The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(31)

“Fuck, yes. Of course. The band . . . they’re my brothers in every way that matters.” Dred cupped her cheeks and studied her intently. “Nothing will happen to you. You have my word.”

Memories of sitting on that damn stool flooded her. Arnie had planned to go fishing with two friends, but first he’d invited the men she didn’t know into the trailer. They’d stood laughing as he exposed her to them and then calmly braided her long hair. Yeah. Was it any wonder she’d needed drugs to get through it?

Pixie shook the memories away. “Don’t let me down.”

Dred kissed the inside of her wrist. Unexpected, yet heartbreakingly appropriate.

“Never,” he said with a grin. “I’d love to take you on a full tour, but we don’t have time. We have reservations in an hour and a half.”

He grabbed her case and led her upstairs. The house seemed to split on the upper floors almost like an apartment building. Each door had a lock, but they were mostly open.

“This is Elliot and Lennon’s floor,” Dred said walking toward the second flight of stairs. “Nikan is over there,” he said, pointing to a door on the right as they reached the landing. “Jordan has the attic, and I am right here.”

He pushed open the door to what looked like a spacious bachelor apartment and placed her case on a large bed. A brown sofa sat in the large bay window with a small coffee table in front of it. Several guitars hung from hooks on the wall, and an electronic piano sat beneath them. Cables ran from the keyboard to a laptop on a black desk, where speakers and what looked like a mixing board where almost hidden by piles of sheet music.

It looked like a super high-end dorm and didn’t really match Dred at all. He seemed too big, too uncomfortable in the space, even though it was his room.

“Fuck. This was a bad idea,” Dred mumbled as she looked around.

She turned to face him, but the look on his face stole the words from her mouth. He looked wrecked. Broken.

“There’s a bathroom through there. We need to leave in an hour. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Without waiting for an answer, he left the room and slammed the door behind him, taking Pixie’s feelings of safety with him.

*

Watching a deflated Pixie push Tabülè around her plate, Dred was fully aware it was his fault.

Despite his best intentions, seeing her in his room buried any ideas he had about their future. At least for the time being. How could he expect her to fly all this way to see him to stay in a bedroom in a shared house? Granted, the architect who’d worked on the conversion for them had ensured every individual space was at least a thousand square feet, but still. He had roommates. And for the first time, it seemed really f*cking weird.

He’d never leave Jordan. There was no way Jordan would ever feel alone again, and if that meant living with the dude until they were old and gray, so be it. But how on earth could he explain that to Pixie? What words could possibly express the bond they had?

This was why he avoided relationships. Or at least that was what he’d told himself over the years. Staring at Pixie as she reached for her wine glass, he realized the reason was a whole lot more complex than that. He honestly didn’t feel like he was worthy of her. She was so f*cking special, and he gave her a bedroom in a shared house.

Tabülè, the Middle Eastern restaurant on Queen Street was one of his favorites. Everything from the ma’anek, the spicy Lebanese sausages, to the tawük, skewers of seasoned chicken, was so good, he always ordered way more than he could eat, yet neither of them was enjoying the food.

Fuck. He pulled on his anchor until the clasp at the back cut into his neck.

“I’m sorry, Pix.”

She looked over to him, her hazel eyes wide yet lacking their usual sparkle. In that off-the-shoulder top, all he could think about was nibbling his way along her collarbone.

“What happened? Why did you get mad?” Pixie put her knife and fork down.

“Because I do sometimes. Walking away to cool down is better than destroying what’s in front of me. I was disappointed.” Crushingly so. Because impressing Pixie seemed more than important. It was crucial. And less than two kilometers away, north of Bloor, he owned his dream home. Yet the Bay Street CFO he currently rented it to was living his own perfect family life in it.

“Why were you disappointed?”

“I wanted you to enjoy being here with me, in the hope I could convince you to come here again. Instead, I take you to the grown-man equivalent of a frat house. A f*cking expensive, twelve-thousand-square-foot building that always felt like home until you were in it. Then I wanted to be somewhere else with you. And that’s f*cking selfish.”

Dred sighed. They should call it a night, maybe order pizza.

She held his hands. “Something really bad happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“To you?”

“To all of us.”

Pixie nodded. “Do you still want me here?”

“Yes. But if I had half a brain, I’d put you on the next flight home.” He attempted a smile.

“Well.” Pixie made some weird gesture with her hands, like she was opening a magazine. “This is an invisible worry box. All those things on your mind, put them in there.”

“Pix, I’m not—”

“Now. Please.” Pixie sat a little straighter, head tilted, and pierced him with her glare.