The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(65)
Dred tried to ignore the tears spilling over her whiskey-colored eyes. A small voice told him to stop, to stay and talk it through. But the roar of rage was too strong. He needed to step back. Get some distance. “Yeah, just like that,” he said sadly and walked back into the studio.
Without stopping, he grabbed his bags and headed straight out of the door.
He marched toward Collins Avenue and flagged a yellow cab to the airport. Perhaps there was an early flight he could catch. The plan had been to hang out with Pixie, so he’d booked himself on the latest flight available. Now, he desperately wanted to get the f*ck out of Miami.
Finally a taxi pulled over and he got inside. He spared one last glance down the street toward Second Circle, then closed his eyes until he reached the airport.
Once his flight had been changed, he’d made his way to the VIP lounge where he helped himself to a beer. Seated in a large brown leather chair facing the runway, he tried to force the feelings of remorse and shame down, but they were as insistent as Petal when she needed feeding.
How could he forgive Nikan for his addictions? Wait, forgive wasn’t even the right word. He didn’t forgive Nikan for anything, but he understood. He knew why Nikan needed to escape, was even willing to work around it when he relapsed. Anything to help his brother. Pixie was right, she and Nikan were the same, but he had treated them completely differently. It wasn’t the fact they had both suffered addictions. It was the fact that Pixie’s addiction was the same as his mom’s and Amanda’s.
But unlike his mom and Amanda, it sounded like Pixie was clean. Unless she was lying to him, which drug users were adept at.
His phone rang and he glanced at the screen. It was Sam. Leaning forward to grab his beer, he let it go to voice mail. He didn’t really want to talk to anybody right now.
Words started to form in his head and Dred grabbed his lyrics book and pen from his bag. The song he’d started to write for Pixie was taking shape, but he added a new line to end the bridge. When you reach rock bottom, I’ll be the savior that you need.
When his phone vibrated, he was of two minds whether to check the message. Likely from Sam, and not from Snowf—Sarah-Jane. He checked it anyway.
Wondered if you’d seen this.
It was a People magazine link. DRED—ING THE BREAKUP.
Out of curiosity, he clicked, even though he knew it was a media trick to lure readers in. He read the subheading. It’s over! Dred Zander’s girlfriend seen with new man.
The first photograph was of Pixie with her arms wrapped tightly around an attractive older guy. In the second, her head rested on his shoulder, but she looked upset about something. In the third, he was kissing her good-bye.
As much as he wanted to blame the paparazzi for grabbing the photos, there wouldn’t have been anything to snap if Pixie hadn’t been so affectionate with another man.
For once it appeared the gossip rag had gotten it right.
They were most definitely over.
Chapter Thirteen
She’d done the one thing she’d sworn she was never going to do. She’d lied to her best friends.
Pixie ran a hand through her hair and let it swing by her shoulders. Through thick and thin, Cujo and Trent had stood by her, yet she’d been unable to tell them the truth. A mixture of guilt, fear, and disappointment had eroded her appetite and turned her into a shell.
She’d most definitely lied to Trent and Cujo when they’d found her crying, ironically, in the rear doorway to Second Circle. At first, she’d justified the partial truths she’d told them, that he was her stepdad who had shown up and demanded money to keep her drug addiction secret. But it had turned into outright lies when Cujo asked if she had paid him anything. Unable to admit to her humiliation, she couldn’t tell him the truth.
The confrontation several days before had made one thing resolutely clear. Arnie was never going to give up. She was his meal ticket. He lacked any kind of moral compass, and would expect her to beg, borrow, and steal whatever she needed to give him what he wanted.
No. If he came back again, she was going to tell him to do his worst. Hell, she was considering going to the police anyway. He’d already cost her Dred. The worst that could happen was that she couldn’t convince a jury it had been self-defense.
“You know how much I love you, right?” Cujo stepped into the office. He’d been hovering around her like an overprotective parent for days.
Pixie nodded.
“Well,” he said, closing the office door, “it’s killing me right now to see you hurting like this. But you know what pains me most? That you aren’t being honest with me. You in trouble, Pix?”
Pixie closed her notebook quickly. She wanted to continue the lie, to be capable of looking Cujo in the eye and telling him she was fine. The words wavered on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t. And omitting the truth was just as bad.
Tears pricked her eyes and she shook her head, unable to speak over the lump in her throat.
“Oh, Pix.” Cujo walked over to kneel on the floor next to the chair she was sitting on. “Come here.” He tugged her into his arms.
She dropped her head to his shoulder and wept. Cujo stroked her back as she cried. The guilt she’d been carrying for killing Brewster, the pain that she’d carried from all those years of abuse, and the ache she felt from Dred’s absence flooded out.