Redemption (Tattoos & Tears - Brody Book 1)

by Amiee Louise

  “Tell her how you feel, darlin’, you might surprise yourself how easy it comes out.”

  I hear the female say. What’s she talking about? Who is this woman? Is she yet another person who knows Brody better than I do? My attention focuses on their conversation and I’m aware that I’m eavesdropping, but I can’t help listening to what comes next.

  “I need to admit it to myself first and I need to accept it. She told me she loved me and I freaked the fuck out like a total idiot! I’ve been in love before and she rejected me like I meant nothing! I tried to kill the part of myself that still wanted to save our relationship, even after she walked away while I was drowning in a sea of white powder and addiction. I won’t allow that to happen again, the only other woman I’ve ever loved, I ended up in fucking rehab because I couldn’t handle the way she rejected me so cruelly. I felt like I was that scared ten-year-old boy again, I felt so alone and so fucking angry! I can’t put myself through that again. I won’t. I won’t survive it next time.”

  Hearing the obvious pain in his voice causes my heart to slam against my ribcage. Who is he talking about? Is he talking about the married woman he was seeing?

  “That girl was a fucking fool, sweetheart.”

  I listen to their idle chatter for a few minutes longer, as I take in my surroundings. It’s quite modern and spacious for a hospital room. There’s a large navy suede chair in the corner, an array of abstract artwork adorns the walls, it reminds me of a plush hotel room. On the wall is a plasma TV screen, and the décor is all pale pastels with clean lines, which are elegant and calming all at the same time. The large square window has an open light grey blind on it and the floor matches the colour of the blind.

  "I was numb to it all when I was using, but since I've been clean and sober, I feel everything, and I can't deal with it. My feelings overwhelm me. I've spent so long going over and over it with my therapist and I still can’t wrap my head around it. I'm fucking exhausted, Jay. I mean really exhausted, I’m lucky if I get an hour a night these days, I think today was my body telling me enough is enough."

  He actually sounds exhausted and I’m curious about what he means. Has something happened? Why didn’t he tell me? Because you were too busy opening a vein and bleeding half to death, that’s why, you selfish bitch.

  “I can prescribe you some sleeping pills, a low dose to start if that’s what you want, sweetheart, just say the word.”

  I’m not sure who this woman is, but from what I’ve heard of their conversation they’re close and she seems kind. She cares about him and I feel a sudden pang of jealousy.

  “I don’t want to rely on sleeping pills and I don’t need any more addictions in my life, Jay. I’m a recovering drug addict, for fucks sake, I’d just be replacing one with another.”

  There’s a pause and I see a shadow in the doorway, that’s when I catch sight of him. He looks pale and dishevelled, but still distinctly handsome. His jeans are ripped, and he’s wearing a distressed grey Linkin Park t-shirt, which showcases his tattooed muscles and he’s wearing those sexy as hell biker boots that I love so much. He’s a sight to beholden.

  “Kitten.”

  My stomach flip flops at the way he says my pet name and goosebumps erupt on my arms.

  “Thank fuck you’re ok, you scared the absolute shit out of me.”

  His voice sounds depleted and so full of emotion, as he steps into the room almost cautiously, followed by the woman he was talking to. She’s beautiful, she is a few inches shorter than Brody, with her blonde hair is piled up haphazardly on top of her head. She is wearing purple scrubs and white trainers, she has deep hazel eyes and the wrinkles around her eyes tell me that she laughs a lot.

  “Hello, sweetheart, I’m Jamie-Leigh Chase, I’m Jackson’s mum,” she introduces herself brightly, and I find myself smiling right along with her.

  “I’m Raleigh,” I say, barely audible, as she busies herself checking my vitals, humming softly at intervals.

  “How are you feeling, darlin’?” she asks with a genuine smile, and I find myself nodding and smiling right along with her.

  She’s infectious and as I observe her a little more, I start to piece together their relationship. She must be one of the mother figures he talked about in our previous conversations.

  “Ok, I think, just a bit sore.”

  She smiles sympathetically, stroking my hand gently and I let her, feeling oddly comforted by it.

  “It will be a bit sore for a few weeks, I stitched you up as best as I could and the scarring will be minimal if you take good care of it.”

  I smile in return, not knowing what to say, so I don’t say anything at all, as Brody starts to pace the floor impatiently. He does that when he's feeling particularly anxious, along with the squeezing of the back of his neck, which he does at frequent intervals.

  "Don't ever fucking do that to me again!" he bites out sharply, and I flinch at his harsh tone.

  Jamie-Leigh continues to busy herself checking me over, ignoring his outburst, as he stops pacing. He stands in the middle of the room and stares up at the ceiling.

  "I can't fucking do this! I just can't! I'm sorry."

  He practically runs out of the room without another word, before I get the chance to protest and that’s when the tears come. Jamie stays quiet for a few minutes and I take a few deep, calming breaths to try to compose myself.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly, and I wonder if she heard me.

  As I look up from beneath my lashes, she shakes her head.

  “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, I’ve seen worse, I’ve seen all those boys grow up and I’ve got daughters, it comes with the territory.”

  She chuckles softly and I start to wonder what role she plays within the Rancid Vengeance family. She wraps a blood pressure cuff around the top of my arm and hums softly, as she pumps the rubber device in her hand. The cuff tightening uncomfortably on my arm.

  “Don’t break his heart, darlin’, he’s had his fair share of that in his life already. He might not admit it out loud yet, but he loves you, give him time. He just needs to admit it to himself first,” she says softly, and I regard her intently.

  “I can’t help asking myself, am I really that unloveable that he can’t admit the way he feels? And I can’t help feeling I’ll never truly know him as well as you, Lenny and the boys know him. He’s a puzzle I’m desperately trying to figure out,” I finally confess, comfortable enough in Jay’s presence to voice my feelings.

  Even though I met her minutes ago, I feel oddly as ease in her company. Her soft, mild manner coaxes me to admit everything I’ve been struggling to say out loud for the longest time.

  “Trust me, I’ve seen girls come and go over the years. Sometimes I considered installing a revolving door!”

  She laughs wryly and that pang of jealousy hits me without warning.

  “I know you probably don’t want to hear that, but that was before. I’ve never seen him like this over a woman and I can see he cares deeply about you. His childhood traumas haunt him far more than he lets on, you just need to ride out the storms and that sunshine he’s been hiding, will shine so bright it will blind you. He’s a good man, he’s not had an easy life but I think you could be the girl that changes that.”

  She cocks her head to the side and regards me with careful eyes.

  “I love him, more than I ever thought possible. He made it so easy for me to fall, he’s…fucking hell I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but as soon as we met I knew, I knew he could be bad for my health and he could ruin me with his infectious charm, but I couldn’t help it. From the very beginning I found myself falling deeper, and with my track record, I wanted to be cautious but he made it fucking impossible.”

  I lean back heavily on the pillows and my eyes fill with tears.

  “Sweetheart, I knew from the moment he met you you were special, something different. The women who have been in his life, none of them have ever lasted for longer than a few nights, wi
th one exception, but that’s not my story to tell. He’s never introduced me to one of his girlfriends before, actually come to think of it, I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend before, so consider yourself lucky. I pride myself on being an extremely good judge of character, and you my darling, are going to be the girl who finally tames Brody Hart.”

  As I continue to listen, there’s weight behind her words and I don’t doubt them, not for one second.

  32

  Brody

  After Vegas, Sam and Peyton moved into a purpose built, three storey, eleven-bedroom property in Chislehurst, Kent. It also boasts twelve acres of land, which we all contributed to building three luxury ten-bedroom mansions in our very own gated community, aptly named ‘Vengeance Estates.’ Today is the day I flee the sanctuary of Sam and Peyton’s house and move into my very own house, somewhere to call home, to finally call my own. Our houses are built in a spacious semi-circle and we all live near each other. It’s unconventional, but we’re all happy to live in relative peace and calm away from the glare of the paparazzi’s lens.

  From the outside, my house looks like a large, rustic, grey brick farmhouse, with large sash windows and a large round gravel driveway with a large fountain in the centre, the houses built around the circumference. Inside, it is quite the opposite, it's light, airy, and open. The large living space has light grey walls with azure blue accents. A large navy U-shaped sofa dominates the space, as does a large TV mounted on the wall. The artwork is minimal, and the walls are decorated in photos of me, the boys, our album covers and our platinum discs.

  For the longest time, music has been my life. I live and breathe it, it's the only thing that's kept me going over the years. It's the one constant in my life and I'll always be grateful to whoever, for gracing me with the talent to do what I love and be afforded the lavish, rock n' roll lifestyle that I have become accustomed to.

  Fourteen years and I still never get bored of performing to thousands of adoring, die-hard fans. I'll never get tired of the elation and the pure rush I feel, every time I go out on stage with my guitar in my hand. The familiar chant "Vengeance, Vengeance, Vengeance!" never gets old. It makes all of the shit we've been through as a band, individually and as a family, all worthwhile. That’s why I’m so fucking proud to finally lay down solid roots and call this place my home. I moved around a lot as a kid, never settling down, never staying in one place long enough to belong anywhere. The only place I felt like I belonged was with the boys, wherever they were, they were my home. But as I lay back on my sofa, the more I think about Raleigh and how she’s become my home.

  In the weeks that followed her relapse we spent time rekindling our relationship and getting to know each other again. She helped me move in and settle into my new place and I’ve never been happier. She’s getting stronger by the day and if anything, the relapse made me realise my true feelings for her, even though I still couldn’t find the courage to say it out loud. After a whole day of lazy, unhurried love making, we are lying in my king size bed, the sheets draped over our bodies haphazardly. I’m idly tracing shapes with my fingers across her collarbone, her head resting on my chest. Our breathing perfectly in sync, the silence comfortable. She sighs audibly and I smile to myself, brushing her hair away from her face.

  “Something on your mind, beautiful?” I ask hoarsely, and she shifts in my hold.

  “How did you meet Lenny?”

  I stiffen, unprepared for her line of questioning. I reach up to squeeze the back of my neck, as I remember the day I met Lenny Nicholas.

  Fourteen Years Ago

  The bitter taste in the back of my throat, the numb tingly feeling in my face, the unlimited amount of energy, the rush of absolute pure pleasure, my head shattering in white explosions and the feeling that I could take on the fucking world. Ten minutes later I want another hit and another. But the crash was always the worst, suddenly the feelings of euphoria and energy were replaced with extreme angst and exhaustion that all I wanted to do was close myself off from the world and hide away. It had gotten to a point where I started to need that fix every night to reverse the agonising comedown that seemed to become all too frequent. I’d been a cocaine user for a few years now and it was a habit I dabbled in a little too often. It was readily available in the circles I moved in and it was always on hand to help me unwind after a blow job and a show.

  A few nights ago, I found one of my close friends dead, exactly the way I found my mum. With a dirty fucking needle hanging out of his arm, foam coming from his mouth and piss staining his jeans. Daryl Dean Nicholas was one of my best friends, he was someone outside of the band and the time we spent together, I relished it. It was an opportunity for me to forget who I was, I forgot our growing popularity and I forgot all the things that came with being famous. It was just two guys shooting the shit and getting high. I’m so fucking buzzed off my pickle right now, I feel numb. The image of Daryl convulsing, the light fading from his eyes playing on a loop in my mind. I shook him, desperately trying to revive him, but he was too far gone, it was too late. I rang an ambulance and got the fuck out of there, with our growing popularity, it wouldn’t be wise for a rock star to be caught high as a kite, with a dead junkie. My career would be over before it had even begun. Seeing someone I had grown close to over the years die in front of me should have put me off the drugs for life, but all it did was spur me on to get so high I couldn’t feel the crippling devastation of seeing yet another person’s light extinguished because of the drugs. It bought all of the demons that have followed me and haunted me since I was ten years old to the front and centre of my brain. I couldn’t seem to comprehend all of the feelings that lay dormant in my head, those feelings overwhelmed me and all I wanted to do was forget. I can’t focus, I can’t fucking see straight, a mix of vodka and cocaine flowing through my veins, creating a floating feeling.

  My phone buzzing interrupts my thoughts, and I don’t recognise the number. I cautiously connect the call.

  “Hello?” I answer apprehensively.

  “Hello, is this Brody?”

  I pause for a few seconds, trying desperately to place the voice on the end of the phone, but failing miserably.

  “Who wants to know?” I reply, aware that my manners are nowhere to be found.

  “You don’t know me, but I’m Lenny, my son was Daryl Nicholas.”

  As he says those words, it feels like a lead weight has settled at the base of my stomach and I feel like I’m going to throw up. How the fuck did he get my number? I swallow hard to rid myself of the feeling.

  “Look, I’m not pointing any fingers, but were you with my son when he died? I just need to piece together what happened, for closure… I don’t know.”

  His voice so full of grief, it causes my heart to slam against my rib cage, followed by a feeling of pure dread and I contemplate just hanging up. But he doesn’t deserve that, not after his son had died. I was the last one to see him, he deserves the truth.

  “Yeah, yeah, I was with him,” I admit reluctantly, clearing my throat and wondering how tonight took such a turn.

  “Could we meet? I’d like to know what happened, and your name appeared quite frequently in his phone. I’m assuming you were close?”

  I pause, surprised at his request. I scrabble feebly for an excuse, my drug addled mind coming up with nothing and I’m aware I’ve been silent for far too long.

  “Hello? Are you still there?” he asks, suddenly unsure of himself.

  “Erm…yeah…yeah, we were good friends. Yeah, sure we can meet up. Where and when?”

  He coughs and then clears his throat.

  “There’s a little café, The Rise and Shine Café? You know it?”

  I smile to myself, as I think fondly of Mandie and her daughter Emmy.

  “Yeah, I know it.”

  There is a pregnant pause.

  “Are you free tomorrow at all?” he asks expectantly.

  “Sure,” I agree tersely and monosyllabic.

 
“Tomorrow at ten thirty a.m.? Does that work for you?”

  I can feel the crash creeping slowly through my body and I’m exhausted, even my bones feel weak.

  “Yeah, that works for me. See you tomorrow.”

  I hang up the phone, wondering what the fuck I’ve agreed to.

  ***