Redemption (Tattoos & Tears - Brody Book 1) Page 13

  Twenty-Four Years Ago

  We argued the night she died. She missed yet another one of my school talent shows, it was the first time me and the boys performed a song that we had written, and we won. I cried on the way home, and other than that, the car journey with Mr and Mrs Newbolt, Sam and me was silent. I was grateful to Mrs Newbolt for comforting me, as she whispered soft words in my ear and stroked my hair. By the time I got home, my upset had turned to anger. I was so fucking angry, I was trembling, and I stormed in to my mum strung out, on the tatty, old, worn sofa in our living room. One of her many boyfriends shirtless and snoring next to her. I laughed bitterly to myself at the sight before me.

  “Why am I not fucking surprised?” I muttered to myself.

  “Brody, baby,” she said in a ridiculous baby voice, which she thought sounded endearing.

  It wasn’t. It was fucking annoying, and it irritated the shit out of me.

  “Don’t Brody, baby me, mum. I’m surprised you even remember my god damn name!”

  She had the balls to look confused. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  I rolled my eyes, trying desperately to shove down the mixture of feelings racing through my ten-year-old body. “Do you remember what today was?” I snapped, desperately hoping she would remember.

  She gives me a vacant look and in that moment, my heart broke.

  “Today was the fucking annual school talent show! You promised me you’d be there!” I shouted, willing myself not to burst into tears.

  I don’t cry, only little pussy boys cry. That’s what Sam said.

  “I’m so sorry, baby. Let me make it up to you, shall we go out for burgers?”

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t you dare! We won, as if you even give a shit! Everyone’s parents were there, except for you! Do you realise how that made me feel? Humiliated, worthless. I fucking hate you! You are pathetic, junkie, whore! I wish I were fucking adopted! You don’t deserve to be my mum!”

  That night, I spewed out every poisonous, hurtful thing, I could think of and I listened to her gut-wrenching sobs. Every sob pierced my ten-year-old heart, and I went to bed and I cried myself to sleep.

  The next morning, I was ready to apologise for everything I’d said, but I found her dead, and I didn’t even get to say sorry. I couldn’t take back those awful, hateful words and I’ve lived with that on my conscience for twenty-plus years. My own mother died thinking her only son hated her.

  I swing my legs out of bed and the memories of that night assault my mind. The image of my mums’ lifeless body haunts me to my very core. Instead of pacing, my exhausted body crumples to the floor, as I try desperately to rid myself of the poisonous memory. The craving, that works its way into my cerebral cortex, grips me tight and my chest constricts, as I try anxiously to keep it at bay.

  I find myself scrolling through my phone with a trembling hand and dial the person I have always relied on, for fourteen years.

  “Len,” I say tentatively, swallowing hard a few times to stop my guts from vacating.

  “Should I be worried you’re calling me this late, son?”

  I smile to myself, as I slide open the doors to the hotel balcony. I drop down on the edge of a sun lounger in my Calvin Klein boxer shorts, the cool air a welcome feeling on my clammy skin.

  “Nah, I just called to hear your riveting conversation, Len!”

  He laughs throatily.

  “You good, B?” he asks cautiously, and I sigh.

  “Can’t sleep… same shit, different day. Just thinking.”

  I hear a creak of leather and imagine him sitting in his office, with a glass of scotch in front of him.

  “Never a good thing, son.”

  I lean back, feeling guilty for calling.

  “Am I interrupting you, Len?”

  He coughs.

  “Don’t be fucking stupid, you could never interrupt me, I’ve always got time for you. Now stop bloody prancing around and get to the fucking point.”

  I laugh at his honesty.

  “I should be charging you by the fucking hour!” he jokes.

  “And here’s me thinking you liked me!” I quip, and he chuckles.

  “Don’t go getting all fucking sentimental on me, son.”

  We are both silent for a few moments.

  “My mum died thinking I hated her, Len,” I say, breaking the silence.

  “Listen to me and you better listen fucking good. Your mum knew you loved her, even though she didn’t deserve it. You can’t torture yourself with ‘what ifs’. You need to let it go and leave the past in the past, where it belongs. Focus on your music and your lady friend, what’s-her-name?”

  I laugh.

  “Her name is Raleigh.”

  He pauses.

  “That’s the one, wine and dine her, or whatever you courting kids do these days.”

  I sit up.

  “Courting? Fucking hell, what century are you from?” I say sarcastically, and he laughs gruffly.

  “One where I can still give you a clip round your fucking ear! Now call Rachel, or whatever her name is and let this old dog get some beauty sleep!”

  I smile to myself at our easy banter and his knack at knowing just the right thing to say.

  “Thanks Len.”

  “Night, son.”

  I hang up and head back inside, contemplating going to Raleigh’s room, but I lay down on my hotel room bed and torture myself on ‘what ifs’, exactly what Lenny told me not to do.

  13

  Raleigh

  1 week later

  Ever since our disagreement last week, I've barely spoken to Brody. If he walks into a room, I walk out. The tension is palpable and I'm starting to feel more than a little awkward. Peyton has been amazing, running lines with me, taking me for coffee and making me feel more at home, we're becoming fast friends. We've been for our daily early morning run and when we both step back onto the bus, out of breath and sweaty, we are greeted by Nicholas Slade and Gavin Kincaid.

  Nicholas Slade is a British actor, and he is one of the U.K’s hottest exports in Hollywood. He started off acting in low budget Brit flicks and moved to the States, where he landed various roles in Into the Fire, Fix Me, and The Photograph. At almost thirty-eight, he is a huge star, despite his background. He grew up on a council estate in Camberwell and attended an acting school called ‘London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts’ on a scholarship. He earned the scholarship, by taking the lead in various performances in school productions and was spotted by a talent scout. He landed a prestigious role in a play called ‘Domino’ at the Old Vic theatre, where he was discovered by Damien Valentine. Nicholas got his big break in British gangster flick, “Chelsea Smile”, which was a huge success and rocketed his career into oblivion. I’ve never worked with Nick before, and I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.

  He enters the bus, and it’s like all the air has been sucked out. He really is handsome. He is around six-foot-tall, extremely muscular, has lean, narrow hips and his dark brown, almost black eyes remind me of Minstrels. His dark brown hair is elegantly styled into a soft quiff. A tattoo of a set of dice, playing cards, a lucky ‘8’ ball and the words ‘You make your own luck’, peeks out of the open neck of his shirt, extending up his throat and neck. He is wearing a pair of loose fitting, baggy, ripped jeans, a black v-neck t-shirt, which stretches across his shoulders and his broad chest, and he wears a pair of black and white checkered Vans. He catches me ogling him and winks. I feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment, as he throws his arms around Peyton and she steps into his embrace.

  “Hello love! So good to see you again! Looking foxy as always!”

  He laughs infectiously, as Peyton rolls her eyes at his roguish camaraderie.

  My embarrassment is soon forgotten, as my face breaks out into a beam, when Gavin catches sight of me. Gavin and I have worked together on a few occasions. He took me under his wing on my first movie ‘The Underdog’, where I played his daughter. It was a gangste
r film and my first movie out of theatre school. I was young, nervous, and inexperienced as an actress. Gavin sensed how nervous I was, and he put me totally at ease and it won me my first Bafta nomination. He has become a great friend, confidant, and father figure over the years. I’d just started my relationship with Carter and Gavin saw he wasn’t good for me. He was part of the reason I plucked up the courage and found the strength to get away from him, until things took a turn for the worst. In a way, he saved me, and I’ll always be grateful to him for that. We’ve worked together a lot over the years, and we’ve become firm friends.

  On my first morning on the bus, I found out that Nick and Gavin had been cast in ‘Rocked’ and Nick will be my leading man. Nick has been cast in the role of the band’s lead singer, Tripp Squire, and Gavin has been cast as the band’s manager, Elias Lincoln. Gavin Kincaid has been in the movie industry for over twenty-five years. He is average height at around five feet nine inches tall, his light brown hair is smattered with grey, he has dark steel-blue eyes and even at forty-six years old, he’s still handsome.

  "Gavin!" I say excitedly, and Brody's attention is piqued as he looks up from his Xbox battle with Jax.

  "Hello sweetheart, you're looking gorgeous as always! It's been a while!"

  He sweeps me up into one of his famous bear hugs and it takes everything in me not to burst into tears. Seeing Gavin after all this time is a little overwhelming.

  "It's been too long! And I told you before, flattery gets you everywhere, Kincaid! How have you been? How's Cleo?"

  Cleo is Gavin’s daughter, she is seventeen and being an only child, she is spoilt and definitely takes after her mother, Liberty Mitchell-Kincaid. Liberty Mitchell was a household name back in the early nineties. She made her fortune as a glamour model and was always photographed falling drunk outside nightclubs. She played up to the press and was known for her outrageous behaviour. She went on to sit on the panel of a late-night British chat show called ‘Girl Talk’ and met Gavin when she interviewed him. The interview went viral because the chemistry was off the charts hot and the attraction was obvious to millions of viewers. They went on to marry and soon after, Liberty became pregnant with Cleo.

  After eleven years of marriage and countless newspaper stories of infidelity, Gavin and Liberty divorced. The divorce was high profile, and she took him for a substantial amount of money, declaring him bankrupt a year later. Even though she has been married four times, Liberty seems to be very vocal and bitter about their relationship and is constantly mentioning him on ‘Girl Talk.’

  Gavin got his second chance, when he was cast in a popular quirky British cop show called ‘The Rozzers’ and has worked steadily on TV and movies ever since, clawing his way back to the popularity of his heyday.

  "Cleo is demanding as ever, darling, just like her mother!"

  I laugh, as Brody joins us, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close to his side. Is this what jealous Brody looks like? He is definitely staking his claim.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us, kitten?” He emphasises my pet name and smiles sweetly.

  I clear my throat and nod. Two can play that game, arsehole.

  “Yeah, sure, Gavin, this is Brody Hart, Brody, this is Gavin.”

  Gavin smiles and tries to get a read on the situation, looking from Brody to me.

  “Brody, pleasure to meet you, mate.”

  Brody reaches for Gavin’s hand and shakes it firmly. Talk about my dick is bigger than yours, for fucks sake. I’m getting whiplash from Brody’s mood swings. He’s spent most of the week avoiding me, and now an old friend comes into the picture, he’s acting like some sort of jealous lover. What the actual fuck?

  ***

  It’s been a couple of hours since Gavin and Nick arrived on the bus and for the first time since I’ve set foot on this bus, I feel claustrophobic. Everywhere I turn, I can feel his eyes blazing into me, everywhere I go, he's there. It's driving me insane. I'm going over my lines and highlighting parts which stand out for me. It's a process I developed in theatre school and it’s my method of learning my lines. It never fails, even after all these years.

  Every time I look up, I catch him staring at me. I must admit, it's quite a turn-on knowing he's watching me. I find myself playing up to the fact that he's watching. I push my glasses further up my nose and stretch dramatically, giving him a sneak peek at my flat stomach and the tattoo of a song lyric from The Script, which reads ‘Every day, every hour, turn the pain into power’ that extends up my ribs. I continue to go through my script, aware that his eyes are rigidly fixed on me. I cross my legs and give him a cheeky flash of my thigh, the other boys totally oblivious to me teasing their guitarist, quite so blatantly and openly. I stand up and make my way confidently to the bathroom, carefully avoiding contact with him. I go to open the door and he pushes me inside, crowding in behind me, flipping the lock, as he does.

  "Are you fucking enjoying teasing me, Raleigh?" he says tightly, and I feign ignorance.

  "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," I say nonchalantly, and he smiles wickedly.

  "We both know where playing games gets you, kitten," he challenges.

  "Where might that be?" I say innocently, knowing his answer will be far from innocent.

  "Beneath me, kitten. With you screaming my name so loud, even the neighbours will need a fucking cigarette.”

  Involuntarily, I moan softly at his statement.

  "Admit it, admit you want me, Raleigh, tell me," he growls as he pushes me against the sink.

  I can’t say a word, I’m speechless and so fucking turned on.

  "By all means, tease me all you want, it's just going to get you fucked."

  I close my eyes briefly and when I open them, his are blazing with pent up lust and frustration.

  "I want you, Brody and I’m tired of pretending I don’t," I manage to pant out as he lifts me up, causing me to yelp at the action and deposits me on the sink.

  He steadies me and pushes my legs apart, settling his body between them. He's so close I can feel his warm breath on my cheek, he smells faintly of beer and of something uniquely Brody. He gently tucks my hair behind my ear and leans in to kiss me deeply. His kiss takes my breath away, his split tongue, duelling with mine, softly licking, and caressing the inside of my mouth. I go lax against him and open my legs wider, giving him the opportunity to get closer. He reaches down and shifts my knickers to the side. It's at that moment I thank my inner vixen that I decided to wear a skirt. His long, callused finger swipes up my aching centre, as he pulls away from our game of tonsil tennis.

  "Fuck, you're soaked, is that all for me, kitten? Did you enjoy our voyeuristic little game? Did you get off on the fact that might have been caught teasing me?" he says seductively.

  "Yes!" I pant. "God yes, it made me wet," I admit, and he smiles like the cat that got the cream.

  He rewards me by pushing his finger inside me, building up a steady rhythm until he introduces another finger. I moan softly, aware that someone could possibly hear us.

  "Jesus, your pussy is gripping my fingers so tight right now," he says softly as his rhythm increases, driving me towards the big O.

  "Mmm," I hum softly.

  “Fuck, you feel so good.”

  I grip his shoulders to steady myself, as my orgasm rolls through me. He shushes me, as he pulls his cock free of his trousers.

  “I’m so fucking hard for you, kitten. You drive me fucking crazy, woman. Do you have any idea how difficult it’s been for me to stay away from you?” he admits shamelessly, and I smile.

  “So, you’ve missed me then?” I ask curiously, and he cocks his eyebrow.

  “I’ve missed your wet cunt, kitten,” he says crassly, hoping that the disappointment on my face isn’t visible to him. “Fuck, I need to be inside you,” he rasps seductively, and he runs the head of his cock through my slickness.

  The feeling of his piercing against my still sensitive clit, makes me want him, eve
n though the rational part of me knows I should walk away. But the rebel in me can’t seem to stay away from him. My thoughts are interrupted by Brody teasing my opening with the head of his cock, as he impales me on his impressive, waiting length. I gasp out loud and he puts his index finger to his lips.

  “Shhh, you need to be quiet. Or does it turn you on, knowing that everyone on the bus will know what we’re up to in here?”

  I trap my lip between my teeth, and he chuckles softly.

  “Ah, she’s thinking about it.”

  He gradually increases his pace and I’m writhing beneath him, aware that there’s hardly any space to move, but I don’t care, I’m basking in everything Brody Hart. He rubs his piercing against my inner walls, and I let out a strangled moan.