until they fill up again. Every time I hear his laugh or cry or cuddle him close to me, they weep. But I won’t stop feeding him, it’s the only time I feel close to them both. The pain of only having one to feed guts me every time I do.
I reach up to take the jug from the cupboard, turning the whistling kettle off just after I place the jug on the side. I fill it with water and place the bottle of milk inside, knowing that Charlie won’t settle back down without a feed.
Grabbing two cups I drop the teabags inside pouring the water onto them. I turn back around to get the milk from the fridge and I stop in my tracks. There stood just inside the doorway is Malc, cuddling Charlie close in his arms, and I feel guilt rip through me, looking over at them together. I see the love in his eyes as he looks at his son and I want to run and hide, burrow in my shame of keeping them apart. What right do I have really? I try to get my feet to
work and stop gaping at the sight before me, but it’s hard. It is like my mind wants to capture this moment and put it away for a rainy day. I quickly get on with it shutting down my thoughts; no I don’t need this now, I need him to leave so I can get on with my life. I place the two cups of tea on the pine table in the kitchen and take my seat. Waiting, for what I don’t know.
“Look how beautiful he is, Cami.” I almost reply instantly then I realise that he called me Cami. That is the first time he has ever called me that, it has always been Camilla. I think he used to do it because he knew how much I hated the use of my full name, so he used to say it all the time. But when I asked him about it months ago he told me it was because it was beautiful, just like me.
“He looks so much like you. It kills me most days and I have a constant reminder that I don’t have you,” I say to him. “Why did you call me Cami?” I ask him, I can’t help but wonder why. He looks up at me when I have asked and I can see the confusion in his eyes.
“I hadn’t realised I had called you Cami.” And with his words I know them to be true, that is one thing that Malc does not do, he won’t lie to anyone, even to save face, it’s just not him.
“Ok,” is all I say in reply because there does not need to be a longer answer. He takes the bottle from the jug, checking the temperature on the inside of his wrist, and proceeds to feed Charlie and I hear the little sucking noises that are coming from him. That’s how we are when we are together; there does not need to be conversation to make us comfortable, we can just sit in a silence and know that we don’t need to pacify each other with meaningless words.
Watching him look after his son I notice that he seems really at ease with what he is doing, like he has had practice at feeding and winding, and even how to hold a four month old. I get another stab of guilt realising that he might have done all of this with Faith and Damien’s baby, Anya. So I decide to ask.
Fractured (The Volkov Mafia Series Book 3) Page 4
