Confessions (Tattoos & Tears Book 3)

by Amiee Louise

  "The shops doing really well right now. We have back-to-back bookings, and we are fully booked for the next six months. I’ve tried to make exceptions for the odd walk in, but it’s just not possible right now. The cable channel has picked the TV show up for a new series, Inked @ Saint Sinner and I want you on board. The shop hasn't been the same without you, Peyton. Harley and Parker have been working for me, and I’ve had the odd guest spotter to pick up the slack when we’ve been busy, but I need my best girl back where she belongs. The jobs yours if you want it?"

  I smile and nod my acceptance, pushing his cup towards him. He picks it up and regards me intently.

  "Thank you, thank you so much."

  My voice is barely a whisper and thick with emotion.

  “You haven’t got to thank me, babe.”

  He folds his thick, corded, heavily tattooed arms across his chest and looks into my watery blue eyes. I hate myself for putting that look in Seb's eyes.

  "I am so sorry, Seb."

  He shakes his head, puts his cup down and opens his arms.

  "Come here."

  His deep voice is oddly comforting me. I step into his embrace and he envelopes me in his strong arms. I cling to him, as if I'm using him as a lifeline. I breathe in the musky, intoxicating scent that is pure masculine Seb Henry. It smells familiar; it smells like home and all things safe.

  "I would have kept you safe, babe. I was in the SAS for fuck's sake, how could you have doubted that I would have protected you with my fucking life? I would lie down in traffic for you. Jesus, you mean the absolute world to me, Peyton. This past year without you has been absolute fucking hell."

  He holds me tighter, and I start to sob. I’m clinging to him with everything I have, taking comfort from this six-foot-six gentle tattooed giant who has me wrapped in his arms.

  "It's going to be alright, I promise you. They're going to have to come through me first. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you, ever. Not while I'm around, and not while I’ve got breath left in my lungs."

  He squeezes me tighter and strokes my back soothingly.

  “I guess I’ve got another person to take care of now too.”

  He chuckles. I smile against his chest and nod.

  “His name is Freddie. He’s almost seven months old, and he’s Sam’s son. I had to protect him, Seb.”

  He pulls away and looks at Freddie.

  "Fuck me, he's definitely Sam's kid. He's beautiful, just like his mum."

  I smile shyly and hit Seb playfully on his arm.

  "Flattery gets you everywhere, Henry! Anyway, how's your love life? You were quite smitten with a certain Miss Newbolt, if I remember rightly?"

  I cock my eyebrow knowingly, and I swear I see Seb blush. That is a sight I've never seen before, and it suits him.

  "Wow! Seb Henry blushing! I thought I'd never see the day!"

  He chuckles softly and nods thoughtfully.

  "Yeah, Willow and I are still together, casually dating and doing the grown-up thing. You know how it is! I met her family, and she's met my mum."

  My eyes widen, and I smile warmly. Seb would never take anyone to meet his mum if he wasn't serious about her. He's fiercely protective of his mum, Tracy, who he affectionately calls 'The Duchess'.

  "I love her, Peyton, she's...Willow. She's crazy, feisty and funny. She's...everything I never knew I was looking for; she gets me. We’re on the same level, and she was my rock after..."

  He stops himself, and I see the pain evident in Seb's eyes. My heart shatters all over again, and my gaze drops to the floor.

  "I was in a dark place for a while, but she got me through. I don't blame you, babe. You did what you had to, for you and your son. You're a survivor, and you look like you've been through hell and managed to claw your way back through the other side…because you’re strong, and you’re…you. What I'm trying to say is, if you ever need to talk about anything, day or night, no questions or judgement, I'm here for you, babe."

  He squeezes my hand in his and smiles tenderly. We both finish our coffees, put our cups in the sink, and I pick Freddie up, cuddling him close to me.

  “Congratulations, being a mum suits you.”

  I smile softly, and I follow him back out into the shop.

  “The place looks different, love what you’ve done with the décor,” I say sarcastically, and Seb chuckles throatily.

  “Funny! God, it’s so good to have you back, babe.”

  He kisses me gently on the forehead. The truth is, the shop looks exactly as it did a year ago. The shop is a fairly large and open space, decorated in a simple black and white, with black and white floor tiles throughout. There is a large work area, split into three sections for Seb, Parker and Harley. Each station has a leather chair which folds down into beds, a small desk for drawing up designs, a sterilising machine, each has a large shelf with various inks and a drawer section, which holds spare needles, tubes, grips, tips, machines and latex gloves. At the front of the shop, there is a reception booth with a large desk and a comfortable leather office chair. The only difference I notice is, an iPad on the desk, which has replaced the iMac computer, printer and telephone. There is a small waiting area with a small leather sofa and a coffee table in front of it, with various tattoo magazines and design books neatly piled up. The walls are adorned with various tattoo designs, which customers can choose from. I look up towards my old workstation and my eyes widen at what I see. My tattoo machine, which Seb gave me the day I started as his apprentice, is in a large black box frame on the wall. It’s a deep purple personalised Micky Sharpz Iron Hybrid machine, with silver tribal patterns and my initials ‘P.H’ on the top encrusted in Swarovski crystals. Underneath the machine is a picture of me, smiling as I'm tattooing a client. As I move closer, I notice my name, date of birth and date of death. My heart slams against my rib cage. I’m aghast at the extent of what I put those close to me through when I chose to stay away.

  "I couldn't bear to get rid of anything that reminded me of you, so Willow suggested framing it as a tribute to you."

  Seb's deep rumble snaps me from my thoughts as a tear slips free and tracks it way down my cheek. Seb catches it and wipes it away with his thumb.

  "Don't cry."

  He pulls me in for one of his famous Seb Henry bear hugs, trying not to crush Freddie.

  “I’m so fucking sorry, Seb. Please, forgive me.”

  He squeezes me tighter and takes Freddie from me. Freddie looks tiny in Seb’s large, muscular arms. He holds him close and smiles softly.

  "Hey, less of that. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You're safe now, babe… you and this little guy are going to be the most protected people in London. I promise I’ll guard you both with my life."

  With those words, I know Seb would do everything in his power to protect me and Freddie. I don't doubt those words for a second, and I know he will make good on his promise.

  44

  Peyton

  I have been back in London for almost a month now, and a lot has happened in the month of my return. The press found out about my return and follow me around constantly, taking my picture, and desperate for a story, like a pack of hungry wolves. There is always a crowd of them camped outside my building, which is why Kai is currently residing in one of my spare rooms. He has become a permanent fixture in my life, under the strict orders of Cole.

  Also, this past month has been filled with sleepless nights thanks to both Freddie teething and the constant vivid nightmares of the ordeal I suffered at the hands of J.D. I see J.D’s face shrouded in darkness, his maniacal laugh, and his wide crazy eyes. In my nightmares, I see Sam behind J.D, willing him to do the things he did. Even though I know it isn’t real, I can’t help but feel hatred towards Sam for it, to some extent. I wake up in a sweat, gasping for breath and pleading for my life. It is affecting my life in such a big way, that I don’t feel in control of my own life anymore. I feel so helpless, and I almost wish I had stayed in Santa Monica.

 
I have gone back to my old hair colour, in a vain attempt to find the girl I left behind a year ago. I have all my stuff out of storage and back where it belongs. I have the flat decorated and looking like a proper home again, thanks to the help of my parents, Dexter, Eden, Danny, Grace and Ruby. The living room is royal blue with a feature wall, consisting of a navy background, vivid blue parrots and silver gilded cages. The carpet is navy, and I have a navy suede sectional sofa, which you sink into when you sit down. It also has various cushions scattered across it. Often, for the past few weeks, I have found myself falling asleep on it after enduring several crippling nightmares. I have a flat screen TV mounted above the white fireplace, a glass coffee table and a media unit which houses my extensive DVD and C.D collection. The room is kitted out with various matching blue accessories, including a selection of blue and white photo frames and a selection of large beanbags.

  The kitchen is red, black and white, modelled like a nineteen fifties style diner. The main feature wall is a red, black and white London scene, with the red phone boxes standing out from the stark black and white of the black London cabs, Big Ben and the London Eye. The state of the art appliances match the decor of the kitchen, including a red chrome kettle, a black coffee machine, a red microwave, black and chrome built-in cooker, a black American style fridge with alphabet magnets scattered across the front, and red tea, coffee, and sugar canisters. Over the cooker are black splash back tiles, and the floor consists of black and white tiles. At the black marble breakfast bar, sits black and red stools and to complete the look is a red and black striped blind at the window.

  My bedroom has a zebra print feature wall above my California King bed, which Remy generously shipped over from Santa Monica, along with some other things that I accumulated from my time there. Next to the bed are two black lacquered bedside tables, with a picture of me and Freddie in a frame. The rest of the walls are dark aubergine and are covered with a series of arty tattoo prints that my dad took, pictures of me and Ruby, Freddie, and my family and friends hanging in black frames on the walls. The window has a wind chime hanging in the centre and blackout blinds. I have a zebra print chaise in the corner of the room, and a dark purple carpet completes my sanctuary from the world outside.

  Freddie's nursery is next to my bedroom, and his large white cot takes up a section of the back wall. Next to his cot is a changing station with a grey changing mat on the top. Underneath are various drawers, which house baby wipes, nappies, clothes, nappy rash cream and everything I need to change his nappy. The walls are painted in a light blue with a grey border and sports different musical notes and instruments. Above his cot is the guitar-shaped mobile Sam left, his name spelt out in colourful letters, and a picture of us posing on the bonnet of Remy's Shelby GT while looking carefree and happy. It is my favourite picture so far.

  Seb has given me back my old job, as a tattoo artist and shop manager at Saint Sinner Ink, and I am settling back into my role, as if I was never really away. I have been throwing myself into work, tattooing clients and doing what I do best, not allowing myself time to think. I am trying so hard to make amends for disappearing as well as adjusting to life back in London as a single working mum. Ruby looks after Freddie during the day while I am at work, and I will be forever grateful to her for allowing me to do what I love and to provide for me and my son, even though Sam is more than willing to support us financially. Freddie is my whole world. He is so pure and innocent, my angel. Just as I was Sam's angel. Sam. I can't stop thinking about him, but I know I made the right decision to end it between us. It was for the best, for all of us.

  Tonight, Ruby is babysitting Freddie at her insistence that I need some time to myself to let my hair down. The truth is, she's right. I need to forget. I need to drown my sorrows in the bottom of a large glass of vodka. Neat. I enjoy the burn as it slides down my throat. It offers me a rare moment of calm where my mind is completely numb. I don't want to think, I don't want to feel. I just want some...peace. Peace from the cacophony of noise that is my fucked-up mind.

  I am sat in a bar called JJ’s Inferno. I am perched on a bar stool while wearing a short black leather skirt, which makes my tanned legs look amazing. I also have on a black and white, polka dot, halter neck, corset top, which hugs my slim figure and emphasises my boobs, along with my black Christian Louboutin heels. My short, dark brown hair is secured by a black polka dot headscarf, and I am knocking back vodka. The barman doesn't say a word; he just waits for me to shoot my drink and replaces my empty glass with a new one. He doesn't ask questions, he just quietly observes me in a silent understanding. He probably thinks I am some desperate drunk woman, hoping to get laid; but he couldn't be further from the truth. I'm damaged goods now, and J.D's words echo in my ears.

  ‘Sam doesn't do damaged goods.’

  A lone tear slips down my cheek, and I quickly swipe it away. The barman replaces my drink and leans over the bar. He is extremely good-looking, with sculpted, chiselled cheekbones. He is tall, muscular, and has a shaved head with a black goatee beard and black-rimmed glasses. He has kind but unusual, silver-grey eyes and he is wearing dark jeans, which hug his hips, and a black shirt with the name of the bar embroidered on the left breast pocket. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to reveal vivid, colourful tattoos wrapped around both arms. He has his nose and his ear pierced.

  Why are you always so attracted to tattooed bad boy Sam clones, Harper?

  "Tell me to mind my own business, petal, but do you want to talk about whatever it is that’s making those baby blues of yours look so sad?"

  His voice is deep and rich as he smiles warmly, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth.

  "A beautiful lady like you shouldn't be in a place like this alone."

  His voice is filled with concern.

  "I'm tougher than I look, honey, but thanks for your concern though. I appreciate it."

  I smile, but I know it doesn't reach my eyes. He leans over the bar, and his muscles flex underneath his shirt, temporarily distracting me from my pity party.

  "I’m Jack, by the way."

  He introduces himself as I shoot back my drink and push the glass towards him, eyeing him warily.

  "Peyton," I murmur.

  He reaches for my hand and shakes it, gripping it gently while filling my glass with his other hand.

  "So, do you want to talk about it? I've been watching you all night, petal, silently filling your glass. It’s like watching a car crash that I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from, but I can't watch anymore. You look like you could use a friend; you look so...lost."

  He regards me intently, cocks his head to the side and pushes my now full glass across the bar.

  "It’s fucked up; I fucked up," I say quietly, but to the point.

  Jack leans across the bar and softly brushes my hand reassuringly.

  "We all fuck up at some point, petal; it’s how we come back from it that counts. Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes, you come back stronger, you come back fighting. You look like a tough, beautiful, independent woman, who looks like she's hit a rough patch, and that's ok. It's ok to talk, it's ok to admit it and ask for help. You're only human."

  His words are so wise and kind. I feel tears stinging my eyes from this stranger who knows nothing about me, but suddenly seems to know everything all at once.

  "I hurt someone I loved; unintentionally. I made a bad choice, and I wish I could go back and change it, all of it."

  He smiles kindly, and he cocks his head.

  It seems the alcohol is making me want to wallow in my own self-pity. Great.

  "Things have a habit of working themselves out, don't give up."

  He leans closer to me, as if sharing a secret.

  "I'll let you into a little secret, we men are extremely stubborn, and we don't realise what we've got until it's too late. It’s in our DNA."

  He winks, and I smile at his optimism. I shoot back my drink, and he refills my glass again.

  "You should consi
der slowing down, petal."

  I narrow my eyes at him and shoot back my drink insolently.

  “I think you should consider minding your own fucking business,” I snap, and he holds his hands up defensively.

  "You're going to regret it in the morning; that’s all I’m saying. No judgement here. You're going to wake up with one killer hangover."

  I shrug. The truth is, I don't care. I'm way past caring. The constant nightmares are taking a toll on my sanity, and my finger is pressed firmly on the self-destruct button.

  "Go and make it right."

  I shake my head.

  "I can't, I don't know how to anymore. It’s over between us. I can’t give him what he needs, Jack. I can’t be the woman he fell in love with, it’s not possible."