Confessions (Tattoos & Tears Book 3)

by Amiee Louise

  I shake my head, feeling physically sick.

  “NO! NO! YOU’RE FUCKING LYING! IT’S NOT TRUE! SAM LOVES ME!” I scream, as his maniacal laugh echoes around the room.

  “Oh, you’re so deluded sweetheart, Sam’s in love with me; he has been for years, ever since that night we spent together! He uses women because he can’t come to terms with his sexuality, but he always comes back to me. Now, after all these years, he’s seen that no matter how many women he has in his bed, I’ll always be here. I’ll be the one who he comes back to in the end. He asked me to punish you, to do with as I please and you know what? He doesn’t fucking care!”

  He raises his voice and spits out those final four words with such venom, I have no doubt in my mind that he is telling the truth. I am sobbing uncontrollably now, and I feel bile rising in my throat.

  “NO!” I yell, and he jumps up from the floor. He moves closer to my face.

  “YES!” he mocks, and I violently thrash against my restraints, screaming hysterically.

  “HELP! OH GOD PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP! PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE!”

  He slaps me with the back of his hand across my face, and the slap is so harsh it echoes around the room.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch. This will all be over soon, and then I’ll take a few pictures, maybe a lock of hair.” He twirls my hair around his finger and the feel of his hands on me, makes my skin crawl. “Just as a reminder, a souvenir if you like, to show Sam. He’ll be happy that I’ve done this for him and I plan on making him show me just how grateful he is,” he says menacingly, and I zone out to a place where all this is just a bad dream.

  18

  Peyton

  Present

  “Beaut.”

  Remy’s voice is rough, and his face is filled with concern as I see him walking towards me in the hospital corridor. He is wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and white Converse trainers; his long dark hair is tied up in a ponytail. I have never been so glad to see a friendly face, in this moment, he is my saviour.

  Remy Logan is Ruby’s older brother, I went to him for help after J.D kidnapped, tortured, and supposedly killed me. Remy is three years older than Ruby and me, at thirty-one years old. He is six feet five inches tall, lean, and muscular with kind, deep brown eyes, with olive skin and long, dark brown, wavy hair. He reminds me of Heath Ledger in the film 10 Things I Hate About You. You can definitely tell him and Ruby are brother and sister; they look so alike it’s scary. I lost my virginity at the age of seventeen to Remy, who was twenty at the time, and we have always had a soft spot for each other. If I am honest, he was my first love. We were inseparable, and I was besotted with him.

  Ruby and Remy were once estranged due to their parents, Pearl and Ray, favouring Remy. However, as they grew older, they set their differences aside and kept in touch regularly via phone, letter, email, and Skype. A year after Remy took my virginity, he joined the army and left without a word. I was heartbroken and totally devastated when he left. I really thought he was the one. Remy and I kept in touch by letter while he was stationed in Afghanistan. Six years after he joined the army, he had his left leg blown off below the knee by a roadside bomb in the Helmand Province. Shortly after this, we reconnected and started chatting again, before I got together with Callum. We started to keep in touch regularly via phone, email, and Skype, as he did with Ruby.

  At twenty-seven, Remy was honourably discharged from the army, due to the injury he sustained. He also received somewhere in the region of one point six million pounds in compensation after a long, drawn-out legal battle. He spent some time in Camp Bastion Field Hospital after his injury before he was flown back to the U.K to undergo a number of operations and extensive rehabilitation. After he had recovered, he moved to America, invested in some properties and he has been there ever since. He has a prosthetic leg and walks with a slight limp. He works in a bar and is a part-time self-defence trainer, not that he needs to. Even though he was once serving for his country, he isn’t bitter at all. He is lucky to be alive, and even though he suffers from P.T.S.D, he is happy to live out the rest of his days as a civilian and in relative peace. I will be eternally grateful for everything he has done for me.

  I run into his arms and as soon as he wraps his arms around me, I break down. I sob in his arms. I sob for Sam, for the past year of my life I have been without him, for the lies J.D fed me, for putting him through hell, and for Freddie, our innocent, beautiful baby boy.

  “Shhh, it’s alright, I’m here. I’ve got you, shhh everything's going to be ok,” he soothes and kisses the top of my head, pulling me tighter to him. “Let it all out, beaut, I’m not going anywhere.”

  His voice is soft, as he runs his hands up and down my back.

  “Let me take you back to the hotel. Freddie's missing his mummy, I left him with Marta in the hotel crèche.”

  I shake my head and pull away from our embrace. Suddenly overcome with the need to go back into Sam’s hospital room and make him listen to me.

  “I can’t...Rem...I can’t, Sam…he...he needs to listen, he h...has to understand why,” I choke out, and he cups my face in his hands.

  “Hey, look at me, beautiful, chances are he’s angry, upset, or both, am I right?”

  I meet his sympathetic brown gaze, and I nod.

  “Then maybe it’s for the best, if you leave it until he’s at least calmed down a little, you need to trust me on this one.”

  I know he’s right, but I have to make him understand. I have to make him see that I never wanted any of this. All I ever wanted was to keep Freddie safe and protect us both from J.D. I have gone a whole year believing J.D’s twisted, sick lies and I intend to make it right, even if I die trying.

  19

  Sam

  After a restless night’s sleep, with all the thoughts of Peyton, our son, and the past year running through my mind at a million miles an hour. I wake the next morning to Peyton sitting next to my bed. As my sluggish brain registers the fact I am not dreaming, I take in every inch of her once again. Pillar box red hair in a short, sleek bob secured by a red polka dot headband, a red vest top, tiny, faded, ripped, denim shorts, and red Converse trainers. She is visibly thinner and looks almost too thin. The muscles in her biceps are taut and more defined. Her heavily tattooed skin is sun-kissed and golden; the sun definitely suits her. God, she is fucking stunning. Vulnerability and sheer anguish shroud her face, and I can’t fucking stand to see that look on her.

  The anger I felt yesterday, has somewhat dissipated. I was in shock, I was angry, upset and my feelings overwhelmed me all at once. I needed some time to think, and even though my night was restless, my thoughts are finally clear. I am willing to try, to take things slow. All I know is, I need her back in my life, fuck the consequences. I don’t think she realises I’m awake, until I reach over to tuck an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. She flinches violently at my touch and my heart slams against my rib cage at her reaction to me. What the fuck happened to her in the year she was gone?

  “Morning,” I rasp, and she looks up at me like a rabbit caught in headlights. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” I say apologetically, and I notice that her eyes are red, puffy and bloodshot. “You’ve been crying,” I say matter of factly, as she sits up straight and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “It’s nothing,” she whispers, and I cock my pierced eyebrow.

  “I can smell bullshit, angel.”

  She sniffs, and she goes to get up from her chair.

  “You look exhausted.”

  I regard her intently, and I reach for her hand to stop her from leaving.

  “Look, please don’t go, sit down and talk to me. I’m so sorry about the way I reacted yesterday, I was angry, upset, shocked, confused. I didn’t mean all those things I said. It was said in the heat of the moment. I’m sorry, please forgive me, angel.”

  Dejectedly, she sits back down in the chair, shaking her head and laughing bitterly.

  “Forgive you? I’m th
e one who should be begging your forgiveness. You were right, what I did was unforgivable, Sam. I let you think I was dead, and I gave birth to your baby without telling you. I should be on my fucking knees pleading with you to forgive me.”

  I look at her and cock my head, as she angrily swipes at her eyes

  “What the fuck happened to you, Peyton?”

  That’s when I see it, the pained look in her eyes. Seeing that look in her beautiful blue eyes crushes my soul.

  “I...I don’t want to talk about it, it’s not important.”

  It is as if the shutters have come down on her emotions and she dismisses me instantly. She stands up and I know I have to think of something to make her stay. Think Newbolt don’t let her leave.

  “Can I see him?”

  She looks at me.

  “Freddie, can I see our son?”

  She smiles and nods. I catch a glimpse of the girl I fell in love with in that moment. The feisty, carefree, woman whose blue eyes dance when she smiles. My heart fills with hope that there still might be a chance for us. Even if it’s just a small sliver of a chance, I’ll hold onto that.

  20

  Peyton

  “Can I see him?” he blurts out.

  His phrase shocks me to the core, and I look up at him, regarding him intently. I am so taken aback by his words, I don't know what to say. His mood seems to have shifted dramatically from our initial encounter yesterday.

  “Freddie, can I see our son?”

  I smile and nod at the thought of our son Freddie meeting his daddy for the first time. The thought makes my heart swell with pride and love, not just for Freddie, but for Sam too.

  “Yeah, of course. It was never my intention to keep him from you, Sam, you have to believe that.”

  My voice is barely a whisper, I look to the floor, and I’m having trouble maintaining eye contact, because of the hidden hurt I see when I look at him.

  “Look at me, angel,” he whispers huskily, and I can’t help but obey his commanding voice.

  I look at him, and he is still that breath-taking man I fell in love with. His raven black hair is longer, shaggy and falling into his eyes. His arms are more sculpted and corded with pure, hard, muscle. He is tanned, and he looks like he has added even more tattoos to his perfect body. Peeking through the top of his hospital gown, I can see he has a chest piece spanning from one collarbone to the other. The words ‘My Angel’ are inked in large, black, gothic script lettering. There isn’t an inch of skin on his arms that isn’t tattooed, and he looks even more perfect. My eyes skim over his chest tattoo, the elegant flowing script is visually beautiful, and I can’t take my eyes off it. He gently runs his long-calloused finger down my arm, and I shiver at his familiar touch; the touch I have missed so much.

  “For you, you were...are my angel, Peyton. You saved me in so many ways, from myself most of all,” he rasps.

  I wipe away tears that escape from my eyes, and I hate that I’ve done this to him. I hate that I’m the one that put that look in his eyes. Fuck, I really can’t do this. I step back from the hospital bed. My heart is pounding at what feels like a hundred miles a minute. He reaches for me, but I move away before his hand makes contact with mine. If he touches me, I know I’ll cave and give in to the feelings threatening to overwhelm me.

  “Don’t go, please.”

  His husky voice sounds pained and thick with unshed tears. I shake my head.

  “I’m…so s…sorry, I can’t, I can't do this,” I choke out and rush through the door quickly, feeling a panic attack threatening.

  “FUCK!”

  I hear him roar, as I leave the room. As I try to make my escape, I collide with a hard wall of muscle, and strong arms catch me before I fall to the ground. I look up to see Remy’s kind, friendly, face, full of concern.

  “Whoa! Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  That’s when the tears come, and I break down. I sob harder than I have in a long time and it feels good to finally let it all out. Remy pulls me close to him and envelopes me in his arms.

  “Let it go, beaut,” he soothes in his soft voice, which has become familiar to me in the time I have known him.

  I cling to him for dear life, because I have no idea how I’m going to make it right. It’s all such a fucking mess.

  21

  Sam

  I step out of the hospital room after her, and my shoulder screams in protest. I feel like such a fucking tit in this hospital gown. I need Cole to arrange a change of clothes for me. As I step further out of the room, I see a guy with long dark hair, who seems to be a little overly familiar with Peyton. He has his arms around her, and he is whispering softly to her while rubbing his hands up and down her back pacifyingly. She is sobbing, and I know I don't really have a right, but all I can think is that it should be me. I need to feel her in my arms again; it’s been so fucking long. I am aching to hold her, to let her know that contrary to what she might think, I don’t hate her. I’m aching to tell her that there still could be a chance for us. I clench my fists at my side and try to rein in the overwhelming sense of jealousy that’s clouding my judgement. I clear my throat, and she jumps back from his embrace, like a deer caught in headlights. Her sad, watery, blue eyes lock with mine and my heart slams against my rib cage.

  “Peyton, can we finish our conversation, please? I wasn't done talking,” I ask graciously, and she nods reluctantly.

  She smiles warmly at the guy, who I am beginning to hate more with every passing fucking second. Get your hands off my girl, motherfucker.

  “I’m on my mobile if you need me, beaut. I'll go get the little guy, and I’ll come pick you up in a little while. Call me if you need anything at all?”

  He winks and kisses her forehead. She nods. I gesture for her to go in ahead of me and she steps back into the room. I follow her, close the door behind me and hop carefully back up onto the bed. I nod for her to take a seat in the vacant chair next to my bed; she sits down half-heartedly, and I regard her with narrow eyes.

  “So, what’s the deal with you and the long-haired lover?” I say a little too abruptly.

  He folds her arms defensively and presses her lips into a thin line.

  “Are you fucking him?” I blurt out, and she winces at my crass question.

  “So, what if I am? It’s none of your fucking business, Sam; you don’t get to act like the jealous lover because I’m no longer yours. You’ve made that abundantly fucking clear.”

  Her tone is harsh, and my heart clenches at her phrase. Her reaction to my question wasn’t what I was expecting, and I see the shutters come down on her blue eyes once again.

  “You never fucking stopped being mine, angel,” I say softly.

  She takes a deep, shaky breath and looks up at me.

  “Please stop calling me angel.”

  Her voice is small, and I frown as a tear slips down her cheek. She shakes her head.

  “Please, Sam I don’t deserve it. I lost that right when I made you think I was dead, I can’t bear to see you look at me like...like.”

  She sobs softly, and I reach out to tip her chin up.

  “Look at me, like what?”

  She looks up at me, and that only makes her sob harder. Hearing her sob like that completely tears me apart and I can’t fucking bear it.

  “Like you hate me...like...you c...can’t bear to touch me or even be near me.”

  She manages to choke out, and I swing my legs off the bed, ignoring the burning sensation ripping through my shoulder. I move closer to her and cup her face in my hands.

  “Listen to me, angel, I could never hate you. Jesus fucking Christ, I’m struggling not to wrap you in my arms and carry you out of here. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I haven’t wished, and even though I'm not remotely religious, I fucking prayed for this moment to come. I’ve dreamt of holding you, kissing you.”

  I get off the bed, ignoring the pain. I crouch down in front of her, and I softly touch her cheek with my
bandaged hand.

  “God...you’re even more fucking beautiful than I remember.”

  She leans into my touch and closes her eyes.

  “I’ve never stopped loving you, angel, never. You were always in here.”

  I place her hand over my thundering heartbeat. Her tiny, trembling hand feels warm against my chest, and I relish her touch. As silence descends on us, neither of us knows what to say to the other. I hold her gaze and run her silky hair through my fingers, swiftly but subtly changing the subject.

  “I like your hair. I love the colour, it really suits you, angel.”