The Letters (Carnage #4)(13)

“You were pissed off with me earlier when I had my meltdown of Georgia proportions. You carried me up here, and we must’ve fallen asleep. Harry came in and woke me up because he was starving. We promised the kids TGI’s tonight, remember? I woke you up, and you said you were coming, but you went back to sleep. I ended up taking them on my own.”

“Wha, wait, wait, wait. What time is it?”

“Just after twelve.”

“At night?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I don’t even remember saying that I was getting up.” She’s still kneeling next to me, looking all wide eyed and sorry for herself.

“Come the f*ck over here, Kitten. I won’t tell you again.” She silently slides herself into my waiting lap, and her scent is all it takes to calm my racing heart. I kiss the top of her head.

“I thought I’d finally f*cked things right up this time,” she says into my neck. I feel like a complete prick.

“The jetlag must’ve hit me and then kicked my arse. I’d never stand you and the kids up, babe. I’m surprised you would even think for a minute that I would.”

I move her legs to either side of my hips and pull her in close so I can look into her face.

“You really think I’d do that?” I ask her. She shrugs her shoulders and lets out a long breath.

“I thought I’d driven you to do that.” She blinks repeatedly, but it doesn’t keep her tears at bay. They hang from her dark lashes, and my gut twists at the thought of her feeling shitty the whole night.

“I’m so sorry about earlier, Cam. It was so unfair of me to behave like that. You’d just come home and I laid all that shit on ya.”

I don’t think I can remember a time when I’ve seen Georgia so emotional. Opening this bloody box has had a bigger impact on her emotions than I think even she was expecting.

I’ve never known her to be insecure, especially about us. Not that she’s ever let on to me and I’m pretty good at reading my wife.

“Baby, please don’t cry. Of course I didn’t stay up here on purpose. There’s nothing you could say or do that would keep me away from you. Not even a meltdown of Georgia proportions.”

She finally smiles and her blue eyes sparkle. She rakes her fingers through my messy bed hair, which is badly in need of a cut.

“I don’t deserve you,” she says while kissing my neck.

“Well, you’ve got me regardless. I need to shower and clean my teeth, baby. I want those little shorts and that vest gone by the time I get back. I need to taste you, and then I need to f*ck you.” I’ve already lifted her out of my lap and am headed to the bathroom like a man on a mission as I speak.

“Then will you tell me what your dream was about?” she calls out, stopping me dead in my tracks. I turn back to look at her. She’s sitting in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed, looking as young as she did on the night I met her.

I love the f*ck out of this woman. Have done for almost thirty years. Will do till the day I day. And if there’s any way for it to be possible, I will keep on loving her after that.

“Yes, Kitten. Then I’ll tell you about my dream.”



We don’t really ever talk about Chantelle. I don’t think it’s a deliberate thing, it’s just the way that it is. I have a small box in my safe with a few keepsakes from our relationship in it, including our wedding rings. I haven’t kept them for any sentimental reasons, I just don’t really know what to do with them.

After Chantelle died, I asked her sister if she’d like her jewellery. She told me to poke it up my arse. That wasn’t an option, so I put it in my safe and that’s where it’s stayed, mostly forgotten.

Simone Price was Chantelle’s half-sister; same mum, but different dads. I’ve no idea who her biological father is, but Colin, Chantelle’s dad, always looked after her right. Colin and I were joint owners of a club. When he died, Elle inherited her dad’s share. I assumed after Elle’s death, it would go to me, but she left it to her sister. I can only assume she did it because it was the only thing she had that was solely in her name. I also don’t suppose for a minute she expected to die so young.

I let the heat from the jets of water penetrate my skin and sooth my muscles as I think about how ironic it was that Simone eventually sold Elle’s share of the club to the Layton’s. Entwining mine and Georgia’s lives before we even realised it.

I would never forget the first time I noticed her walk into my wine bar. I’d spent the hot August day on the golf course, getting my arse whipped by Robbie. After, I’d gone back to my flat to shower and change, and as I came down the stairs and into the bar, I saw her.

She was tall, taller than the two girls she was with, and my eyes were drawn to her as she flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder. I moved through the bar without taking my eyes off her, desperate for a good look at her face.

I reached my brother and a couple of mates he was standing with at the bar, and he passed me a bourbon. I nodded a thank you and took my eyes from her, to meet his for a split second. When I looked over to where she was standing, she’d turned her back to me, but I positioned myself at the bar so I could watch her. I didn’t have a clue what the draw was; I just needed to see that face.

I chatted mindless shit with Rob, Tony, and Gary at the bar, but all the while, I took in her long legs and the fitted black dress she was wearing. She was skinny, a lot skinnier than most birds I’d been with … well, the ones I could remember anyway. I got this weird uncomfortable feeling in my gut at that moment, like, I don’t know. It just felt wrong to be thinking about other birds while I was looking at her.