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.
He’s sitting at my desk with his back to the room, a stack of Sean’s letters to the side of him, two sheets of paper in one hand, and a crystal whiskey tumbler in the other.
It’s three in the morning. My husband is sitting in my office, reading the words of love, Sean, my now dead husband had written for me, whilst sipping on whiskey.
For me? Is that really the right term? He’d written them to me, but I’m not sure he ever planned for me to see all of them. Some, maybe. But there were a few I think he may have removed before letting me have a read.
I guess I’ll never know.
Cam takes a sip of his drink and lets out a long sigh.
“What are you doing?” I ask him quietly.
The glass he has in his hand jerks in surprise at the sound of my voice, and I watch as the amber liquid sloshes from side to side. As the light from my desk lamp catches it, I can’t help but to compare the colour to Sean’s eyes. His were brown, with little flecks of gold, whiskey coloured. Cam’s are a rich, warm brown, looking almost black when he’s turned on or angry.
Tallulah is the only one of our children to get my blue eyes. The other three have dark eyes like their dad.
I wonder what colour eyes Baby M and Beau would’ve had?
“Shit, Kitten you made me jump.”
And it’s those kinds of thoughts that are tearing me apart. Two of my children had to die in order for the other three to exist. Is that how it works? I am not a believer in God, but surely if he did exist, he wouldn’t force us to make choices like that?
“Georgia?” Cam interrupts my theological musings.
“Wha?”
“I said get your arse over here, woman.”
I blink a few times before stepping fully into the room and making my way over to him.
I climb sideways into his lap. He wraps one big arm around my back and one across my hips, sliding his hand up my T-shirt so he can cup my bare arse and pull me into him.
He rubs his nose into my hair, over my ear, and down my neck. I tilt my head to the side, allowing him better access. Enjoying the sensation of goose bumps spreading across my skin from each point of contact his nose and warm breath make.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I turn myself to face him. He’s biting down on his bottom lip and his eyes are searching my face, looking sexy as fuck while he does it.
“Georgia, would you tell me if I ever weren’t enough for you?”
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
I open my mouth, but he speaks again before I can.
“I know I don’t get the whole music thing and your love of it. I can’t paint, or draw, or design clothes and furniture. I’m not always good with words. I can’t write songs for or about you like he did, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you any less than he did. I just …”
My eyes fill with tears, and I don’t even attempt to stop them from falling as I interrupt him.
“No. No, Cam. Please stop. Of course you’re enough. You’re everything. Too much sometimes.”
I hold his face in both my hands and kiss him repeatedly, speaking through my tears.
“I love you, Cam. You’re my whole world. You and the kids are the reason I exist. You’re my everything. Every-fucking-thing. Please don’t ever doubt that. These last few days, yesterday especially, have been horrible. I really thought I’d pushed you away. That you were finally sick enough of my bullshit to leave me.”