The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(70)

Trent walked in and sat down in the chair next to him. The temperature dropped a solid twenty degrees, as the usually good-natured and easygoing friend he knew greeted all the show staff but didn’t so much as look his way.

Filming was going to be a f*cking disaster, but he wasn’t sure it was possible to make it right even if he tried.

“Hey,” Dred said, uncertain where to begin. The makeup lady walked toward Trent.

“Go f*ck yourself,” Trent replied curtly, and the makeup lady hurried away to the other side of the trailer.

Great start. “Look, I know you’re pissed. But can you at least let me explain?”

Trent stared at his own reflection in the mirror, but his lips were in a tight, angry line. “Did you let Pixie?” he said after a couple of moments. “Explain, I mean. Did you sit down next to her on that step we found her crying her heart out on and hear her out?”

Touché. “You know I didn’t.”

“Yeah. So f*ck you and your explanations.”

“Did I ever tell you my mom died of a drug overdose?” Dred felt sick to his stomach, but he needed to shock his friend into talking to him. He needed to find a path out of this. A path that would lead him back to his friends, his daughter, and Pixie. He was done wearing the son-of-a-junkie tag once and for all. He needed to be a different man—for all of them, but even more importantly, for himself.

Trent turned in his chair to look at him, his expression neutral.

“Yeah. I mean I’d seen her knocked out for days with drugs before. Even seen her hospitalized. The first time she OD’d, I was apparently four. There was one time when I was seven when I was taken into care because the teacher at school noticed I’d been wearing the same shirt for four days. When they visited the house of the person we were staying with, they found my mom high, banging some john. So when she OD’d the last time, I didn’t understand how serious it was. Overdosing was just something that happened.”

He’d held her in his arms, like he always did. It was the only time he could hug her close like he wanted to, without her pushing him away. “I didn’t realize that her mouth being wide open was a state called primary flaccidity. There was usually a sickly gray color to her skin. How was I supposed to know that this time it was pallor mortis? I didn’t even know what the f*ck that was at twelve.”

The realization hit him hard. There was nothing he could have done to stop it. How could a four-, or a seven-, or a nine-year-old child stop a parent’s addiction? “It was well before everyone had cell phones, not that we could have afforded one. I ran outside and screamed for help, and once I was sure someone was calling an ambulance, I ran back into the house we were crashing at and held my mom as she turned cold.”

Chilled by the recollections, Dred stopped and took a long draw on the coffee. Baring his soul needed more than caffeine, but it was all he had.

“I’m sorry, Dred. That you went through all that.”

Dred nodded and ran his thumbnail down the stitching along the inseam of his jeans. He needed to bring his sorry-ass story home. “When that guy said Pixie was a junkie . . . I couldn’t deal, man. I spent years watching my mom fall deeper and deeper. And to bring this pathetic f*cking melodrama to a close, I now have full custody of Petal because Amanda, her mom, was an addict who . . .”

Dred rubbed his hands across his face. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “Anyway, I got shit I need to deal with too. And it got in the way of me being there for Pixie. How is she?” He looked at Trent, and for the first time since he’d entered the room, Trent didn’t look like he wanted to kill him.

“She’s a tough cookie, but this week has been rough on her.”

“Has he been around? Do you know the full story?”

Trent shook his head. “No. He hasn’t been around. And no, I don’t know the full story, but over the years, Cujo and I have pieced bits of it together. When we found her, she was in withdrawal. I hate to admit it, but I even looked her up on the internet. I wasn’t quite as trusting of women back then,” he said with an embarrassed smile.

“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.





Chapter Fourteen


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.”