by Amiee Louise
I scrub my hands across my stubble and shake my head.
“I don’t need you to put the fucking kettle on, dad!” I slur.
Brody moves closer to me, putting a barrier between me and my dad.
“None of this is your dad’s fault, Sam. You’re being a complete fucking dick. You need to sober the fuck up, and then we’re going to the police station to get Peyton. I called Alistair, and he called our solicitor, Vance. He’s on the way there to be her legal representative. She’s not fucking dealing with this alone, not anymore. She fucking needs us, and she’s part of our family, whether you refuse to admit it or not.”
Deep down in my drunken foggy brain, I know every word Brody has said is the truth. But I’m not sure I can look past the fact that her family knew she was alive. Over the past eighteen months, I have transformed from a cocky, arrogant, egotistical, womanising arsehole into a monogamous, loving, dad-to-be and back again. This past year I have reverted to my debauched, old ways and her parents are responsible for it. I lost everything: my fiancée, my baby, my reason to live, and they could have prevented it all. I pick up the bottle of whiskey and lock eyes with Brody; I knock back the fiery liquid with a look of defiance on my face.
“Are you being fucking serious? I swear to the baby fucking Jesus, I am going to cock drop you!” Brody roars and my mum tries to placate him by brushing his arm gently.
“Sweetie, he’s in shock. Maybe we should leave him for tonight, let it all sink in, let him sober up. Let him sleep it off, and we’ll come back tomorrow.”
He shakes her off, and I have to physically stop myself from telling him not to treat my mum that way.
“No, I’m not going to let him do this, Mrs N! She’s the mother of your child you fucking cock sucker!”
Brody runs his hand over his head in sheer frustration and moves closer to me, until he is standing over me.
“You’re Sam Newbolt! Fucking suck it up and stop being a little bitch!” he snaps.
As I go to take another swig from the whiskey bottle, he snatches it from me. He slams the bottle down on the table and his nostrils flare.
“What the fuck, dude?” I slur, as he clenches and unclenches his fists.
“You know what? I’m fucking done, Sam. Do what you want, but I’m not leaving her. I’m fighting in her corner, whether you fucking like it or not!”
My drunken brain tries to focus on anything but the searing pain in my chest at the thought of my Peyton locked up in a police cell, terrified and all alone. However, the bitter side of me wins out again and hopes they lock her up so that she rots in prison. I attempt to stagger to my feet, and my legs feel wobbly, but I manage to stand up straight. I jab my finger in Brody’s direction. I know deep down it isn’t wise to goad him, but I can’t help myself.
“That’s right; you go to her. You comfort her, wrap her in your arms and tell her you’re there for her… right before you bury your cock inside her and make her scream your fucking name!” I say spitefully, and as I say those words, I see Brody visibly tense.
His eyes flash with anger, and before I can say another word, I feel Brody’s fist connect with my cheek. I totally fucking deserved that.
"I FUCKING WARNED YOU, YOU PRICK!" he roars, and I fall backwards onto the sofa.
My head is spinning, and my nose is bleeding, but I can just about make out the muffled conversation, going on around me.
“It’s done, Brody, but you ever lay a hand on my son like that again, and I promise you, I will be the one to knock you down, next time.”
My mum’s usually soft, placating tone is replaced with an unforgiving austere one.
“I would listen to mama bear if I were you, son. She’s fiercely protective of her cubs,” my dad says diplomatically.
I make out the broad outline of Brody’s large, muscular body and he holds his hands up defensively.
“I...I’m so sorry,” he says softly, and I hear the door click shut as I give in to a drunken sleep.
***
I’m not sure how long I have been asleep, but I wake to my dad tapping my cheek and flicking cold water in my face.
“Come on, wake up, soppy bollocks.”
He throws a pack of peas at me, and I look sleepily up at him. As I go to sit up, I am struck with a blinding pain in my head and the room is spinning. Fuck me; I had way too much whiskey.
“Fuck me, what time is it?” I say gruffly, and my dad looks at his watch.
“Just after one a.m. You were only asleep for an hour or so,” my dad says flatly. “You’ve got some apologising to do, son.”
As I attempt to sit up, my dad sits down on the sofa next to me. He puts the peas on my face, and I wince in pain.
“What the fuck happened?”
He sighs.
“You got drunk, accused Brody, bloody Brody of all people, of sleeping with Peyton, and he hit you. I can’t say I blame him to be honest, but your mother was extremely pissed off, to say the least.”
I groan at my idiotic drunken behaviour, and then it all suddenly starts to come back to me. Peyton, meeting my son for the first time, almost having sex with Peyton, Peyton leaving, having sex with Lyla, the whiskey. Fuck me, the whiskey. I remember my mum, dad and Brody showing up and then rest is a blur, to say the least.
“Where’s mum?”
My dad checks my injuries.
“She’s asleep in the spare room; you might want to give her a wide berth for the time being, son. It’s going to take a lot more than chocolates and diamonds this time.”
I scrub my hands down my face. Shit, I hate seeing my mum so upset. I hate it even more that I'm the fucking cause.
“You’re going to have a bloody impressive shiner, but you’ll live. You can’t carry on behaving like this, son. Are you off your medication again? Is that why you're acting like a complete fucking arsehole?”
I shake my head, as he berates me.
“Not now, dad, please.”
He hands me a glass of water.
“You’re going to drink this, get yourself in the shower, then you’re going to make amends with Brody. After that, you’re going to do the right thing and go and see Peyton. Are we clear? You’re a father now, Sam. You have to be the responsible one, for once.”
I go to protest, and he holds his finger up. Fuck me, my head is banging.
“Ah, ah, this isn’t up for discussion, Sam. Not this time.”
As my dad says those words, there is a soft tap on the door. My dad gets up to answer the door in silence, and I hear the dulcet tones of my big brother, Brandon.
“What trouble has my little brother gotten himself into this time?” he says in an amused tone.
His dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and he is wearing a black bandana, black skinny jeans, a white vest, a dark grey chunky knit cardigan and black Converse trainers.
“Brand, keep it down, yeah?” I groan and clutch my throbbing head as he chuckles softly.
“You look like shit, little brother. Go grab a shower then you can tell me all about your epic fuck up.”
He strides into the kitchen, and I start to feel intense shame wash over me. I am officially the world’s biggest fucking idiot, and I don’t blame Brody one bit for hitting me. I scrub my hands down my face and make my way into the bathroom. I close the door behind me and look in the mirror. Brandon is right, I do look like shit. I have dark circles underneath my eyes, and the green of my eyes isn’t the usual emerald green. My face is pale, I have the beginnings of a huge black eye, and my hair is a state of disarray. I can’t help thinking that even a shower won’t fix this mess.
I emerge from the bathroom feeling a little better. My hair is still damp, and I am wearing a loose-fitting pair of grey jogging bottoms, which hang low on my hips. My chest is bare, and I have a black towel around my neck.
“Fuck me, don’t you own a shirt?” Brandon says drily.
He is sitting on my sofa with his one arm slung over the back. His feet up on the coffee table
, and he is drinking a bottle of Budweiser. I step further into the living area and drop down onto the sofa next to Brandon.
“Dad told me to tell you he’s gone to smooth things over with Brody, although I can’t say I blame him. I would have done exactly the fucking same.”
He takes a swig of his beer.
“Thanks for being on my side, bro. Really appreciate it,” I say sarcastically, and he cocks his eyebrow.
“You really thought I would take your side after that? Fuck me, how hard did he hit you again?”
I run my hand through my hair, and I forgot how well Brandon knows me. I also forgot how much he fucking winds me up. Brandon is thirty-five, just four years older than I am. And even though he is older, we have always been close. I find him the easiest person in my family to talk to because he doesn’t judge. He is extremely laid back, and he tells it like it is.
“What’s this, get at Sam day?”
He chuckles softly and hands me a beer.
“Did I teach you nothing, little brother?”
I crack the bottle open and take a long pull, enjoying the cool liquid as it slides down my throat. It’s true what they say; hair of the dog really works!
“I’m someone’s fucking dad now, Brand. When did that happen? When did life get so complicated?”
He smirks.
“Didn’t mum and dad have the birds and the bee’s conversation with you? That’s what happens when you don’t wrap your Johnson, Sammy! First lesson in sex-ed 101, little brother!”
I narrow my eyes.
“Very fucking funny, Brand, dick.”
He laughs throatily
“In answer to your question, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to knock someone up. You’re giving me a run for my money on how many notches are on your bedpost!”
I hit him playfully on the arm, a little harder than I intended.
“So, I’m an uncle? Who knew! Congrats, boy or girl?”
I smile as I think of my son Freddie, the adorable green-eyed boy, who is my double.
“Boy. His name’s Freddie, and he’s six months old now. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I never get sappy about babies.”
I show him a picture on my phone that I took while he was here, and Brandon nods.
“Wow! He's definitely a Newbolt, he's got good genes! How do you feel about it?”
I lean back on the sofa and start to wonder how I feel about having a son, being a father, and being responsible for another human being… a human being that’s half me and half Peyton.
“The truth? I’m fucking terrified; I’m terrified of fucking up. What if he hates me when he’s older? What if I can’t be what he needs, Brand?”
He leans back and looks at me, with a look of sympathy in his eyes.
“Look, you can’t go through life wondering what if, Sammy. There isn’t a guide that tells you how to be a parent. Fuck me, mum and dad raised five of us and do you think that was perfect? Hell no! For the first three years of my life, me and Sav spent it sleeping on a tour bus around America, listening to the sound of Milo and Seth’s bunks squeaking and the sound of female sex noises. It was far from a walk in the park. I remember mum and dad arguing a lot, her mostly begging him to give up his career. By the time she was pregnant with you, it was much more settled. We had moved into a house, and it was much more stable. Dad was on the road for six months of the year and it just...worked.”
For the first time in a few years, I am enjoying my heart to heart with my big brother. Even though he doesn’t have kids himself, he just seems to get it.
“What I’m trying to say is, he’s not asking for perfect, Sam. He’s just asking you to be there for him, to guide him, nurture him, take care of him, and be his dad. It doesn’t matter that you and Peyton aren’t together, you put your animosity aside, for his sake.”
I sigh and take another a pull on my beer.
“I take that isn’t a good sigh? Come on little brother, out with it. Did something happen with Peyton?”
At that particular moment, I sort of hate the fact that he knows me so well.
“We kissed; we...sort of, almost had sex on this sofa.”
He almost chokes on his beer.
“Gross! You dirty dog! I did not need that image of my little brother almost having sex in my head, dude!”
We both laugh.
“We got interrupted by Freddie crying on the baby monitor. I can already tell the little dude is going to be a massive cock blocker! Then she freaked out and kept saying it was a mistake. I almost talked her round, when she let slip that her family knew she was alive. If she lied about that, how many other things has she lied about, Brandon? My mind felt like it was about to explode. Then my psycho ex shows up! I swear I’m expecting her next move to be bunnies boiling in pots; she’s one crazy bitch! Even though I was so fucking angry at Peyton, the look in her eyes when she saw Lyla broke my god damn heart all over again. She couldn’t even look at me, and she just left, taking my boy with her. That’s when I lost it.”
I scrub my hands down my face, deciding to leave out the fact that I shagged Lyla in the exact same spot.
“Fuck me; we need something stronger than beer, brother. Where do you keep your whiskey?”
I puff out my cheeks, and my stomach roils at the thought of more alcohol.
“I’ve had enough whiskey to last a fucking lifetime. Whiskey makes me turn into a complete dick. I accused one of my best friends of fucking Peyton, and then he punched me.”
I point to the black eye, and Brandon shakes his head.
“You never could handle your liquor, little brother!”
He smirks.
“I’m surprised it’s taken someone this long to knock some god damn sense into you.”
I cock my eyebrow.
“Thanks for the support, brother,” I say with a hint of venom in my voice.
“Put those claws away, little brother, I’m not trying to start a fight. I’m on your side. I am. I’ve never been against you, Sammy. I’m always in your corner, but...”
I hold up my hand to stop him.
“Brand, just stop, please. I don’t want to hear it. I know I’m a disappointment, I do dumb shit, and I’m reckless...”
As I say those words, he rolls his eyes and cuts me off mid-sentence.
“Please, spare me the fucking pity party, little brother. Seriously, it doesn’t suit you. If you’re looking for sympathy look in the dictionary between shit and syphilis,” he says wryly, and I smirk.
“Where the fuck do you come up with that shit, dude?”
He smiles and shrugs, as he takes a sip of his beer.
“It’s a gift.”
With those words, the phone starts ringing. I look at the name on the screen. It’s Brody; I swipe my finger across the screen and answer.
“Hello?” I say cautiously, expecting one of his famous Brody style rants.
“Sam, it’s me. Look, I wanted to apologise for punching you, dude, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you like that.”
I pause, surprised that he’s still actually talking to me.
“I’m sorry too, man, I deserved it. I can’t apologise enough. I shouldn’t have said that. I was drunk, and I was angry… not a good combination, you know that. Is she ok?” I enquire.
“She’s fine. Vance worked his magic, and she went back to the hotel with Remy. She’s upset and a bit shaken, which is understandable, but she seems fine on the whole. She’s made of strong stuff.”
A feeling of relief washes over me at hearing that she really is ok.
“She fucking needs you, Sam, even if she won’t admit it. You know what fucking women are like. Call her, go to the hotel, and let her know you’re there for her and your son.”
At that moment, I decide I have to let her know I’m there for her, despite what she might think of me, and despite everything that has happened between us. Whether she will listen to me, is an entirely different story.
Peyton
“I’ll ask you one more time, Miss Harper, or is it Miss Stonebridge?” Detective Price says forcefully.
Exasperated, I rest my head on top of my folded forearms, and I feel like I want to cry. I have been here for a few hours, but it feels like longer. This can’t be happening.
"We had a report that something had been posted on a social media site informing us of your return."
