by Amiee Louise
I shake my head.
“You’re not going to lose us, Rem, I’ll take him to meet Sam, and I’ll be back later, I promise. We can veg out in front of the T.V and take advantage of trashy American sitcoms. We can even think about packing up and going back home; New York kind of sucks!”
He chuckles softly.
“Sounds like a plan. I did warn you New York smelled badly and was full of rude people, but no one ever listens to the cripple!”
He laughs, and I roll my eyes at his bad taste joke. We both stand up, and he kisses me on my forehead; I strap Freddie into his carrycot, grab his changing bag, my bag, and my phone. When I'm satisfied I have everything I need, Remy pulls me in for a hug.
“I’ll be back later, love ya, Rem.”
I blow him a kiss, and he winks.
“Right back at ya, beautiful.”
As I leave the hotel room with Freddie in his carrycot, I start to think of the enormity of this moment and what life would have been like if none of this would have happened. I can’t allow myself to dwell on what could have been and focus on what could be in the not so distant future. That will have to be enough. For now.
I make my way to the opulent lobby of the hotel, with its red and gold decor, high ceilings and decadent marble floor. As I look up, I see Cole standing to the side of the hotel's glass entrance with his hands behind his back. He looks professional as ever, wearing a black suit, black shirt, black tie, black shoes, and a black trilby hat. He nods as he sees me.
“Peyton.”
His deep rumbling voice greets me with no emotion at all. He gestures for me to step outside ahead of him and he follows. He opens the door of a black Mercedes CLK with tinted windows, which is parked at the kerb. I climb into the back with Freddie in his carrycot and manoeuvre the seatbelt to strap him securely in the back seat. Cole climbs into the driver’s seat and pulls into the New York City traffic like a pro.
“He’s a little cutie,” he says in his familiar baritone voice.
“His name is Freddie.”
Cole’s eyes find mine in the interior mirror of the car, and he smiles softly.
“I don’t condone what you did, but I totally understand, sugar. I couldn’t imagine my life without Amy and Addison. I would kill for them. I would lay down my life and sacrifice myself for them. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect my girls. I get that that’s what you did to protect your son. I’m not going to pretend I know what you went through, what that loathsome, warped man did to you, but I don’t hate you, far from it. I get that everyone’s angry with you, but they have to accept it and move on, sugar.”
My eyes glaze over at Cole’s words. He’s never been this open and candid with me before. He’s a dad too, so it warms my heart and gives me hope that in the future there could be a happy ending for us.
“You gave birth to your kid, probably alone, and I can’t even begin to imagine how hard that’s been on you, sugar. I admire you; no woman should give birth without the man they love by their side. I would have moved mountains to get to Amy when she was in labour. Sam made sure I got there in time, and I’ll be forever grateful to him for that, but he needs to cut you some slack. He can be stubborn and pig-headed, as you know. But if it helps, sugar, I’ll talk to him. He usually listens to me.”
He catches my eye in the interior mirror again and winks. I smile softly at him, swallowing back the lump that is forming in my throat.
“Thank you so much, Cole.”
He moves his focus back to the road.
“I’m a father, I understand more than most. If you ever need to chat, anytime at all, sugar, I’m here. You’ll get no judgement from me.”
I am humbled and shocked at his kind words. I settle back in my seat, and we are silent for the rest of the journey. I am staring out of the window, and I suddenly feel nervous at seeing Sam again.
“We’re here, sugar.”
Cole’s deep baritone voice cuts through my thoughts, and I look out of the window at our surroundings as we pull up to the kerb. From the outside, the building is a low rise, with only seven or eight floors and surrounded by trees. It looks like a little piece of heaven amongst the hustle and bustle of New York City. Cole comes around to my side of the car and opens the door. I get out of the car and Cole reaches in to unstrap Freddie’s carrycot. He lifts him easily out of the car, and I follow him into the building. The lobby is a large, open space, with light marble floors. On the walk inside, Cole explains that the building is manned by a twenty-four-hour concierge. The man on the concierge desk is a tall, thin gentleman with grey hair, a greying beard and black-rimmed glasses. He looks up from his newspaper as Cole and I enter the lobby. Cole tips his hat and the man smiles brightly.
“Good evening, Mr. Benedict,” he says in an upper-crust English accent and Cole nods.
“Evening, Mr Grayson. This is Miss Harper, she’s Mr Newbolt’s guest. If you could add her to the list of people authorised to enter the building and have unlimited access to Mr. Newbolt’s penthouse, that would be very much appreciated.”
Mr. Grayson nods in response and starts tapping on his computer keyboard.
“Certainly, Mr. Benedict, I’ll take care of that right away. I hope you both enjoy your evening.”
Cole presses the call button for the lift, and we step in. Cole presses the button marked ‘PH. Typical Sam opting for the penthouse. The lift stops as we reach Sam’s floor and I step out into the bright foyer. It has a large oval window and an exotic potted plant in the corner of the light grey marble floor. Cole scans his fingerprint and opens the large white oak door with a key card. He winks reassuringly and hands Freddie to me.
“Good luck, sugar.”
I smile at his encouragement.
“Thanks, Cole.”
I step into the penthouse loft, and it looks like something out of an episode of MTV Cribs. The living area is an expansive open space, with floor to ceiling windows that showcase the impressive New York skyline. It is decorated in a nautical theme, its signature colours red, white and blue, which is a stark contrast to his penthouse in Greenwich. The carpet is navy blue, and the white leather U shaped sofa dominates the space. In front of the sofa is a large flat screen TV mounted above the white marble fireplace, which is where Sam is standing, with his back to the room. His broad shoulders make him look huge. He is wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to showcase his tattoos, and a pair of loose ripped jeans, which hang low on his hips. His feet are bare, and his black hair is perfectly mussed. He is leaning on the fireplace, which has an assortment of various award statuettes adorning the mantelpiece. He has a glass of dark amber liquid in front of him. I am not sure whether he knows I am here, so I clear my throat to get his attention.
“Angel,” he rasps, as he turns around.
His eyes lock with his son for the first time. Freddie meet your daddy.
33
Sam
I drop to my knees as I set eyes on the little boy in the carrycot she is holding, and I can’t find my breath. He has tufts of thick black hair, wide, inquisitive green eyes… my eyes. He has Peyton’s button nose, but he is my double; from the deep dimples in his chubby cheeks, to the infamous Newbolt grin.
Fuck me.
I can’t take my eyes off him; he is the most beautiful boy I have ever seen. I am in awe of him as Peyton moves closer to me and sinks down to the floor next to me. She unstraps him from his carrycot as I remove my sling. She takes him out and hands my son to me. As I take him in my arms, I am instantly in love. Suddenly, my heart feels almost too big for my chest, I’m so overwhelmed by this tiny human and the feelings he has evoked in me. I swallow back the lump in my throat before I can speak.
“Hey Freddie, I’m your daddy,” I say gruffly, and he giggles, the sound warming my heart.
Peyton softly grips my bicep and, I turn to look at her; I can’t stop smiling. The smile she gives in return is genuine, and my heart slams against my ribcage. This extraordinary woma
n in front of me brings me to my fucking knees. She unmans me with those beautiful baby blue eyes. She cripples me, by just being her. Peyton Leigh Harper. My Peyton. She has the ability to see into my soul, she sees the real me. She sees the real Samson Newbolt. She reaches to the depths of my very core. She fucking owns me, even after all this time. I’m reduced to a whimpering, love-struck sap every time she is within touching distance. As I’m sat on the floor of my New York loft, with my baby son in my arms, I am instantly transported back to the day Peyton told me she was pregnant.
***
Eighteen Months Ago
I have been on tour with the boys for the past three months, and I have missed Peyton so much. We have been on a European tour, and I came back ahead of the boys to surprise her. I showed up outside her flat on my Harley Davidson Sportster Iron 883, and in the two months since I last saw her, she looks even more beautiful. Her long, dark hair cascades down her back, and she is wearing a purple polka dot dress, which accentuates her luscious curves. She looks stunning, and the look in her eyes is one of love. If I wasn’t already in love with her, I would have fallen right there in that moment.
She goes back to my place with Cole, and I follow on my bike. I can’t wait to get her alone and naked, I have missed the feel of her pressed against me. The long, lonely nights spent on the bus with Mrs. Palmer and her five daughters doing the five-knuckle shuffle is no match for the feel of the soft flesh of the woman I love more than life itself. I arrive back to the apartment, and instead of waiting for the lift, I take the stairs two at a time, because I am so eager to be with my girl after all this time. I throw open the door, and I instantly know something is wrong as Cole is sat on his haunches in front of her with a look of apprehension on his face. I stride across the apartment purposefully, and Cole moves out of the way. I take his place in front of her. She looks pale and exhausted.
“Angel, is everything ok?”
She sighs, and goes to rise from the sofa, but falls back down.
“Jesus, angel.”
She looks at me, and her blue eyes look troubled. I can’t help but be curious as to what made her look that way.
“I’m just exhausted, babe, that’s all. It’s been nonstop at the shop lately.”
She smiles to reassure me, but something in the tone of her voice makes me think she’s lying to me.
“I’m taking you to our room, babe; you look like you could use a lie-down.”
She cups my face in her hands, and I lean into her touch.
“I’m fine, babe, I promise, I just need you to hold me for a while. I’ve missed you.”
I smile and nod as I pick her up and carry her into the bedroom. I set her down on her feet, and I move her so I can look at her properly. My green eyes meet her tired blue ones.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
My voice is barely a whisper as I stroke her face and tuck an errant strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I have a surprise for you, angel.”
She raises her eyebrows, and I smirk mischievously. I have been waiting almost two months to show her the lasting mark I got on my chest. We both stand facing each other, and I strip off my t-shirt. She licks her lips as I reveal my naked torso, and I chuckle at her reaction.
“Don’t get any ideas, angel,” I rasp and throw my t-shirt on the bed and look at her. “Do you see that?”
I point to a spot above my right pectoral and there, in bold, flowing script, is a tattoo of her name, ‘Peyton’, with two elaborate black and grey angel wings either side. The day we flew out to Europe I made a last-minute stop to Saint Sinner Ink, to get Seb to tattoo me, as a surprise for her upon my return.
“That’s how much I love you, angel. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You’re my good luck charm, my angel; you’re my life, my whole world. You own me.”
Her eyes glaze over at my words, and she traces over the lines of my tattoo before she loses it completely, collapsing in floods of tears in my arms. I start to wonder what has made her cry, and I fear the worst.
“Hey, what’s with the tears, babe?”
I attempt to soothe her.
“Shhh.”
I kiss her forehead, and she snuggles closer to my chest.
“I’ll never let anyone hurt you, angel.”
We spend the rest of the day catching up and spending some quality time together. I have missed being with my girl and being a normal couple. By the time the evening rolls around, we order takeaway and snuggle on the sofa. After we finish eating, she falls asleep in my lap, and I lift her from the sofa. I carry her to my bedroom, and she wakes up as I lay her down on the bed.
“I’ve got you, angel.”
She sleepily shakes her head.
“It’s fine, baby.”
She smiles the smile I have missed, and I kiss her gently on the lips. She gets up and strides to the walk-in wardrobe, taking out one of my oversized Rancid Vengeance t-shirt’s. I love seeing her in my clothes. She goes into the bathroom and closes the door. I frown at the oddness of her closing the door. She never closes the door, and I start to think of all the reasons why she doesn’t want me to see her naked. I don’t knock, I just swing the door open as she pulls on my t-shirt.
“Hey, what’s with the closed-door, angel? You’re not normally so shy about getting undressed in front of me. Is something wrong? Have I done something?”
My face is filled with worry, and she strokes my cheek softly with the back of her hand.
“Everything’s perfect, babe, I’ve just put on a little weight since you’ve been away. Too many late nights at work, too many takeaways, and too much Ben and Jerry’s. I should think about getting back to the gym.”
She tries to dismiss it with a smile, but I don’t believe her for a second. I would love her whatever she looked like. She’s hiding something from me, I know she is. She comes back into the bedroom with her hair in a loose knot, and I pat the space on the bed next to me.
“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. I’ve got some unpacking to do, and I’ve got some stuff that needs taking care of, but I’ll be in soon.”
I lie next to her, and she falls asleep in my arms. I lay watching her sleeping form for a few minutes, trying to figure out what is wrong with her. The dark circles around her eyes are a clear indication to me that it is more than just too many late nights spent at the shop.
Has she cheated on me? Has she suddenly realised that our lives are poles apart? Has she fallen out of love with me? My mind is racing at a hundred miles per hour, and I can’t keep up with the constant inconsequential doubts. I get up from the bed and scrub my hands across my stubbled jaw. I walk out of the bedroom, leaving my sleeping angel to rest.
I go into my office, pour myself a large glass of whiskey, and drop down into my leather chair, kicking my long legs up on the desk. I fire up my computer, run my hands through my hair, and prepare myself to deal with fan mail, post-tour admin, and requests from various charities regarding personal appearances and donations. The only thought that dominates my brain at that moment is, Jesus Christ, we need to hire a new personal assistant.
After I finish dealing with band stuff, I go to join Peyton in bed. I strip off my clothes and curl up beside her. I take in her scent, the warmth of her soft skin against mine, the look of absolute serenity as she sleeps, the way her hair haphazardly spreads out across the pillow, all the things I have missed after almost two months apart. I spoon her, and the feel of her pressed against me is enough to send me into a deep sleep.
I am not sure how long I have been asleep, but I am roused from my sleep by Peyton screaming, which scares the living shit out of me, and I softly call out her name.
“Peyton, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
I softly stroke her hair; her breathing is laboured, and she has a thin sheen of sweat forming on her forehead.
“Jesus, angel, I’m here. Are you ok? You scared the shit out of me,” I say quietly, and I go to pull her into me to com
fort her.
She looks stricken, and she flinches as if I have burned her. Fuck. She jumps out of bed and runs into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her. I get up from the bed and run my hands through my hair. What the fuck is going on with her? I stride over to the locked bathroom and hear her sobbing hysterically; the sound shreds me. I rattle the doorknob, desperate for her to let me in so I can comfort her.
“Angel, fuck! Open the door, please talk to me.”
I try to sound calm but fail miserably. She sobs hard, and I shake the doorknob again.
“The door’s coming down if you don’t open it, angel.”
I soften my voice and lean my head against the door. Fuck, why is she doing this?
