The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos) (22 page)

“What did you find?” He hated himself for asking. “Never mind. I need Pixie to want to tell me.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Dred reclined in his chair. He was back with the question he’d been pondering all night, but now, he had a plan formulating. He could only pray it was going to work.

One question haunts and hurts . . . too much, too much to mention.

Maybe it was her frame of mind, but Pixie could have sworn Elphaba was talking to her this morning. She grabbed her steaming mug of coffee off the counter and wandered out onto the balcony. It was warm, and the cloudless sky and brilliant sunshine promised a perfect day. Summer was finally in Miami, even if it was technically still spring. Leaning up against the balcony, she closed her eyes and breathed in the salty air. Never in all the hours she’d spent in her mom’s trailer had she imagined she’d live somewhere so luxurious. There would come a day when she’d have to leave this building—after all, she didn’t have a granny with a couple of Jackson Pollocks to spare—but she’d treasure every moment she could.

“Hey, Pixie,” Lia said, joining her. “It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

Pixie lifted her face to the sun, and let it wash over her. “Mmm-hmm.”

They stood in a peaceful silence, until Lia sighed, and Pixie opened one eye in her direction. “Mornings like this, I wish I had someone special to eat breakfast with out here . . . oh wait, that’s pretty insensitive—”

Pixie chuckled. For the first time in days, she could feel bubbles of laughter work their way out, and before she knew it, Lia was laughing with her. She threw her arm around her best friend. “Thank you, Lia.” She gasped between bursts. “I needed that.”

“Glad I could be of service. I gotta go, I’ll see you later. Don’t forget, we have Cujo’s big surprise tonight.”

“How could I forget?” Drea’s surprise for Cujo was to let him tattoo her.

She’d gone to Trent with the idea of booking an appointment under another name, to ask him what he thought. Everyone knew Drea had been pretty anti-ink. But the death of her mom had brought about a huge change in Drea, and now she wanted her boyfriend to tattoo a rose in memorial of Rosa on her shoulder. Cujo was going to freak out in a seriously crazy way when he found out.

“I’ll see you later,” Lia said.

Pixie watched Lia leave and then wandered back into the condo. She set about making breakfast until the phone she’d set on the counter vibrated.

The sight of his name on the screen made her stomach cartwheel. Dred wanted a video call. Pixie wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans and pressed accept, expecting to find Dred, not an adorable little baby snoozing in a little recliner. And expecting to hear Dred, but instead, she could swear . . . yep . . .
I’ve heard it said, that people come into our lives for a reason . . .
That was most definitely “For Good” from
Wicked
.

A hand snuck into the shot to hold a card in front of Petal. On it was black messy handwriting.

MY DAD IS STUPID . . .

The card was removed, and another was placed in front of Petal.

SOMETIMES HE ACTS BEFORE THINKING . . .

The process repeated itself, as Petal dozed on.

SOMETIMES HE RUNS INSTEAD OF STAYING . . .

SOMETIMES HE’S SCARED AND DOESN’T KNOW WHY . . .

SOMETIMES HE WISHES HE’D FIND . . .

SOMEONE WHO WOULD LOVE HIM LIKE I DO . . .

I POOP A LOT TO SHOW HIM JUST HOW MUCH! !

Tears started to burn her eyes, but Pixie wiped them away quickly, scared of missing a message. Petal hadn’t moved, clearly still fast asleep in her little pink onesie that said
Rock Royalty
on the front.

HE’S SORRY HE DIDN’T STAY AND LISTEN . . .

HE’S SORRY HE LEFT YOU ALONE . . .

HE WANTS TO LISTEN TO YOU . . .

BUT HE CAN’T COME TO YOU . . .

BECAUSE OF ME . . .

I DON’T HAVE A PASSPORT . . .

The card held what looked like twenty attempts to take a passport photograph. Pixie laughed through her tears.

SO PLEASE COME SEE US . . .

TOMORROW. . . .

The card was removed but not replaced, just as Elphaba sang about asking for forgiveness for the things she’d done.

“Hey, Snowflake,” Dred said roughly as he the camera panned to his face. “Have you met my daughter, Petal?” He coughed to clear his throat.

Pixie bit her lower lip and breathed deeply. She shook her head and wiped the tears threatening to leak.

Dred looked tired. His hair was tied back off his face. She’d missed the gold flecks in his eyes, missed the way one side of his mouth lifted before the other when he smiled, she’d just all around missed him. He also had a puddle of what looked like spit-up on his shoulder.

“Your daughter’s beautiful,” she managed.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze shifting in Petal’s direction. “She is, isn’t she?” He studied her for a moment, then looked back at the camera. “I’m sorry, Pix. With every part of me, I regret behaving like a complete asshole. I should have listened and not stormed off like a jerk. You deserved so much more than that. But I’m here, and I want to know. Can you tell me about it?”

Pixie walked over to the couch and sat down. “I was thirteen when Arnie, who is my stepdad, came to live with us. He was a small-time dealer in Pahokee. The trailer was never big enough for the three of us. Slowly but surely, Mom started to use. Recreational at first, but over the course of the year she was using almost daily.” She looked at Dred’s concerned face, wishing they were having this conversation face-to-face. “I was fourteen when he first threatened to kill my mom if I didn’t sit on a stool with my sundress wide open so he could jerk off while looking at me.”

“
Fuck,”
Dred mumbled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Snowflake. If I’d known, I would have crushed the fucker where he stood. Did he . . .
Shit.
Did he . . . sexually assault you?”

Pixie shook her head. “No. And yes. He was a voyeur. And he got off on embarrassing me. He’d make me sit and watch porn with him at fifteen.” The tears came, but it was useless trying to stop them. “Sometimes he’d touch me inappropriately or get me to stand naked and read stories to him. Shit. I’ve had years of therapy, but things still get tangled in my head when I think about it.”

“Tying your wrists?” Dred asked.

“Yeah. He’d do that, but I’d fight sometimes, especially when he invited his friends to watch. One day, he forced me to take two pills. I had no idea what they were, but when they kicked in, I could escape. Nothing mattered. I could slip away from what was happening and pretend I was something or someone all together different. Then next time, he didn’t need to force me to take them. Eventually I started to ask for them. At the time, I thought it was one of the only things I was in control of, but I realized in rehab it was pure addiction.”

They sat in silence for a while, Pixie lost in her thoughts, Dred obviously trying to process everything she was telling him.

“There’s something else. He was trying to blackmail me. I’ve never told anyone the why. Not my therapists, not Trent and Cujo, my sponsor kind of guessed, but you need to know.”

“I’m here, Snowflake. And I really wish I was fucking there with you right now.” He glanced toward Petal.

Strangely, Pixie felt her confidence building. They were going to come through the other side of it if Dred could accept the one fact she still hadn’t told him. “I wanted out. The day before my sixteenth birthday I had packed a bag, planning to run the next day because school would no longer care if I showed up or not. That night, Arnie had some of his friends over. They were playing poker. He told me to sit on my stool like a good girl. The pot was larger than I had ever seen. Arnie played dealer. When the last player went out, and only Brewster, a friend of Arnie’s, was left, Arnie split the pot in half. He gave half to Brewster, and then walked over to me, told me to open wide. I looked between Brewster and Arnie. I just knew. I was the prize. I shook my head, but Arnie forced my head back and dropped powder into my mouth. I couldn’t spit it out. It stuck to my gums and coated my tongue.

He looked at Brewster, and told him to give it a minute, and walked out of the trailer.”

Dred leapt to his feet and started to pace. It was hard to focus on the screen as the background bobbed about. She saw him reach for the anchor he always pulled on, but it wasn’t there.

“Come to me, Pix. I spoke to Trent this morning. He said you could fly up here tomorrow morning. I’ll get you on the early flight. Please, come be with me, and little-miss-poopy-pants over there. We’re a package deal now.”

She took a deep breath. The hardest part. “There’s one more thing. I—”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is. We need to talk some more. And we have enough shit to deal with to fill the SkyDome twice over. But let’s deal with it together.”

“Dred . . . I killed Brewster.”

* * *

Dred walked to the living room window and looked out onto the street. Nothing. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and checked the time of Pixie’s text message telling him she was in the limo he’d booked for her and was on her way from the airport. Tapping his fingernails on the windowsill, he calculated the time to get to the house, and by his reckoning, he still had seven more minutes to wait.

How did he feel knowing she killed someone?
Her revelation was shocking, but he felt relieved. Relieved that her stepdad and the asshole he did the poker deal with hadn’t been able to rob her of the one thing she’d held sacred for so many years. The fact that someone had to die for the violations committed against her was a trade-off he’d make over and over.

They’d talked for another two hours. Eventually Petal woke and wouldn’t be pacified until she’d been fed. But before then, he told her about his mom, about the way she died. And about Amanda. Pixie had shared her escape to Miami and how she’d been mugged and lost all her money. She’d told him about the decision to sleep in the doorway of an old store, shaking and nauseated, and of being woken by two of the largest men she’d ever met. He’d never felt more like an idiot when she explained that the man in the photograph he’d seen the day he’d left Miami was actually her sponsor. Her much older, married sponsor. He’d asked her to not believe what she read in the press, yet he’d done exactly that at the first opportunity he was given.

The more he learned, the more he respected Trent and Cujo. The truth was, he’d never had any decent male role models in his life. Trent and Cujo were real. Genuine. Dred’s confidence was part mask and he knew it. He wanted to be more like them. Less broken, more solid. If only he knew how to get there.

The love he felt for Pixie was overwhelming, but it was going to take more than a kiss and make-up sex to solve their personal issues. For once, his money could be used for something meaningful. The best therapists in the world came at a price, but they both still clearly needed help—and lots of patience and time.

Silence surrounded him like a fog. Petal was out of the house with Jordan and Lennon. They’d left in Lennon’s tinted-window Land Rover with a plan to drive out to the West End to take Petal for a walk along Lakeshore then stop by the Cheese Boutique in Swansea to pick up dinner. The diaper bag had been filled with multiple spare outfits, enough diapers to bail out the
Titanic,
and several bottles of formula. Nikan and Elliott had left before breakfast, deciding to go visit friends over in Newmarket. Everyone’s foot was off the gas, their equipment sat unused in the studio. It had been a couple of days since they’d recorded anything new. Their energy and inspiration were running on empty.

He’d looked out of the window again, regretting his decision to not collect Pixie in person. As much as he wanted to do the whole standing in arrivals with flowers and shit, the paparazzi had been driving him insane since news of Petal’s arrival and Amanda’s death. It had been Pixie who had insisted on meeting him at the house.

He checked the time on his phone, went through the math again. She should pull in any minute.

Dred looked around the living room. The house was spotless and flowers littered the place. Perhaps he’d gone overboard, but what the fuck did he know about dating, or what had Ellen called it? Wooing. Who the hell said “wooing” anymore? Whatever its name was, he was likely shit at it, but flowers seemed easy enough, even if the florist had stared at him in shock when he told her his budget.

He felt like a raccoon on ice, his emotions slipping and sliding all over the place.

The black town car pulled up to the gate and buzzed. “Motherfucker.” Dred fumbled for his phone in an attempt to open it quickly.

By the time the car came to a stop in front of the house, Dred was already outside. He yanked the car door wide open, and Pixie got out.
Fuck, she’s lovely.
He stepped forward and cupped her face gently. “I missed you,” he whispered, staring intently into her whiskey-colored eyes.

Simply holding her made all the locks inside him click into place. He’d been such a dick to her, and yet here she was, giving him another chance when he didn’t really deserve one.

Pixie stepped up onto his toes, and he shifted his hands to grab her around the waist. And yes, while he wanted to whisk her inside to the warmth of his bed, he was willing to stand and simply stare into her eyes that were telling him a story all their own.

“I missed you, too,” she said softly.

Their lips met, and the feeling was indescribable. A combination of coming home, of being the luckiest man alive, of gratitude, of lust and love.

The driver coughed discreetly, and Dred pulled away from her. “I placed your cases in the hall, Miss.”

“Thank you,” Pixie replied, and Dred was grateful, because the lump in his throat solidly blocked anything he wanted to say.

The limo reversed slightly, then exited through the gates. Dred took her hand and led her inside, through the house, and into his bedroom.

“Let me make this right, Snowflake,” he said driving his hands into her hair. “Let me show you how sorry I am.” He took her lips, and groaned as she welcomed him.

While she looked cute in the black trench, getting her out of it was tougher than removing a straightjacket. Belt. Fucking fiddly little buttons. “Goddamn. I’m buying you a new coat.”