My life was once black. I managed to get it to a lightish shade of grey on the odd occasion, but it mostly remained black, and then Cam came along; he came back into my life and very slowly he brought back the light blues and then the whites. He’d done that by rebuilding my heart. He’d been patient and loving and kind, and brick by brick, he’d done the best job possible of giving me back my heart. It would never be whole. It would always be a little jagged, and there would always be a piece of it that was irreparable. The part that would forever belong to Sean and our children. But, from the pile of broken bricks and rubble I’d been left with, Cam had done an amazing job of rebuilding my heart and filling it with love, light and hope, and now, now what? If I turn my head to the side and see what it is I think I’m going to see, I know that it will be too much. I’m just not strong enough, so as Jimmie screams and cries, “George, help me, fucking help me. I can’t stop the blood. I need something to stop the blood.” I shake my head.

“No, Jim, no. I can’t. Not again. I can’t do this again.”

I stand and stare straight ahead as I listen to the music coming from Jimmie’s car. Her door is wide open and an old Bread song is playing and David Gates is singing that he would give up everything he owns and I would too, anything and everything, but I refuse to turn around and look at my world once again come crashing down around me.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I stare at the bricks on the wall, counting them, wondering how many bricks it had taken Cam to rebuild my heart. If Cam is gone, my heart will be irreparable. I will go on. I have to. I have four children relying on me, but never again will I allow myself to love or be loved, unless it is by my children or family.

Chaos surrounds me. My dad appears from behind the gates and sirens blare in the distance, getting closer. The image of what Tamara did to herself is burned into my retinas and I silently hope and pray that Harry never asks me about it.

I ride in the ambulance with Cam, but I have to sit in the front as there is no room in the back while the two paramedics work on him. I don’t look at him. He flat lines twice and I don’t turn to look at him, not once. I can’t, not again. I am terrified of seeing that vacant look in Cam’s eyes that I had seen in Sean’s.

When Sean died, I convinced myself he had told me that he loved me as we lay on that cold, snow-covered pavement, but later, when I spoke to the doctors and from what we were told at the inquest, that was impossible. The blow Sean received to his head as it hit the pavement would have meant his perception, comprehension, alertness and consciousness would have come to an instant grinding halt, making speech impossible.

His eyes were open, of that I’m absolutely sure, but they were vacant. He didn’t see me because he was already gone, and that was the look I was so afraid of seeing in Cam’s eyes.

When we get to the hospital, Cam is wheeled into the trauma unit while his heart is once again restarted and blood is fed into him.

I am moved out of the way and knocked into as doctors fight to save his life. I stand and watch as a young doctor sits astride his chest and holds her hand over the wound, trying to halt the flow of blood exiting his body. Another nurse rides on the side of the bed, squeezing at the bag of blood, hooked on the side, so it will pump into him faster than it is bleeding out. All of this is happening while they wheel him by me and up to theatre.

The trauma room falls silent. I stand and stare at all of the dark red blood on the tiled floor that leads a trail out of the room, following the path of the trolley Cam is on and all I can think is, carnage. Once again, I’m faced with a scene of complete an utter carnage. How ironic that that word has come to mean something so much more to me than the name of my husband’s band during my life.

I stare at the blood as a doctor or a nurse tells me what’s happening, I don’t know what they are saying. I don’t hear their words. I can hear sounds, doors opening, wheels squeaking, machines bleeping, but I can’t or won’t hear words. And then my dad and Jimmie appear and I hit the floor.

I don’t pass out. My legs just refuse to hold me up any longer. I spend the next two hours in silence, in an almost catatonic state. I wrap my arms around myself, too afraid to let go in case I disappear inside that huge gaping hole that has once again been punched inside my chest, my life, my world. Then Marley appears in the waiting room and puts Harry in my arms and I know that no matter what, I can’t fall apart. I have the support of a large and loving family, but in that moment, Harry has just me. He is all alone and totally dependent on me and me alone. So I sit and I hold him close. I feed and I change him. I take comfort in the warmth and the smell of his chubby little body, and thank God, I at least have this small piece of Cam with me.

Epilogue

The sensation of a stubbly chin rubbing up the inside of first my left, then my right thigh is dragging me from sleep. I’m bone tired and don't want to be awake yet. I try to close my legs and am met with a bite to my clit. I shudder and try to force my eyes open, but they aren't having any of it. I start to drift off to sleep again while enjoying the sensation of feather-light kisses travelling up my body. I feel calm and relaxed and give myself over to the sleep that I crave.

“Kitten, you need to wake up now.”

I lick my lips, but don't open my eyes. Why am I so tired?

“If you don't wake up, I'm gonna fuck you again.”

“Mmmmm,” is the best I can manage as I nod my head, my eyes still closed.

“In the arse, Kitten. If you don't wake up, I'm gonna tie you up and claim that arse of yours.”

My eyes fly open and are met with a familiar brown pair.

He smiles. “Good morning.”

I rake my fingers through his hair. “Whyyyyy?” I whine. God, I hate early mornings.

“We have a plane to catch.” He laces his fingers and rests his hands across my boobs, then rests his chin on his hands as he looks up at me. “Have you had a good holiday?”

I smile at him. “I’ve had a great holiday, but I think you and me need a nice quiet weekend away somewhere to recover.” He gives me a lazy smile.

“You know that won’t happen. You’ll arrange it all, but then at the last minute, you won’t be able to leave the kids; same as every other time we’ve tried to get away by ourselves.” I swallow down the lump that’s unexpectedly appeared in my throat.

After Cam was shot, I saw a counsellor for months as I was a mess of Georgia proportions and was eventually diagnosed with adult separation anxiety. I’ve gotten a little better, but I still have an unreasonable need to know where my husband and children are pretty much all of the time.

When the doctors finally came and told us that Cam had survived the surgery, they said the damage wasn’t as severe as they had first thought. Because of the awkward angle and Cam’s muscle density, the bullet had gone into his chest and through into the top of his right arm, only nicking his brachial artery. He had still bled out his entire blood supply and had been transfused with twelve units while they tried to stabilise him and during the surgery. As well as his heart stopping three times, he also went into anaphylactic shock on the operating table, probably caused by the rate at which blood and fluids were being pumped into him. When the doctor came and explained all of this and concluded that Cam would most likely pull through, I held Harry against my chest and finally let go of my tears.

* * *

That all happened over five years ago now and our life since then has been so much more than I could ever have hoped or dreamed it could be in those first dark days.