by Amiee Louise
My stomach drops as I process his words, and I feel my heart slam violently against my rib cage. I feel the colour drain from my cheeks, and I feel like I have been punched in the gut. I can’t breathe.
Sam tried to take his own life, because of me? Oh my God, he’s right, all this is my fault.
Bile rises in my throat, and I start to sob.
"I'm...I'm..."
He smiles coldly.
"Let me guess, you're sorry? Fucking save it, sorry doesn't make up for the fact you stayed away and hid like a fucking coward. We would have protected you; we could have kept you safe! You were like a Goddamn sister to all of us, and we were like family! Sorry doesn't make up for the fact that my girlfriend, the girl who you called your sister, cried herself to sleep night after night because she’d lost the one person who knew her better than she knew herself.”
I swipe my tears away angrily.
“Sam, my best friend, my fucking brother, tried to take his own life because you were a cold, heartless, selfish bitch!" he shouts, and it makes me sob harder because everything he says is true.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I sob.
"The ambulance men said he was so fucking lucky to be alive; he missed severing his main artery by a quarter of an inch, but that doesn’t make up for the fact he was so fucking devastated, that instead of talking to us, he shut us all out and tried to take the cowards way out!" he bellows.
As Jax tells me of Sam's suicide attempt, my heart constricts, and I find myself sobbing uncontrollably. I caused this, it's all my fault. I don't deserve his forgiveness.
"I should never have come here."
He untucks his hands from his pockets and steps closer to me, jabbing his finger angrily in my direction.
"No, you’re right, you fucking shouldn't have, and you need to fucking leave, right now. Make your excuses and go, because he doesn't need you fucking his life up any more. He's a mess, Peyton, and he's fucking broken. He's changed. He’s not sleeping, he's drinking, he's..."
His sentence is stopped abruptly by the sound of Sam's familiar deep, commanding tone.
"Jax, that's enough," he rasps.
"She needs to fucking know, Sam, what she put you through; what she's done. She needs to fucking see first-hand the consequences of her actions," Jax yells, as Sam menacingly steps forward with his fists clenched at his sides.
I retreat into myself, backing a few steps away from both men.
"You need to shut your motherfucking filthy mouth, Jax."
Jax squares up to Sam. Jax's lean frame is eclipsed by Sam's large muscular one as he comes up a few inches shorter than Sam.
"Stop fucking defending her, for Christ sake, Sam! We were the ones who were there for you; we were the ones who picked up the pieces. I was there through the nightmares, I was the one who listened to you wake up screaming night after night. I watched you break down and turn into a shell of what you used to be. You have to take pills day after day because you can barely manage to drag yourself out of bed and that’s not you! So, don't you fucking dare stand there defending her, not when she's the one who did this to you!" Jax shouts.
“STOP TALKING AND SHUT THE FUCK UP JAX, I SWEAR TO GOD!” Sam snarls and grabs him by his t-shirt with his uninjured arm, pinning him to the wall.
I am frozen to the spot. I feel my heartbeat start to quicken, and I know I am going to have a panic attack. Shit. My breathing becomes erratic, and I feel my legs start to buckle underneath me. Before I hit the ground, I feel myself being scooped up in a strong familiar arm and my vision is swimming. It is as if everything is in slow motion and my chest starts to tighten. I am struggling to force precious air into my lungs.
"Fuck."
I hear someone curse.
"Breathe, angel, I've got you, stay with me, deep breaths," Sam says gently, and his voice brings me back. "Breathe."
My eyes lock with his concerned green ones, and he grips my hand softly. He is sat back on his haunches in front of me.
"Breathe with me, angel. I need you to focus. In and out. That’s it, eyes on me, just keep breathing.”
We start to breathe in sync with each other, and I feel my heart beat return to normal.
"Good girl."
He smiles his familiar dimpled smile, and he strokes my cheek. My gaze drops to the floor; I feel my face start to flush with humiliation and pure embarrassment.
"Hey, look at me, angel."
He cups my face in both of his hands and forces my gaze to his.
"It’s just a panic attack, angel, you’re going to be ok, I promise," he says softly, and I manage a small smile as he strokes my knuckles softly with his calloused fingers.
"Shit!" Jax mutters, running his hands through his normally neatly styled blonde hair. "Fuck!" he curses. "Bollocks!"
He storms out of the canteen, leaving Sam on his knees in front of me.
"I see he still doesn’t quite have a grip on the English language yet," I say drily, and Sam chuckles softly.
He rises to his feet pulling me up with him until I am standing in front of him, and his six-foot-four stature amazes me once again. His hand and his wrists are bandaged, and his shoulder is supported by a dark grey sling. I notice that his hospital gown has been replaced with a pair of ripped, worn and faded jeans, a Metallica t-shirt and black cowboy boots. He has at least three days’ worth of stubble on his chin. His raven black hair is messy, but still manages to look sexy. He has what Ruby and I used to call 'just fucked hair'. I involuntarily lick my lips at the sight of him.
"Angel, please don't look at me like that," he rasps, and I look up at him.
"Look at you like what?" I say innocently, and Sam smirks devilishly.
"Like you're fucking starved for me, like you want me to lay you down across that table and fuck you into next week," he says gruffly, and I let my eyes wander down the length of his tall frame.
I take in his bulging biceps that look twice the size of my own, his broad shoulders, his hard-muscular thighs, his large calloused hands, the hard, perfectly sculpted bumps of his six-pack. I look down to the delicious V of his abdomen, leading down to his thick, nine-inch member.
I imagine his hands roaming all over my body, the way his large hands cupped my breasts, the way his long finger expertly pushed into my wet aching channel and bought me to an earth-shattering orgasm. I hear a soft moan, and then I realise that moan escaped from my own lips. I look up at Sam, he is smirking sinfully and has that wicked glint in his green eyes.
"I bet if I touched your pussy, you would be soaking wet for me, wouldn’t you, angel? You were imagining my hands on you, weren't you? You were imagining what it was like to feel my cock inside you, the way you screamed my name and clenched that tight little pussy around me as I bought you to orgasm."
His voice is rough and full of promise, of pure, desperate want. He moves closer to me, and he is so close I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. I bite my lip to stop myself jumping his bones right here in the hospital.
"I have a place in Manhattan. Come back with me, angel; let me show you how much I've missed you. Let me love you."
I look him in his blazing green eyes, and I suddenly feel overwhelmed by the whole situation. I take a step back and shake my head.
"I...I can't," I whisper.
As he continues to step towards me, I take a step back each time, distancing myself from him.
"Angel," he says huskily.
"Sam, please don't. Everything Jax said was true. I broke you, and I don't deserve your forgiveness. I don't deserve a second chance; all of it was my fucking fault.”
The tears that threatened earlier are now freely rolling down my cheeks.
"Fucking Jax," Sam growls and clenches his fist at his sides. “Jesus, angel, please stop crying, you're tearing me apart."
He reaches for me, but I step back. I can't allow him that power. If he lays his hands on me, I'll give in to my body's voracious needs.
"Jax had no fucking right to say those t
hings to you, angel, no right at all. It wasn't his place to tell you; it wasn't his God damn story to tell. I'm so fucking sorry."
His voice is filled with such sadness and regret it makes my heart slam against my rib cage.
"Cole bought me a change of clothes and the doctors have given me the all clear. I need to take it easy, but I can leave. Please come back to my place with me, angel. We need to talk properly, in private, away from prying ears; somewhere where we won't be disturbed."
I swipe away the tears from my eyes and shake my head.
"No, I can't," I whisper.
I turn to leave, but he grabs my wrist and spins me around, pulling me into his hard, warm chest. He envelopes me in his strong arm, and I clutch his t-shirt desperately. It feels so good to be back in his arms, and the feeling is so overwhelming that I break down in gut-wrenching sobs against him.
"Fuck, please, stop crying, you're shredding me. Each sob is like a knife to my heart, angel. I can't fucking stand it,” he says through clenched teeth, and he pulls me tighter against him with his good arm.
The look of anguish in his eyes is too much for me to bear, as he runs his hands soothingly up and down my back.
"Let me take you away from here, please, we can just talk. No funny business, I promise. You can just let me hold you, like I used to, and you can finally let me meet my boy."
My head snaps up in a blind panic at the mention of our son, Freddie. I wrench myself free from his grip and back away from him, shaking my head.
"I...I'm sorry I need to...I have to get back to Freddie."
I turn and rush away from the hospital canteen, ignoring everything around me but the sound of Sam calling my name.
28
Sam
FUCKKK! Why the fuck won't she listen to me? Why is she behaving this way? Jax had no fucking right to tell her those things, it was down to me to tell her and in my own fucking time. This is all such a mess.
"Dude, is everything alright?"
Brody's concerned voice filters through my thoughts. He is standing outside the door of the hospital canteen with one hand in his pocket. I'm running my hand frantically through my hair, and I'm starting to furiously pace the corridor.
"She..."
I stop because I don't know what the fuck to say, or how to describe what just happened. Brody moves closer to me and pats my shoulder, as if he just gets it.
"I know mate, I fucking know."
These past few months, Brody has become my ally. He’s the person I go to when I need advice, when I need to talk, or just get things off my chest. He is the one who silently listens and tells it like it is when he knows I need it. Since his stint in rehab, Brody has done a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. Gone is the Brody who would wake up with groupies in his bed. Gone is the Brody who would snort cocaine for breakfast and gone is the Brody who can't function without some sort of chemical running through his veins. He has been replaced with a Brody who appreciates life, friendship, and music again. Brody gets out of bed with a renewed purpose and functions just fine with a strong, black coffee, a bowl of Rice Krispies and a few hours in our fully equipped, state of the art home gym.
"I saw her tear through that door like a bat out of fucking hell, dude; did you go bounding in there with your size twelve's?" he says wryly, as I shake my head and run my hand through my hair.
"Not this time, dude. Jax told her about my suicide attempt, motherfucker," I curse.
“Fuck me, dude.”
I smirk at Brody’s droll reply, and I am about to speak again when we are interrupted by a group of four teenage girls.
"OH MY GOD! You're Bolt and Snake from Rancid Vengeance! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!"
They all shriek and I inwardly curse our fame to hell right at this moment.
"OH MY GOD! We love you! You're so hot!" the small blonde one squeals in an American twang and I instantly turn on Sam the showman.
"The very same, sweetheart, and thanks for the compliment ladies, it means a lot," I say in my signature raspy tone, and they all practically melt at our feet. Brody and I grin at each other.
"OH MY GOD!"
Fuck me; I love our American fans, but really? Is that really the extent of their vocabulary? The group push a small petite dark-haired girl forward, and she looks nervously up at me with big brown innocent eyes.
"Erm...c...could we get a picture with you guys please?"
Her voice is small, and I touch her arm.
"Sure, sweetheart. Don’t be so nervous, we don’t bite."
I wink and bite my lip piercing. Her friends start screaming again, attracting the attention of a few nurses passing us in the corridor.
"OH MY GOD! Bolt just touched you, Bree!" the over-enthusiastic blonde shrieks and she catches a man walking past by his arm. I recognise him, as the guy who had his arms around Peyton yesterday.
"Excuse me, can you take our picture please?"
She thrusts the camera at him, and he smirks.
"Sure, no problem, love."
So he's British then? Interesting. He steps forward, and I notice he walks with a slight limp. He takes the camera and the blonde plasters herself to my side.
"Smile!" he says, clearly amused.
I plaster on my best smile for the camera. He takes a few snaps, and they all jump up and down in unison. He hands back the camera with a smirk on his face.
"Thank you so much!"
He nods.
“You’re most welcome, ladies.”
They all skip off happily, and he turns to leave.
"Wait," I say sharply, and he spins around.
"Are you talking to me, mate?"
I look at him. He has to be an inch or so taller than me, with long dark hair, brown eyes and I can definitely see the resemblance between him and Ruby.
"I saw you with Peyton yesterday."
He nods.
"Ah, the famous Mr Newbolt, I presume?” He regards me intently, sizing me up. "I’ve heard a lot about you. Remy Logan," he introduces himself, and I nod.
He changes his stance, folding his arms and widening his legs.
"I know exactly who you are, are you fucking my girl?" I ask candidly, and he cocks his eyebrow.
"That, mate, is none of your business. And last I checked, Peyton doesn’t belong to anyone. I take it you are talking about Peyton?"
The fucking cocky son of a bitch. I take a step closer to him, and he doesn't flinch.
"Do not fuck with me, Logan, because it’s really not a good idea," I spit angrily, and I know I am way past angry. I am boiling with jealous rage.
He got to spend the past year with my Peyton, and he's been able to see my son grow for the past six months.
"I don't plan on fucking with you, mate. I care about that girl more than I should, and I know she's so fucking cut up about you. She's hurting, I can see that quite fucking clearly, but what I don't like, is to see her upset. She hates herself for what she did, and I've witnessed first-hand the effect it's had on her. I've sat through the nightmares, I've sat through the screaming, the tears, and it ripped me the fuck open to witness that while knowing I couldn't do a damn thing about it. She went to the Madison Square Garden gig, against my better judgement might I add, but as soon as she saw the news about you being kidnapped by J.D, she knew she had made a terrible mistake. I couldn't let her come here alone, not with the state she was in. I would have given my right nut sac to protect her from all this, shield her from all this fucking pain, but she's so feisty, strong and independent. So, no, I don't plan on fucking with you, mate. Not if you don't fuck with her. Because believe me when I say I will knock you down and I'll make damn fucking sure you won't be getting back up."
He says it all with such conviction that I don’t doubt he would make good on his threat. Brody quietly observes the exchange between us and I hold my hand up in defence.
“You want my advice, mate? Give her some space, time to think and shit. That’s what women want, right?”
He smirks
, and I smile at his typically male dry sense of humour. Maybe he’s not so bad after all.
“It’s nice to have finally met you, mate, I’ll perhaps see you around sometime?”
I nod, and he shakes my hand graciously as he turns to walk away. Brody moves to stand next to me with a bemused look on his face.
“What the fuck just happened?”
