The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(24)

“I’m sharing an opinion,” Sam snapped. “As your manager, I am still entitled to one, right?”

“Chill the f*ck out, Sam,” Nikan said patting him on the shoulder. “You can tell us what you think, but it’s still our music to write and play.”

Lennon jumped up from his drum kit. “Need a piss, then food. In that order.”

The guys traipsed out until only Dred and Jordan were left.

“You thought anymore about that DNA test?” Jordan asked, placing his bass back in Dred’s rack.

“I still don’t believe it’s true. Maybe I’m still in denial.” Dred put his guitar away too. “I always wrap it up. It’s a f*cking cruel world if I am the one in a million it fails for.”

It was another reason to consider what he was doing with Pixie. He didn’t want to have the conversation with her about it. No, he needed to hope that he wasn’t the father and that this was all some elaborate hoax to extort money from him. He laughed to himself.

“What’s funny?” Jordan asked.

“Just thinking it would be better if this was a setup to get money, and how that felt like the better option.”

“Rock and a hard place,” Jordan said, sitting back on his stool. “You know what you got to do if this is true though, right?”

“Jordan, I can’t think about—”

“I’m not discussing. I’m stating. If that baby is yours, you owe it to him or her, and all of us, to give it a better start than we had.”

Dred gripped his anchor. Took a deep breath, or seven. “What kind of parent would I be? My mom f*cking OD’d in my arms and I did nothing to help her. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

Dred closed his eyes and gripped the anchor harder. He thought of the day they got their record deal. When Schecter offered to sponsor the tour. Their first apartment with two bedrooms on the Danforth. Pixie kissing him backstage. The look in Pixie’s eyes when she looked at him. Good things in his life. His breathing slowed, his heart rate decelerated.

“I have no clue where to begin,” he said calmly. “I wasn’t able to look after my mom. I sure as shit can’t look after a kid.”

Jordan stood and walked over. “You won’t lock them in a room to freeze and starve. You aren’t a junkie who only cares about the high. You won’t abandon them if you have issues out of your control. You won’t slit your wrists in front of them. And you sure as f*ck won’t abandon the kid to . . . well, you won’t. And we won’t let you.”

Jordan slapped him on the arm, then left the studio.

Their lives had been a crapshoot, but somehow they functioned as adults. Jordan was right.

Dred went back to his guitar rack and pulled his favorite acoustic from its spot. There was no make or model on it. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure it wasn’t handmade. He remembered the day he’d returned from school and found it in his room, lying there on the bed. A gift from Maisey. It made him suspicious. No one had ever bought him a gift before. Not on Christmas, or his birthday, and especially not in the middle of March for no apparent reason.

The guitar was tuned, and he strummed the opening chords to the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Under the Bridge.” The lyrics had spoken to him at a time nothing else did.

What kind of man was he? That he could contemplate not finding out whether this baby was actually his? Shit. Even learning the mom’s name hadn’t helped him figure out which of the nameless and faceless women he’d slept with in the last year she was. And Pixie, sweet f*cking angel that she was. She deserved a better man. Perhaps he should cancel her trip.

Who was he kidding? He’d take the time to see her this one weekend, and no matter how badly he wanted to, he’d keep his dick in check.

Then he’d pull away.

*

Pixie tightened her brakes, pulling her bike to a stop outside the back of the studio and removed her helmet. Ninety minutes until opening and a long to-do list awaited her inside. Chaining the bike to the metal railing, she went through the things she wanted to get done before everyone else arrived.

She grabbed her helmet and walked to the door. There were three locks, and she systematically unlocked them all. Warm air washed over her as she stepped inside.

A sudden shove sent her tripping into the hallway near the kitchen. The door to the studio closed with a slam. Pixie gathered her wits and pulled out her phone. She managed to dial nine-one-one but didn’t have time to press send before her attacker stepped into view.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you Sarah-Jane. Go turn the alarm off.”

Arnie. He was here. In the shop. Her fingers hovered over the one. The beeping of the alarm continued. Self-preservation first. “What are you doing here?” She glanced up at the security cameras they’d installed after Harper, Trent’s fiancée, had been abducted.

“Go turn the alarm off,” he repeated.

Should she? Or should she let it go, let the police come?

“Turn it off, Sarah-Jane. Remember, you aren’t necessarily the one who gets hurt if you don’t do as I say.”

Her mom. He always threatened her mom. The mom who always took his side. Part of her wished she didn’t care quite so much.

Quickly, she hurried over and entered numbers into the keypad. She glanced at the photo next to the alarm. Opening day, just the four of them, before Eric joined. No. She’d worked too hard in recovery and here to have it blown apart by Arnie and his threats.