Redemption (Tattoos & Tears - Brody Book 1) Page 21

  I am so fucking angry; I just want to hurt her the way she’s hurting me right now. I don’t want to hurt her in a physical way, I think men who hurt women deliberately are fucking weak pieces of shit. Men like Stefan fucking Lavelle.

  “You don’t mean that. I just want you to be happy with Raleigh, Brody. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you is for you to be happy with someone that’s not me, someone who can love you the way you deserve. I’m sorry, but this is goodbye.”

  Her voice wavers, kissing me fondly on the cheek and leaving the room before I get to protest.

  FUCCCKKK!

  Raleigh

  After my tearful therapy session with Maverick, Cliff drives me back to the makeshift movie set that has been purpose built, in the centre of Greenwich. I’m now sat in the make-up trailer waiting to be called onto set for the days filming when Nick walks in.

  “You’re looking particularly hot today, love,” he says matter-of-factly, and I smile at his openness.

  I’m wearing a pair of tight leather hot pants, a black denim vest, black fishnets, and a pair of black patent Doc Martens. He looks delicious and devilishly sinful today, he’s dressed in his costume for our day of filming. He is wearing a pair of tight leather trousers that look like they’ve been sprayed on, a tight white vest, which shows off his muscles and his tattoos and a pair of leather spiked biker boots.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself, Slade.”

  He chuckles softly. “So, how are you and the rock star?”

  I blush at his question and lean back in my chair, sighing audibly. “We’re…great, thanks.”

  He rolls his eyes dramatically and I take a welcome sip of my morning coffee. My elixir for the soul.

  “Are you going to be like Sam and Peyton? Vomit-inducingly in love with constant public displays of affection?”

  I almost choke on my coffee and Nick laughs.

  “I take that as a yes! Dear God, I don’t think I can take anymore!” he groans animatedly.

  “I’m fucking sick of being a sad, lonely singleton, love,” he admits, leaning heavily back in his make-up chair.

  I reach for his hand and squeeze it in a gesture of reassurance. We’ve become close over the past month and I hope we can stay friends after filming ends. He sighs and I sense that he wants to say more.

  “Something on your mind, babe?” I ask thoughtfully, and he leans his head back, staring at the ceiling.

  He keeps a firm grip of my hand.

  “I suppose you’ve seen that ridiculous reality show they’ve pushed me into? Let’s find Nick Slade a wife? I can’t think of anything worse to be honest, love.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

  “I don’t want a fucking wife! When are they going to get that into their thick fucking skulls!” he barks sharply, and I flinch.

  What the fuck, Storm? You’re not that weak willed, down trodden, punch bag anymore. Get your shit together! I begin to think he doesn’t notice until he realises his error.

  “I apologise, love, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.” His voice filled with concern. I shake my head and dismiss him with a wave of my hand, trying to bring a light-hearted tone to the conversation, which has taken a serious turn.

  “It’s fine, don’t apologise, I get you’re frustrated. Being in the public eye sucks. Hey Raleigh! Smile! Hey Raleigh, show us your tits! Hey Raleigh, don’t date the rock star, it’s bad for publicity! I’ve heard it all, babe, it’s fucking tiring!”

  I laugh, but he looks as if he’s about to burst into tears. “I can’t do it anymore, Raleigh, I can’t. I can’t keep up this ridiculous fucking façade any longer!”

  I look puzzled. What the fuck is he talking about? Has he completely lost his mind?

  “I’m in love with Lucas Landon! I always have been! Always fucking will be! There! I’ve said it, it’s out in the open! Halle-fucking-lujah!”

  My eyes widen and he laughs lightly, as if a weight has suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. Lucas Landon? What the actual fuck?

  “As in, Axeman Lucas Landon? Rancid Vengeance Lucas Landon? Mysterious, shy American boy?” I say almost incredulously, and he smirks.

  “Don’t look so shocked, love! I’ve been in love with him for years, it’s just taken me until now to admit it to myself. My agent, Chas, bless her heart, she’s pushing for this God-awful reality show. Apparently, if the world finds out that I’m a raving homosexual, my career will be over, I’ll lose fans and my brand will be in tatters. That’s the only reason she’s pushing for it, she’s got my best interests at heart, she always has, God love her. I love her to death, but she’s becoming quite insistent, I don’t know if someone’s had a word in her ear, but something doesn’t add up. She’s never pushed for anything, in all of the years she’s been my agent, she’s never been this…forceful before.”

  He explains and I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Nick Slade is gay, and he’s in love with Lucas Landon from Rancid Vengeance. I want to ask questions, I want to probe him and ask him why, when, what and how, but I hold back. It’s none of your fucking business, you nosey cow and you are not your mother.

  “I can hear the cogs turning, love,” he says with amusement to his voice.

  “It’s just…you and Lucas, I’m stunned! Both of you, don’t seem the type!”

  He laughs melodically, “I’m very good at what I do. I can convince the world into thinking I’m this charming, English bachelor, when the reality is the complete opposite. I’m not attracted to other men, it’s just… him, just Lucas, no one else. I’m not gay, I’m not even bisexual, I don’t expect anyone to get it, because I don’t get it myself half the time, but it’s about time I admitted it to myself, I’ve been hiding it for long enough.”

  I smile sympathetically and lean back in my chair, desperate to know more.

  “How did you meet?” I ask curiously and he smiles softly at the memory.

  “I knew Lucas from years ago, way before I knew the rest of the guys. When I was just starting out in the movie business, I’d just been in Chelsea Smile and that was a huge success. It was gaining a reputation as critically acclaimed and off the back of that, I was cast in a film that Lucas’ Uncle, Kyle Landon directed. Kyle was the first person in Hollywood that didn't look at me like I was something he'd trodden in. He’s an absolute gent, a true saint among men, I’ve got so much respect for him. This is the guy who hired homeless guys as extras in his films and gave them places to live afterwards. Anyway, I digress. Lucas was in L.A visiting Kyle because he’d got some time in between tours so he came over for a few weeks. It was my first day on set, I was nervous as hell and I’d been throwing up all morning, not because I was ill, just purely through nerves. I really wanted to make a good impression on Kyle and I just wanted to do a great job on the film, I wanted to build my reputation. At that point, I didn’t feel like I’d earned my position. I just happened to be this talented, young actor from England, who had just got lucky.”

  I listen raptly to his story, fascinated by his vivid recollection.

  “I was in the trailer, throwing my guts up, when the door swings open, no knock and there he was, just standing there casually, looking like this fucking statuesque, tanned God. He was wearing a pair of Hawaiian print board shorts and a white vest top, which emphasized his tattoos and his muscles. He was wearing flip flops and a pair of Armani sunglasses perched on top of his head. I think by that point, I was just dry heaving. He’s still just standing there, silent. I’m wondering what the fuck he’s doing here and why he’s just standing there. I finally stop dry heaving, get to my feet, and wash my hands. He catches my stare in the mirror and his eyes are so intense, I clear my throat and ask can I help you; he leans casually back against the wall.

  By this point I’m wondering if he’s mute, or deaf, a bit of a creep, or just plain dumb. I brush my teeth; aware I’ve got puke breath, and he’s still not saying anything. After I’m done brushing my teeth, he just grabs me, pushes me against the wall and kisses me like
I’ve never been kissed before, he’s all manly and forceful and I find myself kissing him back, aware that it’s all kinds of wrong and anyone could walk in. He knocked the breath right out of me, I’m gripping his biceps and he’s just kissing me like his life depends on it. After he finishes kissing me, he finally looks up at me and introduces himself in this soft, cool American accent, which drips sex and mystery. I’m Lucas, Kyle’s nephew. Then it’s my turn to just stand there with my mouth wide open, staring at him.

  After that, we’d just meet up when our schedules allowed for sex and to spend time together. We became really close; I’d find myself telling him things I’d never told anyone before. It was refreshing, it was new and the more time we spent together, the harder I was falling for him. He was all I could think about, for months. I told him I was falling for him and he backed off completely. We still meet up for sex on the odd occasion, but he’s distanced himself from me and I can’t stand it,” he admits, scrubbing his hand down his face and my heart breaks for him.

  I can totally identify with the hopeless and utterly devastating feeling of loving someone and that love not being reciprocated. Our moment is interrupted by the door to the make-up trailer swinging open, letting in the cool mid-morning breeze.

  “Good morning! How are we today? The agency we normally use for our make-up is short-staffed today, lovelies! So they’ve sent us a temp!”

  The tall, slender woman explains brightly and animatedly, while scribbling vehemently on the black clipboard she is holding in her hand. Her short black bob perfectly styled, and she is wearing black skinny jeans and a red vest top, teamed with matching red Converse. Nick and me look at each other, shrugging.

  “As long as they make us look fabulous there shouldn’t be a problem, darlin’.”

  Nick gives the woman a cheeky wink and I swear she fucking swoons. Charming bastard.

  The door to the trailer swings open again and a woman enters, she has skin the colour of café au lait, aquamarine eyes and red hair secured on top of her head with a black bandana. She is wearing a long black skirt, a bright canary yellow top with a bee on the front, which hangs off her shoulder and white Converse. Her step seems to falter when her eyes land on me. Strange.

  “Morning, I’m Lorna,” she introduces herself almost shyly in a soft Northern accent, but she can’t look me directly in the eye, which I find oddly unnerving.

  “Good morning, love! Nick, but I’m fairly sure you know that already, am I right?”

  He laughs, offering her his hand, and he kisses the back of it as she nods, fluttering her unusually long eyelashes at him. I roll my eyes at his flamboyant way and chuckle softly.

  “I’m going to have to watch you, I think, you charmer!” she jokes.

  Oh please! Spare me!

  “I was counting on it, sweetheart!” he winks.

  “Right, I’ll do your make-up first, if that’s ok with you?” she directs her question to him, and Nick nods.

  “I’m all yours, love.”

  He holds his hands out to the side and she sets to work on Nick’s make-up. Her and Nick are chattering idly. I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Brody.

  Can’t wait to see you! Missed you!

  R x

  Nick groans.

  “You’ve got that love-struck look on your face; I take it that’s the rock star?” he asks curiously with a roll of his eyes.

  I smirk, quickly stowing my phone away in my bra.

  “He’s coming home tomorrow; he’s been on tour,” I explain, as Lorna turns to me.

  “I thought I recognised you, you’re the woman Brody Hart from Rancid Vengeance has been photographed with?”

  I nod and she regards me with piqued interest. “Yeah, Raleigh Storm.”

  I offer her my hand and she takes it almost reluctantly.

  “Pleased to meet you, I’ve just done their make-up for a TV interview before I came here, they’re a handful those boys!”

  She chuckles, almost nervously and I don’t know what it is about her, but I find myself inexplicably on edge. Nick keeps shooting me sideward glances, as there is a knock on the door.

  “Come innnnn!” Nick says in a singsong voice.

  The door opens and Gavin walks in, I have to admit I’m more than a little relieved to see him.

  “Hello sweetheart!” he greets me in his familiar tone, and I find myself smiling.

  “Hey Gav!”

  He kisses me on the cheek and wraps his arms around me from behind.

  “Damien sent me here to get my make-up done.”

  He rolls his eyes, “why does a forty-six-year-old man need his bloody make-up done for?”

  I laugh at his reaction and turn my attention back to Lorna.

  “So, you know Brody then?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

  She continues touching up Nick’s make-up with smooth, even strokes.

  “We’ve met a couple of times,” she answers vaguely, busying herself with putting the finishing touches to Nick’s make-up. “How long have you been together?” she counters, and I can’t seem to get a read on her.

  “Just over four months, it’s been a whirlwind to say the least.”

  I chuckle softly. That’s a fucking understatement.

  “Wow! That’s so sweet! I heard you met in rehab?” she enquires, and it’s my turn to regard her intently and rather suspiciously.

  I wonder if she’s been planted here by the tabloids to get a potential story. I push that ridiculous thought to the back of my mind. Paranoid, much, Storm? Get a fucking grip!

  “Yeah, yeah we did, of all the places we could have met!”

  I laugh.

  “That’s a story to tell the grandkids!”

  She giggles and I frown. Those were the exact words Brody used when we left rehab. Who is this woman? Does she know Brody intimately? Did they used to date? I find myself too scared to ask.

  “Right, that’s Nick finished.”

  Nick looks in the mirror, admiring her handiwork and I have to admit he looks great. She’s emphasised his cheekbones and the eyeliner she has used brings out the colour in his eyes.

  “Fabulous, love!”

  He blows her a kiss and smiling, she turns to me.

  “Your turn!” she says a little too enthusiastically.

  Nick gets up, kissing me on the cheek.

  “See you on set, darling!” he says animatedly, as him and Gavin exit the trailer, leaving me alone with Lorna.

  She pulls out an unused make-up brush and sets about starting my make-up. She remains silent for a few minutes and the atmosphere is palpable and almost uncomfortable. I want to ask her the question that’s floating around in my already overactive mind, but I can’t seem to pluck up the courage. Every time I try, my tongue feels almost too big for my mouth and I can’t speak, it just comes out like incoherent, garbled gibberish. I bet she thinks I’m a total fucking idiot. I keep catching her gaze in the mirror, but she looks away swiftly, and it comes across as rather guilty.

  What the hell is wrong with you, Storm? Where’s the feisty, spunky kitten that Brody met in rehab? The ballsy girl who had a smart, quick-witted answer for everything? As I allow my mind to wander, I’m instantly transported back to the time Brody and I were in rehab.

  One Year Ago

  I slip into the room unnoticed and he’s looking delicious holding court with the other patients. He’s wearing a pair of black combat shorts, white Vans, and a white vest, which showcases his muscular arms and his vast tattoo collection. He looks particularly relaxed today and the sparkle in his eyes has returned. They’re all giggling at his jokes and fawning all over him, hanging on to his every word. His sense of humour and charm is shining so bright, it’s…temporarily dazzling. I want to hate him for swanning in with his blatant arrogance and his tattoos, but it seems to go deeper than that. I want to hate him for making me act wild and reckless. I was wild and reckless before rehab; I won’t be that girl. The new me is sensible, in bed before mi
dnight (mostly) and doesn’t get distracted by boys. EVER. Damn you, Brody Hart. He looks up from animatedly telling his story and his eyes lock on to mine, silencing his giggling fan club as they all turn towards me.

  “I’ll be back in a sec,” he announces to the group of three women, whose names I can’t recall.

  He brushes the one girls arm, and her gaze seems to hold his for longer than necessary. I feel a hint of jealousy creep into my consciousness, hands off him, bitch. Whoa! Where did that come from? Focus, Storm! He stands up and approaches me almost cautiously. I try desperately not to blatantly ogle him, as he saunters casually towards me.