by Amiee Louise
I smile and take in all the new information that Cole has given me. I perch on the edge of the desk.
“The night of the accident, he said you and Jax locked him in the bathroom?”
Cole lets out a rich, rumbling laugh.
“We did a little bit more than that, sugar. We found him slumped in the bath with six empty bottles of vodka and lines of coke all over the toilet seat. He was a total mess. He was passed out, so I turned the shower on him to get him to come around; I know how to handle him when he is in this kind of state. I called his dad, and he came to the hospital to sit with you while Sam was having his episode. We cleaned up the bathroom, and he finally came around. We locked the door and left him there to stew for a while. There’s nothing like cold turkey to get him to come to his senses. He is nowhere near as bad as he was in the early days, but I handle him, he seems to listen to me.”
I nod. I have never seen Cole this chatty before, and I’m enjoying getting to know him and the part he plays in Sam’s life. He is not just his security guard and chauffeur; he seems to play a bigger role in his life than he lets on. Not only is he a close friend to Sam, but he is also a mentor and a much-needed calming influence.
“Do these episodes happen regularly?”
He looks at me and smirks. “You sure ask a lot of questions, sugar!”
I narrow my eyes at him and try a different approach. “What happened on the night of the album launch after I left?”
He cocks his head and leans back in his chair.
“Look, sugar, it’s really not my place to be telling you any of this.”
I raise my eyebrows and ask, “Did something happen after I left? I caught him and Brody snorting cocaine in the office.”
Cole leans back heavily in his chair, and he is about to speak when the door opens, abruptly and prematurely ending our conversation. Sam walks back into the room, and a few minutes later, there is another tap on the door. Sam opens it and greets the two men inviting them into the room.
“Cole, could you play the footage again, please?”
Sam comes closer to me and edges his way between my legs. He wraps his arms around me.
“I promise we won’t be much longer, but the police need to speak to you, baby.”
He feels me tense against him, and he runs his hands up my spine.
“It’s going to be all right, we’re going to get this bastard and nail him to the wall, if it’s the last thing I do, angel, I promise you.”
The two men are studying the footage with careful eyes. Sam unwraps me from his embrace and pulls me to my feet. One of the men comes over to Sam and smiles warmly.
“Babe, this is Tate Jackson, he is our P.R guy. Tate, this is my beautiful girlfriend, Peyton.”
Tate reaches for my hand; I take it and smile back.
“Pleased to meet you, Tate.”
He nods. “You too, Peyton, it’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All good, I hope.”
He smiles. “Of course, darlin’, this man is definitely smitten.”
“All right, mate. I’ve got my rock star reputation to keep up!”
Sam and Tate laugh. Tate turns to Sam. “How do you want me to deal with the press then, mate? They’re asking all sorts of questions about the accident, it’s getting harder to shake them off with the old ‘we don’t know any more at this stage, it’s still pending a police investigation.’ I’m not sure how much longer I can fob them off before they start making shit up.”
Tate folds his arms. Sam puts his hand to his head and sighs.
“Just try and hold them off for a few more days please, mate, the police need to speak to Peyton first.”
Tate nods. “I’ll make a few calls and call in a few favours. I’ll sort it, mate, just leave it to me.”
Tate winks, and Sam shakes his hand. The other man who stepped into the room comes over to us.
“Miss Harper, I’m Detective Wilson Scott. I need to ask you a few questions about the accident. If that’s OK with you?”
I nod, and he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Tate leaves telling Sam he will be in touch about the press release. Sam leads us out of the room, and we step into the lift and go back up to his apartment in complete silence.
“Do you want tea or coffee, mate?”
The detective nods and says, “Tea would be great. Milk, no sugar. Cheers.”
Sam nods, and he goes into the kitchen. I sit down on the corner sofa, and the Detective sits at the other end. He takes out a notebook, and I suddenly feel uncomfortable.
“Miss Harper—”
I stop him. “Peyton, please.”
He nods curtly. “Could you describe to me what you were doing when the accident occurred? Where were you going?”
“I stayed at Sam’s the night before. I was pulling out of the parking garage to drive to work, I’m a tattoo artist at Saint Sinner Ink in Islington.”
He takes down what I have said, and he nods. “OK, what happened immediately prior to the accident?”
“I had to stop because there was a bus coming, I pumped the brakes, but nothing was happening. I don’t remember anything after that, I’m really sorry, it’s all kind of hazy.”
He writes it down. Sam comes back into the room with the tea and coffees. He puts the cups down on the table and sits down next to me. He puts his hand on my thigh in a gesture of reassurance and sips his coffee with his free hand.
“Is there anyone you can think of who might have a grudge against you?”
I am taken aback by that question. Talk about going right for the jugular. Someone who could have a grudge against me? I visibly shudder at the thought. I shake my head and squeeze Sam’s hand.
“No, no one that I can think of.”
Then I start thinking of all the times that J.D has threatened me. But he couldn’t really be capable of something like this, could he? I push that thought to the back of my mind and decide not to say anything to Sam or Detective Scott. Before I know it, the detective gets up and puts his notebook in his jacket pocket.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Harper, this will be an on-going investigation, and we’ll be in touch.”
Sam and I both stand up and shake his hand in turn.
“Can I walk you out?” Sam asks. The detective nods and Sam kisses the top of my head. “I won’t be long, angel.”
Sam escorts him out of the apartment. I wonder what Sam could possibly have to say to the detective without my presence.
We spend the rest of the evening watching DVDs in Sam’s living room snuggled up on the sofa. I am glad of the normality, and it starts to feel like we are a normal couple with a bright future ahead of us. I fall asleep in Sam’s lap, and the next thing I know, I am being carried into Sam’s room. I open my eyes as he deposits me in his large comfortable bed.
“Come on sleepy head; let’s get you ready for bed,” Sam says. I go to get up, but he pushes me back down. “No, let me, baby.”
I am too tired to fight him. He strips off my jeans, my white vest, and my shirt until I am lying on his bed in my underwear.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says huskily and strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. I smile and lean into his hand. He bends down and kisses me gently on the lips, tucking me into bed. I feel like I am five years old all over again!
“I need to make some more calls, baby, and I’ve got some stuff that needs my attention, but I’ll be in soon, I promise.”
Before he has left the room, I am a slave to sleep. I don’t know how long I have been asleep, but Sam writhing in his sleep next to me suddenly wakes me.
“Peyton, angel, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please forgive me, don’t leave me, I need you, I’m so sorry.” His voice is broken and desperate; his face is glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. He looks troubled, and his face is contorted. His fists are bunching the bed sheets, and his brow is furrowed. “No. No. No. Peyton. Please don’t leave me.”
Seeing hi
m so distressed physically makes my heart ache in my chest. He normally looks so peaceful and content when he is asleep. I move closer to him and gently stroke his face.
“Sam, baby, I’m here, wake up,” I tell him, my voice soft. He continues to bunch the sheets and writhe in his sleep. I shake his arm gently and speak louder, hoping I will get through to him. “Sam.”
Suddenly, he sits bolt upright, his arms are flailing, and he strikes me in the face. The slap echoes through the bedroom, I am physically shocked and shaken at his outburst. I let out a shriek, and his eyes fly open. He looks at me, and my eyes are glazed.
“Fuck,” he curses. He is covered in sweat; his eyes are wide and pained; I don’t think he can believe what just happened.
“Baby, it’s OK,” I try to reassure him, and he shakes his head.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers. I stroke his arm and he recoils from me, snatching his arm away from my touch as if I have burnt him. I watch as he gets out of bed and the moonlight casts a glow on his defined, undulating muscles, and I can see the fine detail in his intricate back tattoo.
“Sam!”
He strides out of the room running his hands through his hair in a pair of black boxer briefs, ignoring me calling out his name. I am physically shaken by his behaviour and curious at what his nightmare was about. I pull the covers off, grab Sam’s t-shirt from the floor, pull it on, and go out into the apartment to look for him. I look all over the apartment for him and eventually find him sitting on the balcony floor with his knees brought up to his chest. His head is leaned back against the window as he sips a glass of amber liquid with a trembling hand, his face sullen and tear-stained.
“Baby.”
I make my way over to him and crouch down next to him, the cool night air causing me to shiver.
“Don’t,” he says, his voice a low rasp. I am inches away from him, so I brush his arm reassuringly. “I said don’t,” he chokes out and recoils from my touch.
“It’s all right. What were you dreaming about?”
He lets out a strangled sob. “I fucking hit you. How can you even still be here? You need to go.”
“You didn’t mean it. I’m not leaving you, baby, look at the state of you.”
His face is pale; his eyes are haunted and scared.
“Please, you need to go right now,” he pleads. He hugs his knees closer to his chest, and I can see his whole body is shaking uncontrollably.
“Sam, please talk to me, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”
He shakes his head and scrambles to his feet, completely ignoring my presence. He strides over into the kitchen and picks up his phone.
“Cole, yeah, I know what time it is, I’m really sorry. Yeah, tell Amy I’m sorry too. I’ll make it up to her, I promise. Can you come and take Peyton home, please? OK, thanks, mate, I owe you one. Yeah, bye.”
He hangs up the phone and looks at me.
“Why are you doing this? Just tell me what you were dreaming about, please?”
He scrubs his hands down his face.
“I dreamt that you were gone, that you died in that car accident. Are you happy now?” His voice is hoarse as he continues, “I was trying to save you, but every time I got close, I got pushed further and further away from you. No matter how close I got, you were always out of my reach, I couldn’t get to you in time.”
He is sobbing uncontrollably now, and I move closer to him. I want to throw my arms around him and reassure him, but he steps back. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffs.
“It’s all my fucking fault. I’m no good for you, Peyton, you deserve so much more than what I can give you. You should run screaming in the other direction.”
I shake my head and tell him, “I love you so much, Sam, I couldn’t run even if I wanted to.”
He puts his hands to his head and laughs bitterly.
“You should, I hurt you, and I hit you in my sleep. What if I hadn’t woken up? What if I had gone further? God, it doesn’t bear thinking about, anything could have fucking happened.”
I look up at him, and a tap on the door interrupts us. Sam paces out of the kitchen and opens the apartment door. I follow him and Cole steps into the living area. He is wearing blue-plaid pyjama bottoms, slippers, and a white t-shirt, and he looks the most casual I have seen him since I met him. He looks between us.
“Sam, mate, talk to me, what’s going on?” he asks, his voice soft and calming. Sam walks over to the window with his back to us both.
“Just take her home, mate, please.” His voice is barely a whisper and Cole keeps his eyes trained on me.
“Peyton, come on, sugar, let me take you home.”
He takes me by the elbow. I shrug him off and walk over to Sam, spinning him around to face me. I am not about to watch the man I love push me away.
“I’m not fucking walking out of here, not until you talk to me, Sam.”
He towers over me and closes his eyes.
“Look at me,” I raise my voice; he complies, and he looks at me. “This isn’t just over some nightmare.”
He shakes his head.
“I hit you, baby, how can you even stand to be near me? You don’t get it, you’re too good for me, all I do is hurt you, the drugs, the accident… All of it is my fucking fault.”
I daringly decide to change my tactics. I move closer to him, and when he starts to move backwards from me, I grab his arm and pull him closer to me until we are nose to nose.
“Baby, take me to bed and fuck me until I can’t remember my own name,” I whisper seductively in his ear and his breathing hitches. Cole continues to look from Sam to me and back again, observing our exchange and gauging Sam’s reaction.
“Do you need me to take her home, Sam?”
Sam doesn’t take his eyes off me and silently shakes his head.
“OK, mate, call me if you need anything else, goodnight,” he says, shutting the door of the apartment behind him.
“Fuck me, Sam.” I nip his earlobe and crash my lips against his. I suck his tongue until I feel him yield against my touch. Sam lifts me up in one rapid move, and I lock my legs tightly around his waist. “I need you, Sam.”
He doesn’t say a word; he just loosens his grip and pushes my hair back from my shoulder. He kisses a trail from behind my ear to my collarbone, my favourite turn-on spot. He walks with me in his arms to the kitchen and sits me down on the worktop. The coldness of the marble makes me shiver. He takes his t-shirt off me in one lithe move, and then I am completely naked and at his mercy. He lowers his head to suck my nipple into his mouth. I moan softly, and he looks into my eyes, the pain from earlier replaced with pure lust. The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches into the curve of a smile.
“Tell me what you want, baby.”
His voice is back to its usual husky orgasmic best, and it is the first time he has spoken. I shake my head and smirk.
“I’m the one in control now, Newbolt,” I whisper.
“Is that so?” I nod and bite my lip seductively. I push him backwards, and he holds his hands out to the side. “I’m all yours, beautiful.”
He chuckles softly and lifts me down from the worktop. I push his boxer briefs down his muscular thighs, and he steps out of them. His length is standing to attention, and I lick my lips. I sink down to my knees and take his hardness into my mouth. He closes his eyes and groans softly.
“Jesus, what are you doing to me?”
I take him deep in my throat and run my tongue over the bell-shaped tip.
“You have a rather beautiful cock, Mr. Newbolt.”
He chuckles softly. I bob my head up and down as I take him further into my mouth, licking and sucking as I go. I can feel his cock twitching as I cup his balls.
“Fuck, baby. That feels so good.”
I keep sucking and open my throat to take him as far into my mouth as I can go.
“Shit! I’m going to come.”
He spurts his seed into my mouth yelling as he finds his re
lease, “Oh, fuck, Peyton.”
I swallow and look up at him with a satisfied grin plastered on my face. He helps me to my feet and pulls me close to him.
“Jesus, that was a fucking awesome blow job,” he says, causing us both to erupt into a fit of giggles.
“My turn,” he says with a wink. “Lean back on your elbows for me, baby.”
