by Amiee Louise
“Peyton? Is everything ok, darlin’?”
I swallow the lump that’s forming in my throat and manage to nod.
“Could you take us home, please, Kai?”
He nods curtly and helps me strap Freddie into his car seat in the back. I climb into the back and Kai gets into the driver’s seat. He starts the engine and begins to pull out of the Newbolt’s drive just as Sam flies out of the front door with Jax and Brody hot on his heels.
“Please, Kai, just drive,” I plead, and he catches my gaze in the interior mirror.
He speeds out of the gravel driveway as fast as he can. Sam’s looming figure running his hands through his hair frantically is the last thing I see.
18
Sam
Why the fuck do I let her have this effect on me? Why does my common sense abandon me, every time she’s near me?
I’ve just watched her run from me, again. The look of pure panic and conflict in her eyes as Kai drove her away tore and ravaged at my insides. I lean heavily against the door frame; my hand is dripping blood from punching the glass cupboard door, but the adrenaline and the effects of the alcohol make it so I can’t feel anything. A hand squeezes my shoulder in a gesture of reassurance and pulls me from my racing thoughts.
“Sam, mate, come back inside. Let’s get fucking wasted, yeah? We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Jax says softly, and I shrug him off.
“You’ve got no fucking idea have you, Jax? Just leave me the fuck alone.”
I shove past him, and he blocks my path.
“I get that you’re hurting, I get that you love her man...”
I cut him off.
“Spare me the fucking pep talk, Jax,” I say icily, and push past him, this time he doesn’t stop me.
I stride through my parents’ house and head into the living room. I route noisily through my dad’s drink’s cabinet, the clatter of the bottles grating on every last nerve in my body. I need to get wasted, I need to obliterate the thoughts of her running away from me again, I need to block out the empty feeling I feel every time she shuts me out and tells me it’s over.
“Sam, what’s going on?”
My sister’s soft, melodic voice fills my ears and I squeeze my eyes briefly shut.
I don’t need this shit.
“I’ll tell you what I told Jax, Sav, leave me the fuck alone,” I rasp, and I run the hand that isn’t bleeding through my hair.
“Sam, you’re bleeding.”
I shrug.
“It’s nothing,” I say nonchalantly. A bit of blood is the least of my concern.
“She’s not worth all this. You know that, don’t you, Sam?”
I turn around and my big sister is a sight to behold. Her long, straight, black hair trails down her shoulders in a thick, glossy cascade. Her big brown eyes, with flecks of green, are a mixture of our mum and dad. Her small bump is visible underneath her floral maxi dress, and the familiar smell of her Escada Island Kisses perfume fills my nostrils.
“Sav, I know you mean well, and you probably drew straws with Brand, Eli, and Willow on who was going to come talk some sense into me, but it’s really not fucking necessary,” I say a little more harshly than I intend.
She brushes my arm, and her large eyes are filled with concern.
“We’re all worried about you. Why can’t you see that? Let us help, let us be there for you, Sam. Please, we all just want what’s best for you.”
I shake my head and jab my finger in her direction, my temper getting the better of me.
“I don’t need your fucking pity or your concern, Savannah. Stop acting like you give a shit!” I snap and pull a full, unopened bottle of vodka from my dad’s drinks cabinet.
I turn around and stride out of the living room to the sound of Savannah yelling my name.
I walk out into the garden and pace purposefully towards Ruby. She stands up as I approach.
If anyone knows what’s going on with Peyton, it’s her.
“What the fuck did you say to her this time, Newbolt?” Ruby retorts and narrows her eyes at me as she stands there with her hands on her hips.
I unscrew the lid from the vodka bottle and take a long pull. The fiery liquid burns and instantly quiets my racing thoughts.
“Why does everyone fucking assume it’s my fault? I’m sick of being painted as the bad guy in all this. She fucking told me she’d rather have your brothers’ cock in her than mine!” I roar crassly, and all eyes turn to us.
I see my dad march towards me, his eyes full of fury.
“Sam, a word,” he says sternly and grips my arm.
“Take your hand off me, old man,” I say venomously.
“Inside now,” he says frostily, and I snatch my arm away from him, feeling more out of control than I’ve ever felt.
My dad’s bottle green eyes soften and as he is about to speak. I suddenly feel so full of resentment towards the man whose blood runs through my veins.
“You don’t get to fucking treat me like a child, dad! So, spare me the lecture. I’m Samson fucking Newbolt, no one tells me what to do, or how to fucking feel!”
I am trembling with such rage. I feel like a ticking time bomb, and I’m about to fucking blow.
“You’re causing a scene, Sam, and you’re bleeding. Please, come inside.”
He tries to pacify me, and I take a few steps away from him.
“What, come inside so you can put something in my drink to shut me up? I don’t fucking think so!” I say bitterly, and he visibly balks at my words.
“Sam, son, you’re upsetting your mother.”
I hold my finger up.
“You know what? Fuck this!”
I turn and walk into the kitchen. I grab a towel from the towel rack beside the fridge, run it under the cold tap and wrap my hand in it. I stride through the house, into the living room, grab another bottle of vodka, and head up the stairs. I walk around the mezzanine and down a short corridor until I am stood outside my old bedroom. I shove my shoulder into the door and push it open. It is like stepping back in time, before I was famous, to the time when I was no one, before I was Bolt. When I could walk down the street without being hassled, when I was just ordinary Sam Newbolt.
I close the door behind me, and the silence envelopes me. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding, and my shoulders visibly relax. I look around and take in my surroundings. I might not live here anymore, but this will always be my sanctuary away from the world outside, my safe place, my sanctum sanctorum. The room hasn’t changed a bit, and the decor is still the same as I remember.
The walls are an alternating pattern of white, royal blue, and a deep red. There are three guitars mounted on the wall, adjacent to my bed. My first guitar from when I started playing, my dad’s guitar from when he first started in The Lightning Bolts, and a guitar that belonged to Milo Lightman, my dad’s band mate and one of my musical heroes. The feature wall behind my bed is a mural of the first time The Lightning Bolts played their first gig live on T.V. The lifelike images of the audience reaching out to them and the look of pure awe on each of the band’s faces. It’s what I aspired to be when I was growing up.
My bed is still the red, white, and blue of the Union Jack. Underneath the large window, that spans the rear of my bedroom, is my desk. I run my fingers across the engraved graffiti, which reads ‘Hope big, dream bigger, fame beckons’. It was a quote that Milo said to me on endless occasions when we were chasing the dream of becoming famous. It is a phrase that I have tattooed on my right bicep. It reminded me that no dream was too big, and no matter how many knock backs we had, no matter how many shitty gigs we did, it would all be worth it in the end.
I kick off my flip flops and drop down heavily on my bed. My head is spinning from all the vodka I drank, and my stomach is churning from lack of food. My mind starts to race with thoughts of today’s events. They say that a drunk man tells the truth, but did I truly mean what I said? I take another pull on the vodka and scru
b my hand down my face.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but my vision is starting to blur, and my drunken mind is working overtime. I start to think how the fuck did we get here? How did we get to the point where all we do is hurt each other? In my drunken, fuzzy brain I somehow convince myself that I have to go to her and ask her. I have to know why she’s doing this to me, to us, to our son.
I manage to sit upright and swing my legs out of bed. I stand up and find that I’m a little unsteady on my feet, but I manage to jam my feet into my flip flops and make my way out of my bedroom. My vision is hazy, and I’m struggling to focus. I carefully putting one foot in front of the other. I can do this. Somehow, I get down the stairs and walk through to the garage, without closing the door behind me. I pull the keys to my Chevy Warrior truck from the key hook and jab mindlessly at the fob to unlock the door.
Fuck me, I wish I could see straight.
“Dude, what the fuck?”
I hear Brody curse, and he steps around me. I close one eye to focus on him, without seeing two of him.
“Fuck me, you’re drunk. Were you seriously going to fucking drive?” He snaps, and I scrub my hand down my face.
Fuck me running, my head is all over the place right now.
“I have to go s…she Peyton,” I slur, and he rolls his eyes, snatching the keys from my hand.
“I’m not sure that’s a good fucking idea, man. You’re drunk and you’re in no fit state to see her. Sober the fuck up and see her tomorrow.”
I jab my finger in his general direction.
“You…You don’t get to tell me to fuck…that’s not right…you don’t get to tell me what to do!”
I sway back and forth, and Brody helps me to stand up straight.
“Fuck me, dude, how much have you had?”
I close one eye and look at my hands. I hold one finger up, then two, and narrow my eyes.
“I don’t fucking know.”
I start to laugh childishly, and Brody bites his lip to stifle his smirk.
“Come on, soppy bollocks, I’ll make you some coffee.”
I shake my head, and the room starts to spin. Shit.
“I don’t fucking need coffee. I need to see Peyton.”
Brody shakes his head in exasperation, and Jax joins us.
“What’s going on, man?”
Brody looks from me to Jax.
“This fucking prick was trying to drive drunk to Peyton’s. Look at him, he can barely fucking stand up straight.”
Jax growls.
“For fucks sake, dude. You need to get your head on straight before you do, or say, something you’ll end up regretting.”
I roll my eyes.
“Since when did you turn into my fucking dad? Spare me the fucking lecture, Chase. I have to see her now. I need to know why she’s fucking doing this to me, because I can’t take any more. I’m a fucking mess.”
Jax looks at Brody and rolls his eyes with a look of exasperation on his face.
“Come on then, you prick, I’ll fucking drive you.”
Looks like we’re going to Peyton’s.
19
Peyton
We pull up in our usual parking spot over an hour later, and I will be forever grateful to Sam for keeping my apartment. I take Freddie out of his baby seat and pick him up. Kai jumps out of the car, locks it, and follows us back up to the flat. All the time he’s fully alert and keeping a vigilant eye on us both. I unlock the door, kick it open, turn on the lights, and lock the door behind us. Kai salutes and takes his jacket off.
“Goodnight, Peyton.”
He smiles, and I nod.
“Night, Kai.”
He goes into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.
“We’re home, baby boy.”
I take Freddie’s tiny hand in mine and kiss his chubby fingers. I grab a few cushions and set him down on the sofa. He looks so comfortable and content. I kick off my shoes and take the rose out of my hair, setting it down on the counter in the kitchen. I grab my phone and text Ruby.
Me and Freddie are back home safe
Stop worrying :)
Just about to set the DVD player up
Monsters Inc. here we come :)P xx
A few minutes later, she replies.
Sam’s pissed
He’s on his way to yours and he’s really drunk
Brody and Jax are with him
Just giving you a heads-up, babe
Call me if you need me
R xx
Oh shit, that’s all I need. Hurricane Sam.
I quickly change into my black yoga pants and a grey t-shirt. I grab a bottle of rose wine from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard. I go into the living room, and Freddie has fallen asleep. Bless him. I’m glad he isn’t going to witness his dad being a complete prick. I pick him up and take him into the nursery, settling him down in his cot. He doesn’t stir as I pull a blanket loosely over his tiny body; I turn on his mobile above his cot, kiss the top of his head, and leave the nursery, closing the door quietly behind me.
I flop down on the sofa, place the baby monitor beside me on the table, pour myself a glass of wine, and flick on the TV.
A few hours pass and I am settled, watching re-runs of The Walking Dead, when I hear a loud pounding on the door.
“Angel.”
Sam’s familiar rasp comes through the door.
“Open this fucking door right now, or I'm going to break it the fuck down!” he roars as I get up from the sofa and fling the door open.
Sam’s stance is loose. He is breathing hard and swaying from side to side. He looks menacing and his green eyes are hooded.
“Could you knock any fucking louder? Your son is asleep,” I hiss angrily, and he backs me unsteadily into the apartment.
“Sam,” Brody warns, and Sam holds his hand up.
“I’m fine! Why the fuck are you two dickheads here, anyway?” He slurs, and Jax narrows his eyes.
“Because you were adamant you wanted to come here, and you were too fucking drunk to drive. That’s why, you prick!” Jax snaps.
Sam doesn’t take his eyes off me as he stumbles further into my flat. Kai comes bounding out of his bedroom in a white vest and long black basketball shorts, ready to strike.
“Is everything ok, Peyton?”
I nod, and he visibly relaxes.
“Everything’s fine, Kai, I can handle it.”
Kai looks from me to Sam and takes in the situation unfolding in front of him.
“Leave, now,” Sam orders Brody and Jax. The tone of his voice says it isn’t a request.
“No chance. We’re not fucking leaving you here alone with her, dude. Not fucking happening.”
Brody’s tone is harsh.
“I’m not going to hurt her; she’s already ripped my fucking heart out, what more damage could she do?”
Sam laughs bitterly, and I feel like I have been slapped. The pain I feel in my heart is like a thousand knives, and I wince at his harsh statement. Brody steps closer to me, his face marred with concern.
“Are you ok, sweets?”
He brushes my arm, and I nod, swallowing back a lump in my throat.
“I’m good, babe. Honestly, I’m fine.”
Sam narrows his eyes.
“Are you two fucking?” he accuses, and Brody looks from Sam to me.
“You are, aren’t you? You fucked my girl? You prick!”
Sam’s nostrils flare, and he pulls Brody away from me, pinning him to the wall.
“What the fuck! Not this shit again!”
Jax tries in vain to pull Sam off Brody, but he doesn’t budge. Kai steps in and grabs Sam in a chokehold.
“Get off me, you cocksucker!”
Sam rages and Brody straightens.
“Of course, we haven’t fucked! Brody is one of my best friends’, you idiot!” I explain in a vain attempt to try and placate him, but Sam’s drunken brain doesn’t register it.
He somehow manages to g
et free of Kai’s grip, and he lunges for Brody. He pins him to the wall, and he tightens his grip on Brody’s throat. Before I know what is going on, Sam’s fist has connected with Brody’s jaw, spraying blood everywhere.
“Will you just fucking stop?” I scream.
“Sam, dude.”
Jax tries to appease him, and as Sam is about to punch Brody again, Cole steps through the door, catching Sam’s fist as he cocks it back.
