Confessions (Tattoos & Tears Book 3)

by Amiee Louise

  My head snaps up at the mention of mine and Sam’s name. I still find it strange and I can’t get my head around the fact that the press deems me newsworthy. As I look up at the screen, I am greeted by the sight of Sam and the band’s lawyer, Vance Stryker. Sam is still a sight to beholden. He towers over Vance, wearing black skinny jeans, a black hoodie, with the words ‘#TeamVengeance’ emblazoned in large white letters across the front and the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos and his bandaged wrists. To complete his look, he wears a black beanie hat and black biker boots. His face looks pale. He has dark circles underneath his eyes, and his expression is so sombre that it breaks my heart a little more. Cameras are flashing wildly, and as the rowdy chatter of the press and news reporters dies down, Sam clears his throat and begins to speak.

  “We feel nothing but great relief to know that Peyton has been found alive and well. The year that followed her apparent murder and disappearance took its toll on us as a band. However, we have come through the other side, stronger and closer than before. The music will always remain our number one priority. Nevertheless, my relationship with Peyton is at present, complicated, due to current circumstances. Our relationship will continue to remain amicable, for the sake of our son, who was born in her absence. We do not blame Peyton, nor do we hold any grudges towards her, for her actions. The blame lies solely at our former manager, John Dalton’s door, and any further questions will go through our lawyer, Mr Stryker. Thank you.”

  Sam nods curtly as the cameras continue to flash wildly. He handles the press with professionalism and quiet control. I stare at the screen in shock at Sam’s words. His green eyes look as though they are staring straight into my soul and I can’t comprehend what I have just heard. Even though, just hours ago, I tore his heart out, he still found it in his heart to stand up and speak out for me, letting everyone know the truth. Despite what has happened between us, he doesn’t blame me. Remy sits down next to me and brushes my hand.

  “Are you ok, beaut?”

  I swallow back the lump in my throat, willing myself not to cry, and I nod while plastering a smile on my face.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, babe.”

  Remy narrows his eyes.

  “Do you want to say that again? Maybe a little more convincingly? Because I don’t believe that bullshit for one second,” he says drolly.

  I look up at him, his deep brown eyes saying more than words ever could.

  “I’m so fucking confused, Rem.”

  I cuddle Freddie closer to me, and he wriggles restlessly in my arms.

  “What’s there to be confused about? You’re not the same girl who I found collapsed and practically unconscious in a hotel parking lot a year ago. You’ve turned into a strong, brave, beautiful, and independent woman. You’re a fantastic mum to Freddie; that kid adores you. You’ve come through the worse year of your life, and you’re still standing; you're a survivor. I think you’re fucking amazing, and I admire you for not letting what you went through destroy you.”

  My eyes glaze over at Remy’s words, and he softly strokes my knuckles with his thumb.

  “The biggest mistake I ever made was running away from the best thing that happened to me. I was a fucking coward for walking away from the girl I loved, and I can’t apologise enough for that, beaut. I was young and stupid. I had my chance at happiness, but like a complete dick, I fucking blew it.”

  He laughs bitterly, and I am taken aback by his words. He says them with such passion and sincerity, that I almost wish I reciprocated his feelings. He kisses my forehead and gets to his feet, leaving me dumbstruck on the sofa to process his words.

  ***

  I don’t see Remy until the next morning; I am sitting on the deck at the back of the house, overlooking the calm ocean and our pool. The early morning sunshine is blazing down, and I’m wearing my pyjamas consisting of a grey skull vest top, black shorts and a pair of UGG slippers. I am clutching a cup of coffee and am enjoying the peace and quiet calm before Freddie wakes up. The neighbourhood is so serene, and the only sounds are the birds singing their early morning melody. I lean back with my legs tucked underneath me and look up at the clear blue sky, wondering how things became so complicated in the space of a few weeks. Both of my lives, my life as Peyton Harper and my life as Louise Stonebridge, have collided in an epic fashion. I no longer know who I am anymore, and I am craving the simple, anonymity from two weeks ago.

  “Penny for your thoughts, beaut.”

  Remy’s soft, soothing voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up, greeted by the caring brown eyes of Remy Logan. The man, who for the past year has been my rock, and has taken care of me and my son when we’ve needed him the most. This morning, Remy’s long brown hair is pulled into a low ponytail. He is wearing blue and white checked pyjama bottoms and a tight white vest that clings to his lean frame and showcases his hard muscles. His olive skin is sun-kissed, which emphasises the smattering of freckles on his sharp, angular nose.

  “I can hear you over thinking, you know it’s not good for you,” he says, with a hint of amusement to his voice.

  He takes a sip of his coffee and sits down on the padded wicker sofa next to me.

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do yet, beautiful?”

  I lean back and sigh audibly.

  “I have no fucking idea, Rem; I’m torn. Being here with you, I’ve had some of the best times of my life. Moving here was a fresh start for me, but the past few weeks and having Sam back in my life… it’s made me question everything. I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore. Am I Peyton Harper, or am I Louise Stonebridge? All I know is that I’m not a coffee barista, Remy. I’m a tattoo artist, it’s all I’ve known for ten years. Taking my tattoo machine away from me is like removing a limb. Becoming something I’m not and never will be...it’s been so fucking hard for me to adjust to life under someone else’s name, under someone else’s rules, in a country I don’t know.”

  He takes a sip of his coffee, which I poured for him, and regards me tentatively.

  “I think you’ve just answered your own question.”

  He cocks his eyebrow and takes a sip of his coffee.

  “Things have been so fucking crazy over the past few weeks; hell, this year has been crazy. There have been times when all I’ve wanted to do is curl up in a ball and hide away. There have been nights where I’ve closed my eyes and I’ve dreamt so clearly of the life I could have had. J.D safely locked up behind bars, me, Sam and Freddie living our happily ever after in his castle in the sky, touring with the boys. I’ve woken up and reached out for him, but all I’ve found is cold sheets and an empty space.”

  My voice shakes, and Remy reaches for my hand. He softly strokes my knuckles and clutches my hand, in a gesture of reassurance.

  “I think you’ve already made up your mind.”

  He smiles warmly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “Remy,” I say softly, and he lets go of my hand, as if I’ve burned him.

  He swallows harshly and clears his throat before he begins to speak.

  “I think it’s best for both of us that you go back home to London, beaut. I’m sorry, but it hurts so fucking much knowing that nothing will ever come of you and me. After spending the past year with me, you know I love you. I’ve always loved you; I never stopped. I love you completely. You were it for me. I can’t compete with Mr Fucking Perfect. Go back home and forget about me.”

  His words render me speechless. He gets to his feet and looks at his watch, avoiding my gaze. I guess the saying is true, if you love someone enough, you have to let them go.

  “I'm going to be late; I need to get to the bar for a delivery,” he says in a clipped tone, and before I can speak, he limps back into the house.

  Looks like I’m going back home to London. Fuck.

  ***

  Tomorrow is the day I return to the life I left behind a year ago. As I begin to fold and pack our stuff together, the door to my bedroom taps softly.

>   "Beaut?" Remy says cautiously.

  His words from earlier echoing in my ears, “I think it’s best for both of us that you go back home to London, beaut. I’m sorry, but it hurts so fucking much knowing that nothing will ever come of you and me. After spending the past year with me, you know I love you, I’ve always loved you, I never stopped. I love you completely, you were it for me. I can’t compete with Mr Fucking Perfect. Go back home and forget about me.”

  "Can I come in?" he questions.

  This is a new side of Remy that I haven't seen before. The vulnerable, cautious, shy side of him. It is almost as if I am faced with the twenty-year-old Remy from all those years ago, before life happened and took us down different paths, away from each other. My blue eyes lock with his russet ones, and I nod. He steps in the room and tucks his hands in his pockets.

  "I wanted to apologise for earlier, beaut. I was angry, and I didn't mean those things I said, none of them. I was a complete dick, and I'm so sorry. If I could take back those words, I would, in a heartbeat. Jesus, I don't want you to go, Peyton; I've felt more alive in this past year than I have in a long fucking time. I meant it when I said I loved you; I've been in love with you ever since Ruby bought you back to our house for tea that day, with your pigtails and your infectious giggle."

  I smile at the memory, and he steps closer to me.

  "What can I do to make you stay, Peyton?" he says gruffly, as he stalks forward until I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. "Tell me what I can do, beautiful girl," he says desperately, taking me in his arms and pulling me to his chest.

  I'm helpless to resist, and I know I should walk away, but as soon as his lips touch mine, I'm lost. With each stroke of his tongue, I feel a tiny part of my soul die. This is a goodbye kiss, the kind of kiss that destroys me, the kind of kiss that rips and tears at my insides and ravages my heart, piece by piece. It's slow, sensual and tells me everything he hasn't been able to say for the past year. That he loves me. Remy Logan is in love with me.

  He is the first to pull away, and we are both breathless. His face is flushed, and his russet brown eyes are almost black and hazy with desire. I am inwardly warring with myself, debating whether this is a good idea, when his gruff commanding voice interrupts my thoughts.

  "Decide, beaut. Yes or no?"

  I look at him, and everything about him is screaming at me to say yes. I make a split-second decision and throw caution to the wind. I crash my lips to his and fumble with his belt. He growls animalistically and our lips briefly part, allowing him to pull my top off with ease. I pull his belt loose and unzip his trousers. It is a rush who can get naked first as his jeans drop to the floor and he steps out of them, kicking them to the side. It is only then that I notice he has gone commando, and his bare erection presses into me as I turn around. My back is to his chest, and his lips find my neck. He is kissing and nipping softly at me while I reach around to undo my bra. I shrug out of my bra and his soft hand cups my breasts.

  "So perfect, beaut, so fucking perfect," he whispers hoarsely as his other hand snakes down and into my jeans.

  His long finger finds my clit, and he circles it, softly at first, then increases his pace. I moan softly as he takes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The rhythm matching the one he has on my clit.

  "Remy."

  His name is like a plea on my lips, and he chuckles softly against my neck.

  "I won’t leave you hanging. I’ll make you feel good, I promise."

  He pulls his fingers out of my trousers, spins me around, and lifts me up, depositing me in the middle of the bed. He pulls my jeans off, along with my knickers, until I'm completely naked and lying wantonly, waiting for his next move. He strips his black t-shirt off, and I lick my lips at the sight of his tight abs, the clean lines of his muscles, and the perfect ripple of his eight pack. He looks like he could model Calvin Klein underwear with his narrow hips, defined muscular thighs and the light dusting of hair underneath his belly button. Only if you look hard enough, can you see that he has a prosthetic leg, even though the skin tone is a near perfect match.

  He fists his cock in his hand as I stare at him, taking every inch of him in and committing his perfect form to memory, as if I'll never see him again.

  "I'll get a complex if you keep looking at me like that, beaut."

  He smirks wickedly, and I bite my lip nervously. He stalks forward, until he is hovering above me on the bed.

  "Don't be nervous, I'll show you how long I've waited for this moment."

  He reaches down and strokes my hair.

  “I’m going to make love to you, the way I should have all those years ago.”

  He moves forward until he is straddling me, and I reach for his fully erect cock. I stroke it in my hand and he growls.

  “Fuckkk! That feels good.”

  I smile, and he throws his head back in pure ecstasy.

  “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, stop, I’m not going to last if you carry on.”

  I pull my hand free and reach over into my drawer to take out a condom. Remy cocks his eyebrow.

  “Always prepared?”

  He smirks, and I nod.

  “You never know when a hot guy might drop by!” I say sassily, and we both laugh.

  “Let me know when this hot guy drops by, I’d love to meet him.”

  He winks cheekily, and he takes the condom from me, tearing the foil wrapper with his teeth. He rolls it down onto his erection, and I lick my lips at the sight of his length. He is at least seven inches and the thick, angry veins running down his shaft make it a thing of beauty. He settles between my legs, and he pushes forward to enter me. As I adjust to his length, I moan softly as he moves gently in and out. The truth is, I haven’t had sex for a whole year. The last time I had sex was with Sam, before Freddie was born and before my life was turned upside down. I will myself not to think of the last time and enjoy the moment, here and now, with Remy. My childhood sweetheart, my rock, my saviour, my guardian angel.

  “Oh God, beaut, you feel amazing,” he growls.

  I mewl softly as he moves in and out at a painfully slow pace. This isn’t fucking, this is making love. With every thrust, he drives me higher and higher towards my orgasm.

  “Rem,” I whimper, and he increases his thrusts, expertly swivelling his narrow hips. I am moaning and panting, as his pace quickens with every slow, deep drive. “Oh fuck, Remy.”

  With one brisk move of his cock, I feel my orgasm explode from me.

  “Fuck, Remy...Oh shit, I’m going to come!”

  He pushes his cock into me to the hilt as I scream out. My orgasm floods through my whole body, making me quiver as he explodes into me at the same time.

  “Let go, come with me, beaut.”

  As he finds his release, he whispers “I love you.” I tangle my fingers in his long brown tresses and pull him closer to me, unable to say the three words he desperately needs to hear. I press my lips to his, and as I relish the feel of his soft lips on mine, he coaxes my mouth open and his tongue strokes mine. His kiss is so tender and so gentle it makes me want to weep. The last time he kissed me it didn’t feel this good, this...right. I need this. I need him to take away the heartbreak, the feeling of loss, the sad, miserable truth of my pathetic life. I'm returning to London after a whole year of living with this kind, beautiful, caring man in a place where the sun shines all year round. I'm trading that for the dull, cold, wet weather of Camden, London, England. The place that should be and has always been home to me. The American dream was good while it lasted, but I'll always be a London girl at heart. Home is where the heart is, right?

  42

  Peyton

  When I wake the next morning, Remy is still sleeping next to me, and his soft snores filling the otherwise silent room. I swing my legs out of bed and pad to Freddie's nursery as quietly as I can, trying not to wake him. I don't do goodbyes, not after last night. I can’t, and I don't want to taint what we shared with the threat of goodbye.

  I
check on Freddie, and he is still sleeping too. I take advantage of the silence, and I use the en-suite bathroom. I shower quickly, brush my teeth, and leave my hair to dry naturally. I wrap a towel around myself and walk quietly through the house into my room. I dry off and pull on some clothes, opting for a black, white and red skull print strapless sundress. I pull my red Converse on and reach for my phone. I dial the number I need and walk out onto the deck, taking in the glorious ocean view for one last time. The early morning sun is reflecting off the turquoise ocean, creating an ethereal shimmer, as if the ocean's surface were covered in millions of diamonds.

  “This better be good, honey, I was just about to be ravished by Channing Tatum!”