The Letters (Carnage #4)(29)

Because after today, Georgia, after watching him, look at you, at the the restaurant today, I know for a fact that Cameron King is just waiting. He’s waiting for me to f*ck up or for you to just up and leave me and go back to him. He’s sitting tight and biding his time.

He knows there’s something there between the two of you. He knows that because you let us buy and move into his house all behind my back. You gave him hope today. When he realised I didn’t know shit about him owning this place, it made him think it means something, and I’ll tell you what, G, so the f*ck do I.

But here’s the thing, I’m going nowhere. We tried being apart, and it nearly killed the both of us, so that ain’t ever happening again.

So, here we are. You, me, and a baby on the way. This is our life, and that man will never play a part in it, not all the time we’re together, anyway—which will be always, because I never plan on letting you go.

In saying all of that, Georgia, I want you to know something. Like I’ve told you many times, you’re a beautiful woman. You turn heads; you always have, but I’ve gotta admit, he’s the only man I’ve seen look at you in the exact same way I look at you. It’s not about sex or the size of your tits, it’s about you. He only sees you. And ya know what that tells me, G? He’d love and look after you in the exact way I do. So, if we don’t make it, or if anything ever happens to me and we can’t be together for whatever reason and he steps up, steps in and offers to pick up the pieces and put you back together, then let it be him. It’d make me happier knowing you have someone like that to look after you if I ever couldn’t.

I love you, Gia, I really do. You drive me round the f*cking twist. You’re spoilt and selfish and so f*cking inconsiderate sometimes. You’re also the most loving, caring, loyal, and compassionate woman I know. I’ll take ya, whatever way I can get ya.

I’m gonna sleep now. I just needed to get all that off my chest because it’s been driving me nuts since we left the restaurant.

Good night beautiful girl x Good night baby Beau x



I threw up.

I sobbed so hard that the sandwich I’d eaten at lunch time came up.

That letter, that information was as hard to digest as that sandwich had obviously been.

I splash my face with water in the downstairs bathroom, rinse out my mouth, and then head to the kitchen to pour myself a large glass of wine.

I’m shaking from my head to my toes. Even my insides shake.

All of these years, all of the guilt. If I’d have only gone through that box when I was in Australia.

What if I had, though? If I’d known I had Sean’s blessing, would I have gone out of my way to seek out Cam? Would that knowledge have changed the course of our relationship if I’d gone chasing after him?

I gulp down the glass of wine and pour myself another before going up to my bathroom to take a shower. I put my music on and stand under the jets of hot water as “I Can’t Feel My Face” by The Weeknd blasts out of the speaker above my head. The best thing about being home alone is being able to play my music loud without anyone moaning at me.

The kids like my music, mostly, although George had a strong aversion to The Jam, which makes me feel like I have failed as a mother in some small way, but he is, at least, a huge fan of The Clash, so I got something right with him.

For teenage girls, the twins have pretty good taste, they hadn’t been into Bieber until he brought out his Purpose album, which even I agree is pretty good. They like certain songs by 1D, but not everything. They love Ed Sheeran, The Weeknd, Chet Faker, and Ellie Goulding. Nothing that would make my ears bleed too badly. Harry loves his rap. Eminem, Kendrick Lamar, Skepta, and Devlin are all on repeat on his playlist.

I am trying to focus on anything other than the words Sean wrote in the last letter I read. I feel like an enormous weight should’ve been lifted from my shoulders, but so far, I don’t. I don’t know how to let it go. The guilt has been around for so long that it has become embedded in my psyche, in my bones, part of my DNA.

An old song by the New Radicals comes on, and I sing “You Get What You Give” at the top of my lungs. It’s a feel good sort of song, and I smile as I belt it out.

Imagine Dragons’ “Demons” starts to play. I sob so hard that my legs stop working. I curl into the corner of our shower and cry until, once again, I start to heave.

That’s where Jimmie finds me twenty minutes later.

Without saying a word, she turns off the water, wraps me in a towel, and helps me stand. We walk out to my bedroom, where she sits me on the edge of the bed.

Thirty Seconds to Mars’s “Do or Die” is making the walls of my house shake.

Jimmie finds the remote to the sound system and turns it off.

“What the f*ck happened, George?” she asks from where she’s now kneeling in front of me.

I point my finger to the ceiling and can’t help laughing when she says, “A song? A f*cking song did this to ya?”

I smile up at her, tears still spilling down my cheeks.

“I love you,” I tell her.

“You pissed?” she asks, wearing a frown.

I shake my head. “I love that you knew that I meant music when all I did was point my finger to the ceiling.”

She smiles back.

“What the f*ck happened?”

“Lemme get dressed, and I’ll show you.”