by Amiee Louise
“Bullshit, angel. You forget how I know your body, and I also know when you’re lying,” he says huskily.
“Look, don’t go, stay, at least for a little while longer.”
He steps forward into the room and moves closer to me.
“Logan isn’t going anywhere, please, just let me get to know my son.”
He strokes Freddie’s cheek and Freddie giggles.
“Hey, how’s daddy’s little rock star doing?”
I hand Freddie to Sam, and his eyes grow heavy, as he snuggles his chubby face into Sam’s bare chest.
“Is someone sleepy, buddy?”
He perches on the edge of the bed, and I sit down on the blue and white striped chaise lounge that is in the corner of the room, observing the bond between father and son. A few minutes of awkward silence passes before his mesmerizing emerald eyes find mine and neither of us can look away. He breaks our stare as he looks down at Freddie, he is fast to sleep in Sam’s arms.
“Must have the magic touch, angel.”
He gets up slowly, goes over to Freddie’s cot, and lays him gently back down. He moves over to me and crouches down in front of me.
“I was lost without you, angel, so fucking lost. I was devastated. All I felt was pure fucking rage at the person who did this to you, to us. That fucking person was right under my god damn nose the entire time, and I didn’t even know! How could I not have fucking known!” he grits out and squeezes his eyes shut, as if to rid himself of a terrible memory.
He takes my hand in his.
“We have a second chance, angel; please don’t write that off, don’t run from me again. You made me a promise once, that you wouldn’t run.”
His voice sounds so tortured, it crushes me to hear him so full of anguish and regret.
“We were...happy, blissfully so. It was...all consuming. I loved you so much. I felt like I couldn’t fucking breathe without you, Sam. I’ve never been that dependent on a man ever, not until you.”
I let out a shaky breath as I remember what we once had, and my eyes lock with his. There is that familiar electricity between us, it never went away.
“There were times where I...I would think how lucky I was to have such an amazing man in my life. I would get the butterflies in my stomach every time I was within touching distance of you, and I counted down the hours until I could see you again. I was...fucking addicted to you...you were like a drug I couldn’t get enough of. I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Do you know what that felt like? What we had...it was a once in a lifetime thing, and I’m not sure we can ever get back to that, Sam.”
I swipe the tears angrily from my eyes.
“You fucking intoxicate me, angel. From the first moment I met you. I can’t breathe without you either. I’m a mess, I can’t sleep, and I can barely drag myself out of bed in the morning. This past year has been my own personal fucking hell. I’ve just been going through the motions, pretending to live and I let my alter ego take the reins on my sorry life. My life sucks without you, angel.”
I bite my lip to stifle the laugh bubbling up in my chest. He cocks his pierced eyebrow and flashes that adorable, dimpled smirk I have missed so much.
“Yeah, so I’m quoting Kelly Clarkson. I’m officially a fucking pussy.”
He smirks wickedly, gets to his feet and offers me his large tattooed hand.
“Dance with me, angel. Let me prove to you that what happened back there wasn’t a mistake.”
He pulls me up, and soft strains of music start to play in the background. He leads me out of the room, closing the door gently behind us, until we are back in the living room. I recognise the song as ‘Slow Dancing in a Burning Room’ by John Mayer. The slow sensual beat of the song begins, and he pulls me close to him, until I am pinned to his hard chest. He starts to move until we are slowly and silently swaying on the spot, with my hand in his and his other hand on my hip. My heart beat starts to quicken, and the look in his eyes is smouldering. He leans down and kisses me passionately on the lips. The feel of his soft lips on mine coaxes my mouth open, and his tongue strokes mine. His kiss is so tender and so gentle that it makes me want to weep. He pulls me tighter to him, and I deepen the kiss, not wanting it to end. John croons in the background as Sam pulls away from our kiss. His breathing is ragged, and his green eyes are blazing.
“Stay with me, angel,” he says gruffly. "Just give me tonight; I can have Cole take you both back to the hotel first thing in the morning."
I snuggle closer to his hard chest, and he squeezes me tighter.
“You don’t have to answer now, please just think about it. Stay and let me show you how much I need you. Let me love you, angel.”
I sigh deeply, feeling so relaxed and content in his arms that I don’t realise what I have said until I feel Sam tense in my arms.
“I never realised how much I missed this. I spoke to my mum, and I told her I made a huge mistake. I was so wrong; I never should have stayed away, Sam.”
He audibly gasps. Fuck.
“What did you just say?” he grits out. “Did your family know you were alive?”
He pulls away from me, as if I have burned him, and I suddenly feel as if there is a whole ocean between us once again.
“TELL ME THE FUCKING TRUTH, PEYTON, OR SO HELP ME FUCKING GOD!”
He bawls, and I flinch at his sharp tone.
“TELL ME!” he roars.
I nod slowly, trying to hold back the tears.
“I...I was hurt Sam, so fucking hurt. You crushed me, and you broke my heart. I needed my family to know I was alive, I couldn’t do it to them.”
Shit. His green eyes are fierce and so full of fire.
“You couldn’t do it to them, but you could do it to me! I tried to commit fucking suicide because I couldn’t go on without you! How do you think I felt? I woke up screaming, night after night. I drank just so I could feel numb. I was fucking broken, Peyton! You broke me! My best friend found me in a pool of my own fucking blood because I was too god damn weak to see a life without you in it!”
He runs his hands frantically through his hair and starts to pace the room.
“FUCK!” he curses, as he picks up his glass and launches it at the wall.
The glass shatters everywhere, spraying the room in glistening shards. A tear slips down my cheek as I hear the sound of Sam's footsteps across the wooden floor of his penthouse apartment.
"As far as I was concerned, you had committed the ultimate betrayal by asking some fucking twisted psychopath to kidnap and torture me. He fucking stabbed me; I was terrified, and I thought I was going to die! Don’t you get that? He tortured me physically and mentally. I hated you with every bone in my body for making me fall so deeply in love with you and then ripping my heart out like I fucking meant nothing, Sam!" I screech.
He scrubs his hands across his lightly stubbled jaw and walks over to the floor to ceiling windows that look out on the New York City skyline by night.
"Your family knew you were alive; don't you think I fucking deserved to be clued into that fact?"
His voice is barely a whisper, as I shake my head.
"You really don't fucking get it, do you, Sam? I despised you for crushing my very being. I wanted you to fucking suffer for what you did. I wanted you and J.D to rot in the fucking ground," I spit harshly, and Sam rears back at my cold, unforgiving tone.
"How could you ever think that, angel? I fucking worshipped you; we were going to get married, and you were pregnant with my baby! Wasn’t that a clear indication of how I felt about you? I would have killed for you! I would have willingly done prison time, just to fucking protect you!" he says with such determined conviction in his voice and runs his hand through his raven strands.
He catches my gaze in the reflection of the glass.
"This is all such a fucking mess, and I'm not sure how we can fix it, angel; how we can fix us. Losing you fucking destroyed me, Peyton. It wasn’t just you that died that day; you took a part of me wi
th you. Nothing else mattered to me anymore. My life was pointless. The fame, the money, the band, the music… none of it fucking mattered. Don’t you get that? I almost gave up my career because of you."
He turns around slowly, as he says those words and our eyes lock.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sam," I whisper, and he shakes his head.
“The pain of losing you cut so deep, I thought I would never get over you, angel. I tortured myself every single fucking day because I blamed myself. I thought I was responsible for failing the only woman I’ve ever really loved! The day we met, I told you I would ruin you, but you were the one who ended up fucking ruining me, Peyton! You ruined me for all other women!"
His husky voice sounds so pained, it makes my heat slam against my rib cage.
"Your mum and Dexter came to see me after I tried to kill myself. Jesus, your mum was so fucking pissed at me, shouting and screaming at me, cursing like a fucking sailor on shore leave. Tell me one thing, Peyton, I have to know. Did they already know then? Was it all just one big act?”
I look up at him and shake my head.
“No, no not at all. Don't ever think that for a second. I called them over six months ago, just after I gave birth to Freddie; I was so fucking scared and so lonely, Sam. I had just given birth, and I needed my mum and dad. I needed hope, and I needed some semblance of my old life back again. I know I was taking a big risk, but I needed something to cling on to. I haven’t been Peyton Harper this past year. Remy knew people who could make her disappear for good, and I’ve been living as Louise Stonebridge. I’ve been residing in Santa Monica, California, under a new identity and working as a barista at Cool Beans Coffee Shop. A fucking coffee shop. For the first time in twenty-eight fucking years, Sam, I don’t know who I am anymore!”
I run my hands through my hair, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push back the floods of tears that are threatening to spill from my eyes.
36
Peyton - About Ten Months Ago
I have been in Santa Monica for over two months now. After recovering from the initial trauma of being tied up and tortured by J.D, I have realised there is only so much Netflix a girl can handle before I start to go stir crazy. There are only so many TV shows a girl can watch. Endless episodes of Vampire Diaries, Sons of Anarchy, Strike Back, The Blacklist, White Collar and Dexter have caused the cabin fever to set in. The boredom is making me feel like I want to climb the walls. I am opening and closing the cupboards like a mad woman, desperate for something to do. I’m searching for something to occupy my otherwise active mind when I hear Remy come in from his morning run.
"Right, that's it, beaut, I've had it with watching you climb the walls. I'm going to grab a shower then I'm taking you out for breakfast, no bloody arguments. You've been cooped up for way too long, and it's about time you started to make some friends other than me. You're starting to turn into a hermit!"
I salute him sarcastically, and he cocks his eyebrow.
"Fucking women," he mutters as he strides off into the bathroom, leaving me curious as to where he is taking me.
I am brushing my newly dyed, short red hair in the mirror as Remy hops out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. The towel hanging so low I can see the 'V' cut below his abs. Remy used to be the awkward, gangly, nerdy boy next door all those years ago. He had a side parting, wore glasses and had absolutely no definition to his straight up, straight down body. As I take him in, I am reminded of the significant difference of how he was then, to how he is now as he is standing gloriously in front of me. His body is all muscle and definition. Instead of the traditional six-pack, I swear he has an eight-pack. His olive skin is sun-kissed, and his arms are corded with pure, thick sinew.
"When you've quite finished. I actually feel violated, do I look like a piece of meat to you?" he says with more than a hint of amusement in his voice, and I feel my face flush with embarrassment at being caught ogling him.
"Relax, I'm just fucking with you. Ogle away, it's good for my ego!"
We both laugh as he kisses his muscles on his arms. He drops down on the bed and begins to secure his prosthetic onto his stump.
"It's good to finally hear you laugh, beaut. When I lost my leg, I was so low I thought I would never laugh again. I thought all people were going to see was some injured soldier. I saw the pity in their eyes, and I was resigned to the fact that life wasn't ever going to go back to the way it used to be. I was fucking terrified that people were going to treat me differently. Part of me didn't want to care, but deep down, I knew I did. I met this guy while I was in hospital in the U.K, his name was Dave. We nicknamed him Disco Dave because he lost both legs, an arm and his left eye in Afghanistan. What I admired the most about Dave, was he never lost his sense of humour. He was always laughing, always smiling, always cracking jokes, and he would have the doctors and nurses in stitches. One day, I was feeling particularly sorry for myself. I was so frustrated, and I was in a sort of 'I-hate-the-world-and-everyone-in-it' kind of mood. Dave came into my room, and he poked me in the ribs. And do you know what he said? He said, 'man up and quit bitchin', soldier boy', all the nurses and the doctors, who were in the room at the time, were bracing themselves for World War three to break out right there in the hospital. That was the moment I started laughing, and I was full out belly laughing. It felt so good to feel something, and I'll be forever grateful to Dave for that. What I'm trying to say is, life might not be the same ever again, but us human beings, we're adaptable creatures. We learn to make the best of a bad situation, beaut, so that's why I'm taking you for coffee and to meet Dax. He's a good buddy of mine, and he owns a coffee shop just a few blocks away."
I cock my eyebrow at him, not sure where this is going.
"Hear me out. I know it's not ideal, but Dax owes me a favour, so this is me cashing it in. I'm going to ask him to give you a job."
My eyes widen. Me, working in a coffee shop? I can't imagine doing anything other than tattooing, and that breaks my heart.
"I know you're a tattoo artist, but it's not practical, beaut. We can't take the risk. You need to fly under the radar. What if someone recognises your work? What if someone posts pictures online? Your cover as Louise Stonebridge will be blown, and that's a whole new can of worms I don't want to open up."
He limps into his bedroom to dry off, leaving me in the living room to contemplate what he has just told me. Could I really pull off working in a coffee shop? Am I even capable of doing something other than tattooing? For the first time in forever, I'm all sorts of confused. I am shaken from my thoughts, by the sound of Remy's soft chuckle.
"Don't shoot it down, just stop over thinking, beaut. I know it's a big step, but have faith; I have absolute faith in you. It's going to be fine. Dax is a good guy, he's one of the best. Please do this, if not for me, then for you and your son. Being a lady of leisure doesn't suit you.”
Deep down, I know that everything Remy has said is true. I just have to trust my instinct and hope he’s right. By the end of that day, I had been hired by Dax, and I was well on the way to completing my fresh start.
37
Peyton - Present
Sam is standing, quietly cursing to himself after the revelation that my family knew I was alive. I’m torn apart at having hurt him, yet again.
“I can’t fucking do this, Sam. I have to go.”
I take a deep breath and open my eyes. Sam avoids my gaze and nods curtly.
"Cole will take you back to your hotel," he says flatly, and I make my way to the spare room to get Freddie.
Remy was right, I should never have agreed so easily to this meeting. I find myself all too eagerly grabbing Freddie, strapping him in his carrycot, and gathering the rest of my things ready to leave.
Ten minutes pass, and as I make my way back into the living space, I hear the sound of raised voices. One is distinctly female, and my heart slams against my rib cage at the sight in front of me: Lyla, in all her willowy, leggy blon
de glory. She is wearing a red trench coat, open, revealing her lacy black lingerie, complete with thigh high stockings, suspenders and six-inch spiked black heels. She smirks as she catches me taking her in.
"Ah, I see Lazarus is back from the dead," she says, with venom in her voice and I try to maintain my poker face, as if her hurtful comment didn’t affect me.
"Sammy, baby, you didn't tell me we would be having company," she croons, and for the first time since I re-entered the room, I notice him.
Sam is wearing a black baseball vest, which clings to his muscles and showcases his 'My Angel' tattoo across his chest. He is also wearing a pair of black silk pyjama bottoms, which hang low on his hips. He must have changed while I was getting mine and Freddie’s stuff together. His hair is perfectly mussed, and he is standing barefoot, drinking a fresh glass of amber liquid. He runs his hand haphazardly through his hair and shakes his head.