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Shaw

The nightmares started about four days ago, and every time I close my eyes, daylight or not, I see those same stairs rushing at me and hear the screams—bloodcurdling shrieks—that leave my mouth.

It’s the same every time.

I feel the hard impact of hands, my foot suspended halfway over the step and I twist, despite the discomfort of the angle, to grab onto the banister and stop the momentum.

I see my hand glancing off the wood, grasping at thin air and feel my body topple. I’m terrified. Horrified. Hopeless, as I realize that I’m about to hit on my back.

The twisting, rolling hurricane, as I fall head over heels, is a sickening sound that knocks the air form my lungs and steals away the scream still reverberating around me.

At first I’d been so terrified and afraid that I’d forced myself to wake, panting and gasping as the feeling swept over me. I’d cry silently, doing my best not to wake Cam as the fear gripped me, making my stomach churn.

Now I do my best every time to look back and see that face.

I need to see it with a desperation that haunts me, but for some reason, my mind won’t let me. I know—deep in my bones—that I saw who it was, but that person is always in shadow, and try as I might, I can’t distinguish anything before I wake gasping, silently crying out in denial.

I force myself not to think of it when I’m awake because that would be going back on the promise I made to Cameron, but it’s hard to have the answer right there, so close, and not be able to snatch it out of the dark recesses where my memories hide.

I’ve spent as much time as possible immersing myself in Angel and the excitement of Margery and Victor every time they get their greedy paws on their granddaughter.

They love her so much and get so much joy from her that I thank God every day for sparing her.

God alone knows what I would have done if I’d woken in that hospital with no memory, only to learn that my baby had succumbed to that tragedy.

Memory or not, I think I would have lost my freaking mind and snapped. And then where would my honey be? I can say without a doubt that Cameron wouldn’t have survived losing one of us, never mind both.

The man is smitten with his daughter. When he’s not sticking to my ass like a blue-arsed fly, he’s spending hours just loving his little girl. He’s the perfect father who sees no shame in changing a diaper—even while retching so much that I sometimes lose the use of my legs I laugh so hard.

He always tries though. God bless him—and that’s what counts.

“Isn’t she just the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen?”

I smile at Margery and giggle when Victor rolls his eyes at the question. Margery says the very same thing at least twice every hour—and the answer is always the same.

“Perfect,” I say with a sigh, rubbing at my temples when the ever-present ache in my skull worsens to a throbbing pulse that leaves me woozy and slightly nauseous.

“Oh, Ducky, Molly rang earlier, wanting to talk to you, but I told her you were busy with Angelica’s bath and that you’d ring her back later. She sounded somewhat upset about something but wouldn’t tell me what. Millie said her and Kent had a row two days ago and that the poor girl has been beside herself ever since.”

“Oh, that’s horrible. I’ll go call her.”

“Ah, I think that will have to wait, dearest.” She laughs when Angel starts her usual snuffling before letting off an indignant cry.

“Now, Angel, leave grandmamma’s balloons alone. They ain’t got a drop of what you’re looking for.” Victor laughs, chuckling silently when Margery throws him a fulminating glare before rising and brining Angel to me.

“She’s as unimpressed with your humor as I am, darling.” She sniffs, making me giggle at her glare. “If I was just twenty years younger.”

“Now don’t go looking so down, dearest. I appreciate your balloons in all their stages of life, and I think you bloody well know it.”

I get out of there when her eyes go misty, my shoulders shaking the whole way when I hear the door slam and lock and then a low squeal and feminine giggles.

God, I hope Cameron and I are still that weird when we’re their age. Nothing says love like two old timers still going at each other like they’re still in their twenties and flexible enough for the shit they obviously get up to.

“Granny and grandpa are silly, aren’t they my Angel?”

She purses her little bow mouth and coos when I reach the nursery and take my seat, unbuttoning my blouse as I go. When she latches on and lets out a satisfied gurgle, I lean my head back and relax, letting my mind drift as tiredness settles over me.

By the time she’s full, changed, and slumbering peacefully, I’m dragging ass and feeling every lost hour of sleep I’d had last night when I woke in the early hours to Cameron’s wandering hands and hard length grinding against me.

The man is insatiable, not that I’m complaining. But I can’t say I’m
that
into having my sleep disturbed just after falling back to sleep after a midnight feeding that seemed to take hours.

My daughter is spoiled. I’m honest enough to admit that and even honest enough to admit that she’s driving me crazy at night when she won’t go back to sleep and wants to play, something her dad taught her but leaves to me in the wee hours.

Deciding to get some sleep while I still can, I collapse onto the bed and clear my mind of everything, even the infernal headache that won’t stop pounding at my eyeballs and close my eyes with a yawn.

The nightmare comes as I expected it to, and I feel my heart start racing when it happens in a different order. This time I’m walking down a corridor, squinting into the darkness, trying to find my way to the stairs.

The place is so dark that I stumble and stub my toe against the wall before righting myself and feeling my way along it. There’s a muted light ahead, and I slowly make my way toward it, wincing at the slowness of my gait.

I’ve separated myself from Molly because I feel bad about leaving Cam in that state, and even worse for not telling him the whole truth, that I want more with him because I think I’m already halfway in love with him and it hurts that he won’t share anything with me but his body. And that’s only when he’s completely in control.

I’m distracted, admittedly, because I keep thinking about
how
exactly I’m going to make my silly ultimatum up to him. The light gets brighter, and I see the stairs come into view, sighing in relief, because though I will never admit it out loud, I freaking hate the dark as much as I hate spiders, snakes, and any other creepy crawly thing in existence.

“Oh, Cameron. We’re going to have to do much better if we’re going to be good parents and partners.” I sigh, peeking over the railing on the landing to make sure Millie is nowhere in sight before creeping to the stairs.

It’s just as I’m about to grasp the wooden railing that I hear the pitter patter of soft footfalls and feel the hands on my back. I gasp and twist, my hand shooting out, reaching for the railing in a panic of twisted limbs and consuming fear.

But I don’t reach it. No, my body is already toppling, my feet slipping, finding nothing but air. I’m falling, screaming, silently begging God to please save me.

No, I’m begging him to save my baby. He can take me, please God take me, just spare my baby!

And that’s when I see the face of my attacker.

The wind is knocked right out of me, my screams dying, only this time it’s shock and horror more than the fear I feel. Because I am broken at the realization.

I wake with a gut-chilling scream that echoes off the walls even as my heart races, threatening to beat a hole straight through my chest. Nausea bubbles up, and somehow I find the strength to make it off the bed and into the bathroom, my knees buckling as I hit the toilet and start retching so hard I feel my stomach scream out in protest.

I puke long and hard, crying between heaves, retching some more when I close my eyes to see that face above me.

“Ducky? Ducky!”

I hear the bedroom door hit the wall before pounding footsteps beat my way. The bathroom door flies open, hitting the tiles with a clap so loud it sounds like a gunshot that makes me jump before sending me into another round of useless heaving.

“Shaw? Baby? I thought I heard you scream.”

A cold glass hits my lips, and I rinse my mouth before leaning back into a strong, broad chest and let the cool washcloth soothe the pounding behind my eyelids.

I feel so bereft right now that I can’t stop the sobbing and tears from coming. I need to rage and break things, but I’m so weak that all I can do is turn into Cameron’s strength and cry out my anguish against his broad shoulders.

“Baby, baby, ssh, it’s alright baby. Whatever it is, it will be all right. I swear it,” he croons, stroking a hand through my wild, sweating mane.

“No, Cam. Oh God.”

“Yes. You just tell me what it is, and I swear, I swear I’ll fix it. I can fix it, I swear,” he keeps saying, his big body strung so tight that it takes me a moment to realize he’s shaking even as his arms band around me convulsively.

“Cam.”

He silences me with a kiss, cutting off my protests and sealing his mouth over mine. I struggle a bit, embarrassed because my mouth doesn’t taste that great, and I’m sure I got some puke in my hair before I could flick it out of the way. He ignores me though, kissing me till the very last shudders and sobs have died down.

He kisses me till I kiss him back and burrow deeper into the solid warmth of him, my face pressed to his neck, my nose picking up the woodsy smell of whatever aftershave he’s now using.

“Cam?”

“Ssh, just wait till your tummy’s settled, baby. Here. Drink some more water. You’re losing too many fluids; you need to go see the doctor. I’ll make an appointment for this afternoon. Mum and Dad can keep Angelica while I take you. Do you have a headache again?”

“Cam.” I try again, hugging him deeper, but he doesn’t hear me over his own ramblings.

Poor man, he gets beside himself at these times, especially when I cry and goes off on tangents, even making lists as if he thinks that will in any way help the situation.

“Cam!”

“Baby, I know you feel ill, and I think you should consider the real possibility that you’re—”

“Cameron! I know who pushed me!”

Shaw

I’m still shaking wildly even as I shout the words so loudly that they ricochet off the walls and echo, the sound filling the suddenly tense silence.

I feel Cameron go still and hard beneath me, his muscular arms banding around me in an unyielding grip that threatens to wring the air from my lungs.

I feel him tremble and do the only thing I can to soothe him. I pull back as much as I can and kiss him again, this time slowly, infusing the melding of our mouths with as much comfort as I can, considering the state I’m in.

It’s not every day you remember your would be murderer…

“Ducky? I am so sorry.”

“Sorry? What for? Cameron did you hear what I just said? I remember who pushed me!”

“Your memory has returned—”

Why does that seem to upset him so? Doesn’t he want me to remember everything? Who wouldn’t want their fiancée to remember their epic love story? You need to tell him.

But how? Oh dear God. Things are still very fuzzy in my head, and I can’t remember everything, not half as much as I need to, but I remember that face and the name that goes with it and—and that’s it, almost as if my mind doesn’t want to know the rest.

“My memory hasn’t returned, Cam. I just saw the guy’s face and a name came up. For some reason that I am not aware of, it upset me a lot. Do…do you have a brother I don’t know about?”

He tenses again, his thighs going rock hard beneath my ass before he lunges up and lifts us both in one stroke that leaves me breathless. The utter strength…

“Speak. Tell me.”

“I keep having these nightmares about falling. This last one was a lot more detailed and…and I looked up just as I was going down. I saw…Robert. Why would your brother push me Cameron?” I ask, gasping when his arms loosen and drop me to the bed in a sprawling heap.

And then he steps away from the bed, from me, as if I’m another life form, and oh God, the way he’s looking at me tells me one thing clearly, he doesn’t believe me and he’s pissed.

“Is this a fucking joke?” he yells so loudly I gasp and scuttle back into the headboard. “I should have known that you were playing me again! You never had amnesia did you? This has all just been one big fucking play from the get-go. Jesus, and to think I…. Have you been playing us all this whole time?”

My lips tremble when he starts pacing quickly, his shoulders so tense it looks like he’s growing muscle right then. The worst part, he looks ready to strangle me, literally, and I can’t understand why.

I love him, like a lot, but it seems he doesn’t feel the same way despite the idyllic time we’ve had together. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe…God, I can’t think! My head is starting to pound, and I am truly terrified when Cameron stalks closer to the bed and leans in, his face a mask of spitting fury.

“You will keep your mouth shut. Understand? I won’t have whatever you’re trying to do upset Mum and Dad. As far as they’re concerned, your memory is gone and you’re their sweet daughter-in-law. Keep it that way, or I swear to everything that is holy, I will fucking kill you.”

That is so…I swallow and nod, confused but needing him to back away before I do something really stupid like cry or beg him to believe me. I can’t understand any of this and the harder I try, the worse this fucking headache gets.

And he’s scaring me, which up until a minute ago I would never have thought possible.

“I don’t understand what’s going on, Cameron. Why don’t you—?”

“You will do as I say from now on, for everything, or I will have your brother’s life ruined. He’ll be a fucking fry cook, scraping grease from the grill for the rest of his life if you even so much as whisper another word about Rob. Understand?” he hisses into my face, one hand spearing through my hair and pulling me so close I feel the heat of his curled lips a breath away from mine.

“Answer me, Shaw.”

“I-I understand?”

“Good. Now go clean yourself up and get to the car. We have an appointment with the doctor.”

I sit there, trembling against the bed for long minutes after he leaves, my heart and mind warring against each other. Something, some tiny little spark deep inside is raging against the hurt I feel, screaming at me to button up and not show him weakness.

On autopilot, I walk on shaky legs to the bathroom and clean myself up, scowling at the red-rimmed, ragged look of my eyes and the fear I can’t seem to shake reflected there.

One good thing about having a gimp brain? I have a clean slate which means that my analytic noggin starts looking at things from every angle possible to try to figure out what the eff is going on.

First, Cameron does not like the thought of me recovering my memory. At least he
didn’t
like the thought. Now he thinks I’ve always had it and that I’ve been fooling everyone.

God, why would he even think that? And doesn’t that suggest that he doesn’t trust me? If so, I see a lot of shaky ground and all out badness for those fairy tale fantasies I’ve been dream weaving.

Second, Robert pushed me and Cameron refuses to believe it. I don’t remember the guy, but the fact that I knew him and felt so heartrendingly sad and horrified tells me I do know him.

Third, something funky is going on and I need to find out what that is. I can’t ask Cameron since he seems to be a step away from offing me and dumping my remains, so I’m going to have to find someone who’ll talk to me about this shit.

Molly is out since Kent won’t even let me call her. Margery and Victor are off limits since I really don’t want to end up dead and my circle of friends is not exactly bursting at the seams right now.

But I need to know; I have to try to remember.

“Hurry up would you.”

I spin around to see my…Cameron towering over me and step back reflexively, my heartrate doubling at the blank, cold expression in his eyes.

“I…Angel—”

“Mum already has her. Come Shaw. We have a pregnancy test to get out of the way before I let myself go and actually throttle you.”

Pregnancy…?