Redemption (Tattoos & Tears - Brody Book 1) Page 8

  "Hello tiger," I smile, and he gives me a toothy grin in return.

  "Are you Uncle Bwody's girlfriend?"

  I am caught off guard by his question and I feel my face flush with embarrassment.

  "Erm...yeah Uncle Brody is my friend," I answer awkwardly, as he takes a moment to take in my answer.

  "Will you be my fwend too? This is Keef.”

  He waves his toy penguin in my direction and I chuckle.

  "Well, hello Keith, I'm Raleigh, and what might your name be, buddy?" I ask curiously.

  “Fweddie, my mummy and daddy is sleeping, shhh!"

  He puts his finger animatedly to his lips and I smile. This must be Sam and Peyton’s eldest son, Freddie.

  "Are you sure you should be out of bed, honey? It’s very late."

  He shakes his head guiltily and puts his arms out to me, gesturing for me to pick him up. I swing him up into my arms and I feel an overwhelming sense of wanting to take care of him. I've never been a huge fan of kids, but this kid, he's fucking adorable.

  "Let’s go and find your mummy shall we, handsome," I say softly as I pad down the corridor with him in my arms.

  "You've got pwetty hair and pwetty drawings like my mummy."

  He reaches up to idly play with my hair.

  "Why thank you," I beam and continue the walk down the corridor with him in my arms. He yawns dramatically and I chuckle to myself.

  "Is someone tired, soldier?"

  He nods, as I turn the corner and down the stairs, I find myself heading into the kitchen. I'm greeted by Brody, shirtless in loose fitting, grey jogging bottoms, which hang deliciously from his lean hips. He has a glass of milk on the counter behind him, and he is eating Nutella from the jar with his finger.

  "Hey kitten, I’m sorry, did I wake you?" he asks around a mouthful of Nutella. He smiles softly, as he takes in the sight before him. "And you mister, you're supposed to be in bed," he chastises softly as Freddie clutches onto my t-shirt and buries his head into my shoulder.

  "Sorry, I found him lurking outside your room, he’s adorable."

  Brody smirks, as he screws the lid back on the Nutella jar.

  "Yes, he is, and he has a habit of wrapping everyone around his little finger! Troublemaker!” He chucks Freddie’s chin, and he giggles mischievously. “And don't be sorry, babe, it suits you."

  He winks and my stomach unexpectedly flip flops, at the thought of carrying Brody's child. Where the fuck did that come from, Storm? You barely know him.

  "There you are, mummy's been looking for you, Freddie," a gentle, concerned, female voice says and we both turn to see Peyton. I set him down and he runs full pelt into Peyton's legs, almost knocking her off her feet. She lifts him up easily and swings him onto her hip.

  "What has mummy told you about getting out of bed and wandering off in the night, Freddie Bear?" she says tenderly. His bottom lip quivers and my heart melts.

  "It was my fault, I found him outside Brody's room," I offer almost guiltily, as she takes me in.

  "It's ok, honey, he's inherited his daddy's charm, unfortunately. Little heartbreaker, he's at that awkward stage."

  She rolls her eyes dramatically, as she explains, and she pinches Freddie’s nose playfully. Brody looks from me to Peyton, clearing his throat and smiling awkwardly. Peyton cocks her eyebrow curiously and Brody tries desperately to hold back his smirk.

  "We're going to head back to bed, sweets."

  She nods, with an amused look on her face. He kisses her on the forehead affectionately and kisses Freddie’s chubby cheek.

  "Night, sweets, night, night, sleep tight, troublemaker."

  He salutes, as he leads me back the way I came. He swats my bum, as he walks behind me, and I shriek.

  “Ready for round two, kitten?” he says seductively.

  “I’m sure I could be persuaded, handsome,” I counter.

  Who are you trying to fool, Storm? Round two is inevitable, along with falling for the unreachable rock star.

  9

  Brody

  I’m no good at early morning pleasantries, especially not before my first cup of steaming black coffee and definitely not before my morning workout. After a full forty minutes of sleep and a night of hot, nasty sex, with the Goddess that is, Raleigh Storm. I wake with a start and reach over to find a cold, empty space in my bed. Well fuck me running, this is a first, it’s usually me who just leaves without saying as much as a thanks for the fuck. I get out of bed, with a slightly bruised ego. I go about my usual morning routine and try to mentally prepare myself for my therapy session with Rick the Prick. I could do without this bullshit.

  One of the conditions of my release from rehab is that I still have to see Rick Delaney once a week. After the uneventful and silent journey, I find myself standing outside Rick’s London office, in the heart of Greenwich. I’m all sorts of edgy as I make my way into the building, flanked by Trey, one of our many bodyguards, who oddly looks like Jason Momoa.

  The receptionist greets me in an overly friendly manner and Rick steps out of his office, leaning casually against the doorframe, as Trey makes himself comfortable in the bright, but clinical reception area.

  “Good to see you again, Brody, mate,” he says in his familiar, annoying Mancunian accent. I’m not your mate, dick.

  Nodding curtly, I step into his office with my hands tucked coolly into my pockets. I sit down on the sofa and rub my hands together anxiously. Every time I set foot in this room, I feel twitchy and cluck desperately for a fix. Rick observes me with cautious eyes and picks up his navy leather notebook. After the usual bullshit introductions, he clears his throat and begins to speak.

  "So, we’ve touched upon this in our previous sessions, but I want to discuss it in more depth. Can you describe the dynamic between you and the other guys in the band?" he asks curiously, and I lean back in my seat, steepling my hands in front of my face.

  "What do you want to know that we haven’t already spoken about? Sam's the most dedicated one, he lives and breathes Rancid Vengeance. To an extent we all do, but Sam's level of dedication is ridiculous. He's the brooding hunk, the reformed bad boy, but he's got something else to live for now, his wife and his boys and I couldn’t be prouder of him, to be honest, he’s come a long way," I say fondly as Rick scribbles furiously in his notebook.

  After a few minutes of solid writing, he sets his pen down and looks up at me.

  "Have you ever harboured feelings towards Sam?" he asks warily.

  Where the fuck did that come from? Cheeky fucking prick.

  "Fuck no! Our relationship is purely platonic, he's like my brother, all of the boys are like my brother's. They’re the only family I’ve ever known. Mine and Sam's friendship, was toxic for years, I was a bad influence, we led each other astray, we weren't good together. He was my wingman, the guy who was always up for a cheeky line or three. After he met Peyton, it was different, he was different. I formed a bond with Peyton and that changed our friendship totally."

  He picks up his pen and I catch his eye. He thinks better of scribbling in his notebook and puts his pen in the top pocket of his black Lacoste polo shirt.

  "What’s your relationship like with Peyton?"

  I smile thoughtfully when I think of my best friend.

  "She's...amazing, she's one of my best friends, she gets me on a level, that no one else seems to. She hated me when we first met and I didn’t blame her, I won’t lie, I was a complete arsehole back then, but we bonded while we were on tour. We did shots and played a game of truth, we got to know each other, and we've been friends ever since. She’s the only woman I’ve been friends with that I haven’t wanted to fuck and it’s refreshing, ya know?" I explain as he smiles his Fox-like smile and I’m instantly transported back to that day on the bus.

  Four Years Ago

  I’m suitably buzzed after those cheeky lines of coke I’ve just snorted, and I feel like I could take on the fucking world! I’m zipping up my jeans as I come back from the toilet. W
e’re at Neon Nights, unwinding and having a few drinks after yet another epic show. I’m rubbing my forefinger underneath my nose and I sniff, as someone bumps head on into me. I catch her from falling and as I set her on her feet, I realise it’s Peyton. Fucking great. I feel about as thrilled as she does right now, and she looks up at me with big blue eyes, which look startled, like a rabbit caught in headlights.

  “Whoa! Where’s the fire, sweetheart?”

  I grin like a loon. Fucking hell, Hart, you could at least pretend you’re not high as shit right now. I clear my throat and she narrows her eyes on me. Fucking judgemental bitch.

  “Jesus Christ, you’re high,” she says, as if it’s a surprise to her.

  Fucking hell, are you really that naïve?

  “As a kite, babe!” I wink at her and tuck my hand into my pocket. Well, I may as well play up to it, once a junkie, always a junkie. “You didn’t answer my question, where’s the fire?”

  She rolls her eyes, as if my sheer presence is an inconvenience to her. Well, the feelings fucking mutual, sweetheart. I look at her again and notice her nose is bleeding. What the fuck happened to her?

  “You’re bleeding, babe, come on. Let me take you back to the bus and get you cleaned up.”

  She swipes her nose with the back of her hand, as I grab her arm and lead her towards the back exit. We step out into the cool night air and Skip drives us back to the o2 arena car park where the bus is parked. I spend the journey silently looking out of the window, uninterested in the woman sitting next to me, who can’t get further away from me. She’s practically squished against the window. Fuck me, why does she have to be such a bitch. From the corner of my eye, I see her start to shake uncontrollably in the back of the car. Shit that was unexpected.

  “Hey, I’ve got ya, sweets,” I say softly and scoot closer to her, pulling her into an awkward side hug.

  I have this overwhelming urge to protect her, as I drape my arm around her. She narrows her eyes at me, and I smirk at her reaction. I do have the ability to be a nice guy, on occasion.

  “Not that I care, but Sam would kick my arse all over the bus for letting you bleed everywhere,” I say indifferently and sniff.

  “God, do you have to be such a prick?” she hisses, with an irritated tone to her voice.

  “It’s all part of my charm, babe.”

  Skip parks the car and makes his way over to the bus. He checks the bus for unwanted guests, and when he deems it safe, he nods curtly. We step out of the car and onto the tour bus. I lead her to the sofa and sit her gently down.

  “I’ll be right back; I think Lex has a first-aid kit here somewhere.”

  I head off down the bus. Fuck me, this night took an unexpected turn. I should be getting shit-faced right now, balls deep in some random groupie. Fuck this, if she’s going to insist on ruining my night, I’m at least having a few drinks. I rummage around in the kitchen area; I know I had an emergency bottle of Jack here somewhere. I find it hidden at the back of the cupboard, grab the first aid kit from the drivers cab on the way and go back with two shot glasses. I put the bottle of Jack Daniels on the table and set the first-aid kit down next to it. I sit down casually on the table in front of her and I’m inches away from her. She’s fucking gorgeous and definitely Sam’s type, but I don’t want to fuck her, which is a surprise. Any holes a goal and all that. I flip open the first-aid kit, taking out some antiseptic wipes and some cotton wool. I quirk my eyebrow and look at her regarding me intently.

  “Are you not familiar with the concept of personal space?” she says wryly, and I laugh out loud.

  She’s feisty, I’ll give her that. I move closer to her, mostly just to piss her off.

  “You really don’t like me very much, do you?” I observe casually.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like you,” she states matter-of-factly, and I raise my eyebrows. I don’t believe that for one fucking second.

  “So, there’s hope for me yet?”

  I wink cheekily and she rolls her eyes. I choose that moment to swipe the antiseptic wipe under her nose and her eyes start to water instantly.

  “Ouch.” She winces and I puff out my cheeks. Fuck me, this is going to be a long night.

  “Are you always such a baby?” I say wryly, as she hits me on the arm, and I stifle my laughter.

  “You could at least be a little gentler,” she grumbles and if I’m not mistaken, she pouts.

  I hold my hands up in defence.

  “OK, I’ll be gentle, I promise, scout’s honour.” I salute as I gently clean the blood from her nose with the antiseptic wipe. “By the looks of it, you had the pleasure of being introduced to the delightful Miss Hudson?”

  I laugh. The tenacious Miss Lyla Hudson, Sam’s fucking crazy ex-girlfriend. The less said about that psycho bitch, the better.

  “Why didn’t he tell me about her before? Surely, you were all aware I knew nothing about who she was.”

  I shrug. Fucking hell, I should be charging by the hour for this shit. Since when have I become Jeremy bastard Kyle?

  “Look, babe, I’m not interested in yours and Sam’s proclivities, sexual or otherwise. If he wanted you to know, it was down to him to tell you. Personally, I don’t give a shit, it’s always been bros before hoes, that’s just the way it is, darlin’. I know I come across as an arrogant prick, because, well, I guess I just am, but he’s turned into a cockless wonder since he met you. We used to have fun before you came along, he was my best mate, we shared women, we took drugs, and every night was a party.”

  She wanted the truth; I’m giving it to her both fucking barrels. Jesus Christ, I need another few cheeky lines if I’m going to deal with this bullshit, my buzz is starting to wear off. I stand up, throwing the antiseptic wipe in the bin, and go to the sink to wash my hands. I’m a regular Florence fucking Nightingale.

  As I go back to the living area, she’s pouring us both shots of Jack Daniels, and I push the shot onto her side of the table. We both down them at the same time, and she grimaces.

  “I know you think I’ve taken your best friend away from you, but it doesn’t have to be that way. I don’t want us to be enemies, Brody. Look, I know what happened to your mum, and I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through—”

  I stop her by holding my finger up, my eyes widening. What the actual fucking fuck?

  “Wait, Sam told you about that?”

  She nods, and I pour us both a second shot of Jack, trying to get my head around why Sam would spout my personal business to someone he’s just fucking.

  “Motherfucker! He had no fucking right; it wasn’t his story to tell,” I yell.

  She reaches for my hand and I let her. She squeezes it in a gesture of reassurance, and it feels oddly comforting.

  “Brody, it’s OK to talk, I’m a good listener, and I’m actually kind of starting to like you. You’ve shown me a different side of you tonight. You didn’t have to take care of me, but you did, and I’m grateful for that.”

  She smiles, and I knock back my drink. Maybe she’s not actually that bad, plus I think the alcohol is giving her the courage to open up to me a little more.

  “Let’s play a game, if you’re up for it?” I declare, changing the subject and hoping she doesn’t notice.

  She knocks back her drink and I find myself smiling at her determination, knowing full well she’s enjoying my company as much as I’m enjoying hers.

  “OK, I’m up for it.”

  I take a seat next to her and cross my legs at the ankle, pouring us more shots.

  “Let’s play a little truth or dare game.”

  She nods in agreement. This is going to be fun.

  “Here are the rules, if you choose truth, you have to take a shot.”

  I set the rules, and she leans back, taking her heels off. She tucks her legs underneath herself and leans back in her seat, making herself comfortable.

  “You start.”

  “Truth.”

  I knew she’d choose truth
. Pussy. I point to the shot glass, and she takes her shot.

  “OK, has Sam fucked you in the arse yet?” I ask and the expression on her face is fucking priceless, as she almost chokes on her drink. “Using the whole ‘I want to be the first and last man back here’.”

  I put on Sam’s deep voice and I can’t help it. She’s so easy to wind up. I know I’m being a complete bastard, but I can’t seem to help myself, she’s such a prissy little Princess. She pauses and honestly, she looks like someone just murdered her puppy. I throw my head back and burst out into hysterical laughter. Sam Newbolt, you dirty fucking dog!