I do love her, like I told her, like I told her whole fucking family. I love the fuck out of her, but I’ve no right standing up in front of all of them and making promises I don’t know if I can keep.
I’ve pulled up on the side of the road and called Benny to go and check out my place. I’m worried that the paps will be waiting for us there. I don’t know if they realised it was me in the car with her, but I’m sure it won’t take much for the fuckers to find out. I yawn quietly. It’s so warm in the car; it’s making me feel tired, but I can’t have Kitten getting cold. I turn and look at her sleeping in the passenger seat next to me. She’s laid the seat back a bit and pulled her knees up, turned on her side and is facing me. My stomach churns and my heart rate speeds up and all I’ve done is look at her. I’m fucked, completely fucked where she’s concerned. She ruined me once and she has the potential to do it again, and I don’t know if I’d come back from it this time.
She was just a girl back then, a beautiful twenty-year–old, who thought she knew everything about love and life, and really, she had no fucking idea. Mind you, who am I to talk? I’m forty-fucking–two. I’ve just stood up in front of all her family, like a prick, and declared my undying love for her. I must’ve sounded like a complete Muppet. If I ever find out Bailey Layton tells anyone about what was said at Frank’s house today, I’ll have his balls, and I don’t care who it pisses off.
I yawn again and look at my phone. It’s only seven, but the warmth of the car and the jet lag are having an effect on me now too. All I want is to get her naked and in my bed. I don’t even care about fucking her. I just want to feel her skin on mine. I give a silent little laugh; that’s complete bullshit. I can’t wait to bury myself inside her. I’ve fucked a lot of women over the years, a lot of women, but none have tasted as good or felt as perfect to be inside as Georgia. I wish I could explain. I wish I could get my own head around what it is about her. She’s beautiful, yeah, that goes without saying. Her eyes are the most amazing shade of blue and in complete contrast to her dark hair and skin. She’s actually a bit skinnier than how I like my women, and to be honest, at the moment, I’d go as far as saying she’s actually bony, but she’s been through a lot and it’s obviously taken its toll. I know how that works. I have half an idea of what she’s been through this last year, but only half. I didn’t love Chantelle the way she loved Sean. She was obsessed with that boy. It’s like, she thought she needed him to breathe, yet here she is, surviving, getting by without him and herein lies my problem. How do I compete with a dead bloke, a fucking superstar rocker, loved and worshipped by millions, none more so than his wife? How do I compete with that? I can’t. I’m always gonna be second best. I’m always gonna wonder if we’re together just because he died. I’m not bitter towards him, Sean, in all honesty. I love the girl that much, that I would gladly die in his and their baby’s place, just to bring the light back into her eyes.
Two babies. I didn’t know until she said it earlier; they lost two babies. I let out a deep breath. How much pain and heartache can one person endure in a lifetime? Fuck, between the pair of us, we’ve lost one husband, one wife, three babies and had a parent murdered. That’s fucked, totally fucked. I want to make her happy. I want her face to light up when she sees me. When I call her, I want to hear in her voice that she’s happy to hear from me. Fuck, I want her to be ecstatic and I don’t know that I will ever be that to her. I don’t know if I will ever be ‘the one’. She’s told me she loves me, but I know her. I remember how idealistic she is about love. I remember how convinced she was that she could never love anyone other than Sean, but then that night in my office, all those years later, she admitted to me, that she’d loved me, that she’d always loved me and I don’t want her just falling back on that, thinking because Sean’s dead, that I’m her only option.