Page 1 of Heart Mended

Chapter One

“Heart. Heart. Wake up.” I feel someone shaking my shoulder. Hard.

“Come on, babe. You’re dreaming.”

Jeez. Coming to with a start, feeling my body clammy with sweat, I realise she’s not wrong. It hadn’t been so much of a dream though, far better described as a fucking nightmare. My lungs are heaving as if I’d run a marathon.

Though now awake, the horrors that have just been disturbing my sleep still paint such a vivid picture in my mind. I can feel and taste the residual fear. I’m both hot and cold at the same time, with goosebumps on my skin and shivers running down my spine.

Fuck.

Recently, the night terrors had been lessening, in both intensity and frequency. Something must have triggered me to have one tonight, bringing back the terror I’d felt, making me live it all over again.

Fifteen months ago, Marc, my old lady, had gone into labour while the compound had been surrounded by a wildfire. Flames rushing toward us, fanned by a wind so strong there had been no way of getting her out, and those babies weren’t going to wait. In my nightmare I lose everything. Are your senses supposed to come alive in dreams? I swear mine do. I feel the heat of the fire, smell, even taste the acrid smoke and see my old lady lying dead at my feet, hearing myself scream.

The reality, though, had a happy ending. A medic with the fire crews had helped her birth both our twins safely, the wind dropping sufficiently for them all to be taken out by helicopter shortly after. In my head though, I can’t stop thinking of how it could have gone so terribly wrong—the fire overcoming us or Marc dying from complications, losing one or both of the twins. It haunts me in the dead of the night,what could have been, holding me in their thrall, not allowing me to escape.

My arm goes around her, pulling her to me. Holding onto her tightly as I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the perfume that’s uniquely hers, needing to convince myself she’s really here.

“Marc, if I lost you…” My voice breaks and I’m unable to complete my sentence.

“I’m here, Heart. That’s all I can promise you, babe. I’m here right now.”

That she doesn’t offer a guarantee she might not be able to fulfil is understandable. Both of us have seen loss in our lives. My wife had been killed, murdered. Marc’s whole family wiped out in front of her eyes, courtesy of a drunk driver. What lessons it’s taught me is that nothing is forever. When you least expect it, your life can be turned on its head, everything gone in a blink of an eye. Does it make me hold on to my woman and kids more firmly? To want never to let them out of my sight? Fuck, yes it does. Going through such pain again would kill me.

I hear a whimper, quiet at first, then increasing in volume.

“That’ll be Jacob,” Marc whispers, already sliding out of bed.

As the cry is joined by another, I smile in the darkness.

“There goes Isabel.” It’s par for the course for one to wake the other up.

A quick peck is placed on my cheek. “Go back to sleep, Heart. I’ve got this.”

Instead, I swing my legs off the side of the bed and follow her into the twins’ room, not wanting to slide back into my nightmare again, relishing more the thought of enjoying the reality I have for now. My woman—not my wife, she’ll never be that—and the children we created together.

Going to the cots placed side by side, she picks up Jacob, placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. His mother’s touch seeming to soothe him, he settles and quiets as she takes him to the changing mat. Isabel’s cries are increasing in volume. I go to my daughter, pacifier in hand. It hadn’t taken long to discover it would take more than a cuddle to soothe her. Peace having at last descended, I take her to the second changing mat.

We work comfortably side by side. Once the babies are in clean diapers, I keep them amused while Marc heats up two bottles of milk, then wait until Marc has Jacob settled, before placing Isabel in the crook of her free arm. I stand back, admiring my woman as she feeds both twins at the same time.

Could there ever be a more beautiful sight in the world?

My dream comes back to me. The thought I could have lost her, all of them, almost brings me to my knees.

“Daddy.”

Raising my eyebrow toward Marc and sighing, I glance at the clock. Yeah, morning has come already for Amy, my,our, six-year-old daughter. No chance she’ll be going back to sleep now.

Our door is already cracked open in case Amy needs us in the night. It’s only two steps to her room and I pause on the threshold. Grunt, that fucking puppy Marc adopted two years ago, is lying peacefully on Amy’s bed. As I often do, I shake my head while I watch him. He’d looked small enough at first, then when he started to sprout, my brothers began placing bets as to how big he was going to grow. I’m just hoping like fuck he’s stopped now. Whatever else is in his makeup, the wolfhound part seems to have won out.

“Grunt wants to go potty,” Amy tells me, her little face pouting. “He woke me, Daddy.”

I rather suspect it was the other way around. Grunt, once his eyes have closed, sleeps like the dead. My suspicions are confirmed when she asks, hopefully, “Can we take him for a walk?”

Amy loves her new siblings, but also enjoys her one-on-one time with me. I can’t deny her. I spent too long apart, lost in my own misery when Crystal, Amy’s mom, my wife, died. Now I appreciate every moment I spend with her. The fact she forgave me so easily, accepted me back into her life, sometimes makes me feel small.

“Let’s get you up and dressed then, sweetheart. Then we’ll take Grunt out.”

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