Tattoos & Tears (Complete Collection)

by Amiee Louise

  A look of pure confusion crosses my face. Who the fuck could have posted about me being alive? I am about to speak, when the door to the drab, grey interview room, swings open. The tall, dark-skinned detective, who is conducting my interview, gets up from his chair.

  “Excuse me for one moment, Miss Harper.”

  He nods and goes over to the door. He whispers to the short, balding uniformed officer in the doorway and turns around to regard me intently with narrow, guarded eyes.

  “A lawyer has been sent to represent you, Ma’am.”

  I look puzzled, and a figure emerges from behind the officers. He is average height, dark hair with a receding hairline and balding on top. He is average build, with dark hazel eyes. He smiles, and I can’t help but think it makes him look like a shark. He is wearing an expensive suit, Armani if I’m not mistaken, and it looks as if it has been tailor-made to fit his height and build perfectly.

  “Miss Harper, I presume?” he says in a typically British accent, and I nod. “Ah, good. I’m here to help you get out of this sticky little situation you seem to have found yourself in. May I have a minute with my client, please?”

  Detective Price nods curtly and closes the door, leaving me and the mysterious lawyer alone. I get up from my chair, and he looks me up and down.

  “Definitely Sam’s type, although nothing like Brody described. Allow me to formally introduce myself; I’m Vance Stryker, legal representative of those darling boys, Rancid Vengeance.”

  I shake his hand in a firm grip.

  “Peyton Harper, but I don’t understand why Sam would send you here,” I say, confused as to why Sam would bail me out when he seemingly hates my guts at this present moment.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, darling, but Sam didn’t send me, Brody did. I know that one just can’t resist a damsel in distress.”

  My heart plummets at the thought that Sam didn’t send him. Vance places his briefcase on the table and looks at me.

  “Now, are there any little secrets I need to know about before we proceed? I can’t say I’m partial to skeletons in closets, Miss Harper.”

  He looks at his expensive Rolex watch.

  “I have a very expensive scotch with my name on it, and I plan on drinking it in the next thirty minutes, darling. Times-a-ticking.”

  He smiles his shark-like smile and taps his watch. I start to pace the room, suddenly feeling like a caged animal.

  “I just need you to get me out of here.”

  I feel my breath coming in short, sharp bursts, and I feel my chest start to tighten, the sure symptoms of a threatening panic attack. Fuck me! Please, not here. Vance seems to realise what’s happening and he pulls out a chair from the desk. He guides me by the shoulders and drops me down onto it.

  “Head between your legs, sweetheart. Deep breaths. Good girl. Look, I’m going to do everything I can to get you out of here, but you need to tell me the facts.”

  He crouches down in front of me, and I take deep breaths. A few minutes of awkward silence passes and my breathing returns to normal. I look at him and cock my head to the side curiously.

  “How did you know what to do just then?”

  He smirks.

  “My delightful ex-wife used to suffer from panic attacks, anxiety, blah, blah, blah. I’m quite the expert, darling. You’re in good hands.”

  He gets to his feet and once he’s satisfied that I’m ok, and claps his hands twice.

  “Now, to the matter at hand, Miss Harper, the facts. I know the basics, but Brody was brief, to say the least. So, you’re going to have to fill in the blanks.”

  He takes a Dictaphone out of his briefcase, presses the record button, and lays it down on the table. I spend the next ten minutes filling him on the events of the past year, up until the moment I returned. His eyes widen, and he nods, taking in the information I have given him. He stops the recording and places the Dictaphone back in his briefcase.

  “That’s quite a tall tale, Miss Harper; allow me to work my magic.”

  He winks and strides over to the door, filled with determination; he opens it and calls out to the detective.

  “Detective Price, we’re ready for you now.”

  A few moments pass, and the detective enters the room. We both resume our seats at the worn grey desk, and Vance takes the chair next to mine.

  “Detective Price, are you going to charge my client?”

  The detective regards Vance with a scowl.

  “From what Miss Harper has told me, no crime has been committed in this instance, so you can either charge her or let her go. Your choice, Detective,” he says smugly.

  “Miss Harper was presumed dead. A thorough police investigation took place, and a year later, she turns up alive. I can charge her with wasting police time and falsifying legal documents, which are very serious offences,” he says sharply.

  “I understand the implications, Detective; also Miss Harper has filled you in on her version of events, is that correct?”

  Detective Price nods curtly.

  “Detective, no crime has actually taken place. She didn’t do it for tax purposes, or illegal reasons. Therefore, you have no reason to hold my client.”

  He is about to argue, when Vance holds his finger up. I can see Detective Price silently seething, which makes me smile inwardly.

  “I’m good at my job, Detective Price; my employers pay me substantially for my services.”

  Vance opens his briefcase and takes out a piece of paper.

  “I think you’ll find all you need in this document, Detective. It states my client’s rights and grants her immunity from being prosecuted. Now if you would excuse us, I think we’re done here.”

  He gets up from his seat, gesturing in my direction.

  “Miss Harper.”

  He nods, and I follow suit, getting up from my seat too. I walk out of the interview room, letting out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding.

  “What the fuck was that, Vance?”

  He smiles a genuine smile that doesn’t make him look like a shark this time.

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks, darling.”

  He winks.

  “Thank you, so much.”

  He nods curtly, and as he turns around, I spot Remy and Brody. I can’t hold back the sob that escapes from me. I am so overwhelmed by the support of the people that mean the most. The only person that isn’t here is Sam. I stride up to Brody first and throw my arms around him, he squeezes me tightly.

  “Thank you,” I breathe into his ear, and he buries his face in my hair.

  “Anytime, sweets.”

  I pull away from our embrace and see that Brody’s knuckles are raw and bleeding.

  “What happened?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Don’t worry about me, babe, let’s just say he had it coming.”

  He winks, and I can’t help but wonder if he means Sam.

  “I had to come and see if you were ok. I was so fucking worried, but you don’t need me now, so I’ll be going.”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Something is definitely wrong. He turns to leave, but I stop him by grabbing his wrist.

  “Don’t go.”

  My voice is barely a whisper, and he strokes my knuckles, pulling me in for a Brody style hug.

  “Be with Remy, sweets, he’ll take care of you. I...I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

  He smiles, pulls away from our embrace, and before I can protest, he leaves. I am left dumbstruck in the middle of the police station, but Remy pulls me from my thoughts as he wraps me in his strong arms. That’s when the tears come, the gut-wrenching sobs that have been threatening spill down my cheeks.

  “Shhh, I’ve got you, beaut,” Remy soothes.

  At that moment, wrapped in Remy’s arms, I start to think of the life I have built for Freddie and me in Santa Monica. I think of the past year with Remy, living my life as Louise Stonebridge, someone I don’t even recognise. I hope sometime in the not
so distant future, I can move back to London, resume my life as Peyton Harper and finally begin my life again as a mother to Freddie Newbolt. I want to make up for lost time, with everyone I left behind.

  40

  Sam

  A week passes and today, after police questioning and helping them with their enquiries and building a case against J.D, it is finally time to head back home to London. After the initial shock at seeing Peyton alive, I have come to terms with the fact that she really is here, and we are now officially parents to our son, Freddie Maxwell Newbolt.

  The rest of the boys and me are ready to leave for the airport. After a gig at Nikon at Jones Beach Theatre, we stayed in the penthouse suite at the New Yorker Hotel, which happened to be the same hotel Peyton is staying in, as per my request. I cross the hotel lobby, and that’s when I see her. My Peyton. Even though the lobby is littered with people, all I see is her. Remy Logan is standing close to her, and he is tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear in an intimate gesture. I start to wonder if something happened between them in the year she was gone, and I feel that familiar boiling jealousy running through my veins. Get your filthy fucking hands off her, Logan.

  “Are you ready to go, Sam?”

  Cole’s deep rumbling voice cuts through my thoughts, and I hold my finger up.

  “Yeah, just I’ll just be a second, mate.”

  He nods, and I continue to watch the scene unfolding in front of me. Remy wipes a tear from her eye with the pad of his thumb as he pulls her into his chest. I growl involuntarily.

  “Sam,” Jax says with a hint of warning in his voice. He puts his hand on my shoulder in a silent gesture of reassurance.

  “I’m ok honestly; I just need a minute. That’s all, dude,” I say softly, and I’m not sure if it’s for his benefit or my own.

  I stride across the marble-floored lobby, until I am face to face with her, ignoring the small crowd of fans who instantly recognise us. She looks so pale and fragile that it makes my heart clench. I clear my throat.

  “Hey, can we talk for a second please, Peyton?”

  She looks up, and her tired blue eyes lock with mine as she nods. My heart slams against my ribcage as she looks into my eyes.

  “Give us a minute, Rem?”

  He smiles and kisses her forehead, nodding curtly in my direction.

  “Of course, take your time. I’ll take Freddie outside, beaut.”

  He winks and takes my son in his pram outside before I can protest. Beaut? So, he’s got his own pet name for her? Fucking cocksucker.

  “So, you’re coming back home to London, then?” I say hopefully, and she shakes her head.

  “I need to go back to Santa Monica to tie up some loose ends, and then I’m going back to London.”

  I try to hide my disappointment and pull the keys to her old flat in Camden from my pocket.

  “These belong to you, the keys to your flat; I kept them. I own the building now, but I couldn’t bear to rent the flat out, so the keys are all yours… if you still want them? It’s your home, you can stay there for as long as you want, rent free of course. It’s the least I can do for you and my boy, angel.”

  She manages a vague smile and takes the keys from me, brushing my fingers as she takes them. The look in her eyes tells me that the familiar spark of electricity is still there as my skin makes contact with hers.

  “Thank you,” she whispers as her gaze drops to the floor.

  I step closer to her and tilt her chin up until her eyes find mine.

  “I can’t fucking bear to see that look in your eyes, angel,” I say gruffly, and she shakes her head.

  “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I reach for her hand, and she takes a cautious step back from me, to put some distance between us.

  “I’m going to miss my flight.”

  She turns to walk away, and I grab her wrist, not giving her an opportunity to back away. She flinches as my hand makes contact with her and I rein in my growing temper. What else did fucking J.D do to her that she isn’t telling me? What is making her react that way?

  “Then I’ll book you on another god damn flight!” I say through clenched teeth, and she looks up at me. “Please, don’t fucking walk away from me, angel.”

  She looks down at where my hand is gripping her, and I instantly see the fear in her eyes. I feel a pain lance through my chest as I realise my mistake and I let go.

  “Please, I have to go, Sam.”

  I nod and fold my arms to stop myself from pulling her into my arms.

  “Yeah, that seems to be the general fucking consensus every time you’re around me these days, angel,” I say a little more harshly than I intend and laugh bitterly. “You’re always so eager to fucking run from me, why?”

  She looks up at the ceiling, as if she is asking for answers from the man upstairs.

  “Don't you get it? This past week, all I’ve wanted to do is fucking be with you, Sam. I want to wake up in your arms each morning; I want you to make love to me like it's the first and the last time. I want to laugh with you; I want to spend every waking hour fucking loving you, proving to you that I'm worth a second chance. But everything’s different now, and I know that can never happen, not now. I’ve spent the past year believing that you masterminded the whole kidnapping with J.D, and I can’t just forget that. It isn't that fucking easy, not for me. I wish it fucking was… my head is all over the place right now, Sam."

  Finally, a little bit of honesty.

  Her voice cracks as she says those last few words and she swipes away a stray tear that has tracked its way down her cheek. My heart slams violently against my ribcage. My tall frame towers over her slight one, and it is taking everything I have not to sweep her into my arms. After a whole year of wanting her, wishing that she was with me… she’s now standing in front of me, a living, breathing human being, who gave birth to our son. A beautiful vision. My angel. The other half of my heart.

  Her voice cuts through my thoughts, and the words that come next hit me like a freight train.

  “I’m sorry, but I really can’t be in a relationship with you right now. I wish I didn’t feel that way, but I just can't.”

  Her lip quivers and her voice shakes.

  “So, what? You’re saying it’s over between us? That there’s no hope for us?”

  I scrub my hands down my face, hoping that this is a dream and that any moment now, I’m going to wake up.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Sam. I'm sorry,” she says softly but doesn't meet my gaze.

  “FUCCKKKKK!” I growl, attracting the attention of the patrons in the hotel lobby.

  “Don’t you think we’ve both allowed fucking J.D to take enough from us? He’s robbed us of so much, Peyton; he took your identity from you, for fuck’s sake! He robbed me of the first six months of my son’s life. I get that now; it wasn’t your fault, and I’m so sorry that I placed all the blame on you. Please forgive me, angel, I fucking love you, isn't that enough?”

  There is a hint of pleading in my voice, as I take her hand gently and cautiously in mine.

  “Angel,” I rasp and as she looks up at me. I see conflict in her stormy blue eyes.

  “Sam, we’ve both been through enough, this isn’t fair.”

  I shake my head. Fucking stubborn women.

  “You’re not hearing me, angel. I forgive you. I want to give us another shot. Let me be a good boyfriend, let me be a father to my son; let’s start again. You, me and Freddie, we can be a family. I can take care of you both. We can go as slow as you need. Please, I just want you to let me prove to you that I can be what you need. You know I’m not a man who begs, angel, but please, give us a second chance.”

  I know it sounds like I’m begging, but I just can’t help myself. She brings out a side of me that no one else ever sees: the vulnerable, shy, insecure side. The man who craves to be loved, the private side the fans don’t get to see. She sees beneath the bravado. She sees the man who hides behind the stage perso
na. She sees the real me, on and off stage.

  I shake my head and stroke my calloused finger over her knuckles softly.

  “Please, don’t do this, angel.”

  She squeezes her eyes shut briefly and looks back up at me with conflict in her clear blue eyes.

  “My head is all over the place, and I can’t think straight right now. You make me lose myself, Sam. I can’t, I just can’t, and it’s not just me anymore; I have to think of Freddie. Everything’s different now, I have to be responsible.”