by Amiee Louise
“You’ve got no fucking right to speak to me like that! I’m sorry for what I put Sam through, I truly am, but what about what I’ve been through? No one has bothered to fucking ask me how I feel, or what I went through! I endured hours of J.D playing sick, psychotic, mind games with me. He beat me senseless, he cut me, and he fucking stabbed me! He told me that Sam asked him to kidnap me and hurt me. I’ve spent a year believing that the man I loved was nothing but a manipulative liar, playing on the fact that I fell in love with him! I believed J.D over the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with, the father of my fucking baby! What sort of a person does that make me? I kept my son from him, all because J.D lied and because I couldn’t pick up the bloody phone and ask him! I know Sam’s hurt, because I’m fucking hurting too, every damn day. I look at my son and every day I’m reminded of the life I left behind, just to keep us both safe.”
Ruby is sobbing softly in the background, and Jax’s eyes widen at my admission. He runs his hand through his hair and puffs out his cheeks.
“Fuck me, I had no idea, babe, I swear. I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely, and I jab my finger into Jax’s chest. I am so fucking angry right now.
“No, fuck you and your god damn apologies, Jackson Chase! You’ve got no bloody idea what I’ve been through, so don’t stand there and pretend like you do. I’m not the same person I was a year ago. I'm fucking damaged, and it’s all because of that sick, twisted bastard. He ruined everything, and I fucking despise him. I hate that he’s done this to me, to Sam, and to our son. Sam’s missed six months with his son, all because I was so stupid and naive enough to believe a lie over the man I was in love with. I don’t expect any of you to forgive me, but at least fucking understand the reasons why I did it,” I spit angrily, and Jax hangs his head in shame.
Ruby rushes towards me, pulling me in for a hug and she sobs softly into my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, babe, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
I pull away from her and cup her face in my hands.
“Look at me, Rubes, you’ve got nothing to apologise for. I wasn't alone, Remy was there, and it’s ok. I’m ok, I promise you, I'm a survivor remember?”
I smile and wipe away her tears with the pad of my thumb.
“No, it isn’t. How can you say that, Peyton? You gave birth to your son without the people you love around you. No woman should have to endure that.”
I am about to speak when I hear someone clear their throat behind me and Sam is standing there awkwardly with his hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans. He must have heard everything.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Angel,” he rasps, and Ruby kisses my forehead.
“You look like you’ve got a lot to talk about. I’ll leave you and Sam to it, babe. Unless you want me to stay?”
I shake my head.
"I'll be fine thanks, Rubes. Love you."
She winks and blows me a kiss, as I smile weakly.
“Right back at ya, Harper! Good to have you back, babe.”
She jabs her finger at Sam.
“You, be gentle with her, I know what your mood swings have been like for this past year, Newbolt.”
She warns, and Sam nods curtly.
“I’ll see you soon? I’ll get your number from Remy, and I’ll call you. We can have a proper catch up before we head back to London, yeah?”
I nod, and she smiles widely as she turns and leaves with Jax. Sam steps forward, and I take a wary step back from him.
“You heard everything?”
My voice is barely a whisper. He nods and steps closer to me.
“Every single word, angel, I had no fucking idea.”
His gruff voice sounds pained.
“I don’t need your fucking pity, Sam,” I say defensively, and he shakes his head.
“Fuck me, no; no, it’s not pity, not at all. This wasn’t supposed to fucking happen, angel, none of it!”
His voice almost cracks, thick with unshed tears.
“You don’t understand! I was supposed to fucking protect you, but instead, I let him take you. I let him lay his filthy fucking hands on you, I let him hurt you! I might not have been the one holding the knife, but I’m the one responsible, this is all my fucking fault. I failed you, angel, I'm so sorry.”
He can’t stop the tears from falling, and he swipes his eyes angrily. Even though the man I am still madly in love with is breaking down in front of me, I can’t hug him or offer him any words of comfort. I am truly broken.
31
Sam
What the fuck is wrong with me? I never cry.
I spent six months grieving for her and then I dealt with the overwhelming loss the only way I knew how. With sex, lots and lots of hot nasty sex. Groupies, fans and any woman with tits and a heartbeat. The truth is, reverting back to my old ways was the only way I knew how to deal with the shit that life threw at me. The pressure of fame, losing Peyton, taking a year out of the music industry and starting the next chapter of my life without her in it, all led to my downfall. For six months, I had been on a downward spiral, and I can’t make any excuses for it.
***
Six Months Ago
I wake up on the sofa with the hangover from hell, and Amy throws the curtains open.
"Look alive, sunshine!" she says cheerily.
When I fully open my eyes, she is standing over me, with her hands on her hips. Her cheery demeanour from a few seconds ago is replaced by one of disgust.
“For fuck's sake, Sam, how many times do I have to walk in here and find you like this?” Amy snaps.
I shield my eyes from the sunlight coming in through the windows and look up at her. She is frowning, her curly brown hair framing her face.
“You know you carry on frowning like that, babe, you’re going to need Botox before you’re thirty-five!”
I smirk, and she punches me on the arm.
“Samson Newbolt, get your sorry arse off that fucking sofa now!” she shouts, and I clutch my head, trying to find some relief against the dull pounding in my head.
“I can get you some Botox injections for Christmas if you would like me to? You only have to ask, Aims!”
I smirk, and I know I’m pushing my luck, but I can’t help it. She slaps me again, and I look down at myself. I am wearing a dark blue Superdry hoodie unzipped. I am bare-chested and wearing just a pair of black and yellow Batman boxers.
"Get some fucking clothes on, Sam!" She reprimands, and I hear the familiar sound of tiny footsteps running into my living room. I zip my hoodie up and ruffle my already sleep-mussed hair.
“Uncle Sammy!” Addison shouts.
Fuck me, backwards. As much as I love her, I really can’t deal with hyperactive, screaming four-year-olds, when it feels like there is a marching band in my head.
“Uncle Sammy, you stink.”
Addison scrunches up her nose, and Amy tries to stifle her laughter by biting her lip. I sniff my armpit and find myself scrunching my own nose, trying desperately to remember the last time I showered.
“Yes, I do, Princess. Uncle Sammy is going to get a shower.”
She stands with her tiny hands on her hips and pouts. She is adorable. Her cute curls and big brown eyes melt me every time. She is wearing short jeans, a pink Rancid Vengeance t-shirt, which we got specially made for her with her name on the back, and a pair of bright pink Converse trainers.
“I might be almost five now, Uncle Sammy, but I still want to be your princess.”
I get up into a sitting position on the sofa, and she climbs on my lap, throwing her tiny arms around me.
“You’ll always be my princess, baby girl.”
I squeeze her, and she grins.
“Do you cross your heart, Uncle Sammy?"
I smile and make a cross over my heart.
"Cross my heart, princess."
I wink, and she squeezes me tighter.
"I need a date for my party, will you be my date, Uncle Sammy.”
“Don’t look at me, it’s nothing to do with me, sugar.”
She shrugs, and we are interrupted by Addison tugging on the hair at the nape of my neck.
“Pleeeeeeeeease, Uncle Sammy?”
She pouts and gives me those puppy dog eyes she knows I can’t resist.
“Ok, you’ve twisted my arm baby girl, and you know I can’t resist those adorable puppy eyes! I would be honoured to be your date.”
She claps excitedly and plants a wet kiss on my cheek.
“Yaaaaay! All the girls in my class are going to be soooooo jealous!”
Amy laughs, and I smirk at her dramatic eye roll.
“But you need to shower first, Uncle Sammy,” she says matter of factly, and I nod.
“Ok, you win, baby girl, I’ll go and grab a shower.”
I set her on the ground and get up off the sofa.
“I’ll make you some coffee and tidy up; seeing as you can’t be bothered, and you sacked yet another housekeeper. I’m not your bloody mother, Sam,” Amy says sharply, and I salute as I make my way to the bathroom.
An hour passes, I feel almost normal and human again. The pounding in my head has somewhat dissipated, and I no longer smell like I slept in a skip. I am freshly showered and dressed in loose jeans, which hang low on my hips and a black vest. My hair is spiky and still damp from my shower. I pad barefoot through the house, and it looks spotless. I'm impressed.
“I should start bloody charging you by the hour for cleaning! I’m not your slave, Sam; I do actually have a real job at the magazine, which I get paid substantially for, and it doesn’t involve tidying up after your sorry arse!” she rants, and I smirk.
She must be on her period! She narrows her eyes on me as she passes me a cup of steaming black coffee. I take a welcome sip, and the door opens. Brody strolls in; he is fresh from rehab, and he looks so much healthier. His freshly shaven head, black jeans, biker boots and a crisp V-neck white t-shirt.
“Morning dude, you look like shit,” he says, and I cock my pierced eyebrow at him.
“Thanks, and a bloody good morning to you too, prick.”
He laughs, as Amy pours him a cup of coffee and she hands it to him.
“Thanks, hot stuff.”
He winks, and she rolls her eyes. He perches himself on a bar stool at the breakfast counter and leans on his elbows.
“I’ll leave you two to it; I’ll let you know the details of Addison’s party. Do not let her down, Sam, I mean it,” she says sternly.
“Bye Uncle Sammy! Love yooooou!”
Addison blows a kiss to me, and I pretend to catch it.
“Bye Princess, right back at ya, baby girl.”
Amy picks Addison up and leaves. Brody takes a sip of his coffee.
“Fuck me, that woman is seriously fit!”
We both laugh.
"Just don't let Cole hear you say that."
Brody rolls his eyes.
"Cole's a pussycat. He knows we bust his balls, he's worked for us long enough."
I take a sip of my coffee. As the hot black liquid slides down my throat, I feel revitalised and ready to face the day.
“So, it’s been what six months? You need to get the fuck back out there, dude.”
I shake my head.
“I can’t.”
He cocks his eyebrow.
“Seriously, Sam, six fucking months. I’m surprised your dick hasn’t fucking shrivelled up from lack of use. You’re coming with me and the boys tonight, we’re going to hit Len’s strip club, have a few drinks, and get ourselves some pussy. Jax excluded. He’s pussy whipped, Ruby made him agree to some date night, and like a love-struck fucking sap, he couldn't say no.”
He rolls his eyes, and I chuckle at Brody’s bluntness.
“Is that really a good idea, dude, for you to be going to bars?” I say, concerned for my friends’ health. He’s fresh out of rehab, I would hate for him to go back to the drugs.
“I was only addicted to drugs, Sam, the booze was never the problem. A few drinks aren’t going to kill me, dude. I'm a big fucking boy, I can handle the temptation, seriously.”
He rolls his eyes, and as I am about to speak, he stops me.
“No more fucking excuses, Sam, you’re coming, no arguments.”
I salute.
“Yes, boss!” I say sarcastically, and he laughs.
“Bring your condoms tonight, dude, because we are getting fucked!” He says in a singsong voice, and I throw my head back laughing at Brody’s joke.
For the first time in a long time, I am actually looking forward to something.
Brody, Lucas and I are pulling up outside a strip club in Shoreditch, in a black limo driven by Cole. Jax decided to sit this one out because Ruby made him agree to a date night. Two words, pussy whipped. I have actually been looking forward to tonight, ever since Brody suggested it earlier. If I’m honest, I need this. I need to kick back, have a few drinks and relax. We all step out of the limo to bright flashes of cameras. Fucking paparazzi scumbags. How the fuck did they know we would be here? I run my hand through my hair and turn on Sam, the showman. I give them a dazzling smile and a cheeky wink.
“Good evening, fella’s.”
I nod and salute as Brody leads us into the club called ‘Lust and Redemption’. The door is black leather, and the name of the club is emblazoned in classic black script lettering. The large doorman nods to us and shakes Brody's hand, as he drops the black and gold velvet rope to allow us entry. We step into a narrow corridor and Brody’s sober sponsor, Lenny, greets us. He is average height, grey slicked back hair, pale blue eyes, wearing a black suit with a dark grey shirt with the buttons open revealing a smattering of white chest hair. He hugs Brody tightly.
“Good to see you, my son, fuck me you smell like a tart’s handbag!” he says in a thick, gruff East London accent, and they both laugh easily.
“Lenny, good to see you too, old man!”
The man cocks his eyebrow.
“I’ll give you old man, you cheeky little fucker!”
Brody laughs.
“Len, you’ve met my bandmates, Sam and Luke before, boys, you remember Lenny?” he says.
Lenny Nicholas has been Brody’s sponsor for ten years on and off, after his many stints in rehab. He is like a father figure to him, and Brody has always spoken so highly of Lenny. On the few occasions we’ve met him, Lenny seems to ground Brody and keeps him on the straight and narrow.
“Boys.”
Lenny nods and shakes my hand in a firm grip.
“Ah, Lenny, good to see you again.”
I smile, and Lenny regards me intently.
“Leave off, I’m not the press, boy, you don’t have to pretend here. This is my gaff, mi casa, su casa. Anything you want, just let me or one of my girls know; they can be extremely accommodating.”
He winks and laughs throatily.
“First drinks are on me, boys.”
He nods, and Brody hangs back to chat to Lenny.
“I’ll be there in a few boys; I just need a quick word with Len.”
Brody winks and a tall, tanned, blonde girl joins us. She is carrying a black tray, and she is wearing a purple diamante thong and no bra. Her heels make her legs look like they go on forever. She has light blue eyes and long blonde hair framing her face like a blonde halo.
“Boys, I’m Heidi, I’ll be your waitress for the evening, if you would like to follow me?”
She winks at me, and I cock my eyebrow at Lucas. He chuckles and clears his throat.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, and I laugh, as we follow Heidi down the mirrored corridor.
She leads us into the main hub of the club, and it is decorated in black geometric wall coverings. Along the walls are a set of black and white prints that depict different body parts; the splashes of colour in the images makes them look that bit more erotic. There are black round tables, with low black leather chairs
around them, scattered throughout the club and the floor is covered in dark grey slate.
